LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


J 


C  5 
*>< 


O) 

— 


CARMEN  ARIZA 

BY 

CHARLES   FRANCIS   STOCKING,  E.  M. 

Author  of  THE  DIARY  OF  JEAN  EVARTS, 
THE  MAYOR  OF  FILBERT,  Etc. 


CHICAGO 

THE   MAESTRO   CO. 
1918 


COPYRIGHT    1915 


CHARLES    FRANCIS    STOCKING 

ISSUED   JANUARY    1916 


ALL    RIGHTS     RESERVED 


SIXTH   PRINTING 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


BOOK   1 

? — the  won 
they  are  spirit,  and  they  are  lii'e. 


r\OTH  this  offend  you?— the  words  that  I  speak  unto  you, 


— Jesus. 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


CHAPTER    1 

THE  tropical  sun  mounted  the  rim  of  the  golden  Caribbean, 
quivered  for  a  moment  like  a  fledgeling  preening  its  wings 
for  flight,  then  launched  forth  boldly  into  the  vault  of 
heaven,  shattering  the  lowering  vapors  of  night  into  a  myriad 
fleecy  clouds  of  every  form  and  color,  and  driving  them  before 
it  into  the  abysmal  blue  above.  Leaping  the  sullen  walls  of  old 
Cartagena,  the  morning  beams  began  to  glow  in  roseate  hues 
on  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  this  ancient  metropolis  of  New 
Granada,  and  glance  in  shafts  of  fire  from  her  glittering  domes 
and  towers.  Swiftly  they  climbed  the  moss-grown  sides  of 
church  and  convent,  and  glided  over  the  dull  white  walls  of 
prison  and  monastery  alike.  Pouring  through  half-turned  shut 
ters,  they  plashed  upon  floors  in  floods  of  gold.  Tapping 
noiselessly  on  closed  portals,  they  seemed  to  bid  tardy  sleepers 
arise,  lest  the  hurrying  midday  siesta  overtake  them  with  tasks 
unfinished.  The  dormitory  of  the  ecclesiastical  college,  just 
within  the  east  wall  of  the  city,  glowed  brilliantly  in  the  clear 
light  which  it  was  reflecting  to  the  mirror  of  waters  without. 
Its  huge  bulk  had  caught  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  most 
of  which  had  rebounded  from  its  drab,  incrusted  walls  and 
sped  out  again  over  the  dancing  sea.  A  few,  however,  escaped 
reflection  by  stealing  through  the  slanting  shutters  of  a  window 
close  under  the  roof  of  the  building.  Within,  they  fell  upon  a 
man  kneeling  on  the  tiled  floor  beside  a  rude  cot  bed. 

In  appearance  the  man  was  not  more  than  twenty-five  years 
of  age.  His  black,  close-curling  hair,  oval  face,  and  skin  of 
deep  olive  tint  indicated  a  Latin  origin.  His  clerical  garb 
proclaimed  him  a  son  of  the  Church.  The  room  was  a  small, 
whitewashed  cell  of  stone,  musty  with  the  dampness  which  had 
swept  in  from  the  sea  during  the  night.  It  was  furnished  with 
Spartan  simplicity.  Neither  image,  crucifix,  nor  painting 
adorned  its  walls — the  occupant's  dress  alone  suggested  his 
calling.  A  hanging  shelf  held  a  few  books,  all  evidently  used 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


as  texts  in  the  adjoining  college.  A  table,  much  littered;  a 
wooden  dressing  stand,  with  a  small  mirror;  and  an  old- 
fashioned,  hair-cloth  trunk,  bearing  numerous  foreign  labels, 
eked  out  the  paucity  of  furnishings. 

If  the  man  prayed,  there  was  only  his  reverent  attitude  to 
indicate  it,  for  no  words  escaped  his  lips.  But  the  frequent 
straining  of  his  tense  body,  and  the  fierce  clenching  of  his 
thin  hands,  as  he  threw  his  arms  out  over  the  unopened  bed, 
were  abundant  evidence  of  a  soul  tugging  violently  at  its 
moorings.  His  was  the  attitude  of  one  who  has  ceased  to 
inveigh  against  fate,  who  kneels  dumbly  before  the  cup  of 
Destiny,  knowing  that  it  must  be  drained. 

With  the  break  of  day  the  bells  awoke  in  the  church  towers 
throughout  the  old  city,  and  began  to  peal  forth  their  noisy 
reminder  of  the  virility  of  the  Holy  Catholic  faith.  Then  the 
man  raised  his  head,  seemingly  startled  into  awareness  of  his 
material  environment.  For  a  few  moments  he  listened  con 
fusedly  to  the  insistent  clatter — but  he  made  no  sign  of  the 
cross,  nor  did  his  head  bend  with  the  wyeight  of  a  hollow  Ave  on 
his  bloodless  lips  while  the  clamoring  muezzins  filled  the 
warm,  tropical  air  with  their  jangling  appeal.  Rising  with  an 
air  of  weary  indifference,  he  slowly  crossed  the  room  and  threw 
wide  the  shutters  of  the  solitary  window,  admitting  a  torrent  of 
sunlight.  As  he  did  this,  the  door  of  the  cell  softly  opened,  and 
a  young  novitiate  entered. 

"With  your  permission,  Padre,"  said  the  boy,  bowing  low. 
"His  Grace  summons  you  to  the  Cathedral." 

The  man  made  a  languid  gesture  of  dismissal,  and  turned 
from  the  lad  to  the  rare  view  which  greeted  him  through  the 
open  window.  The  dusty  road  below  was  beginning  to  manifest 
the  city's  awakening.  Barefooted,  brown-skinned  women, 
scantily  clad  in  cheap  calico  gowns,  were  swinging  along  with 
shallow  baskets  under  their  arms  to  the  plaza  for  the  day's 
marketing.  Some  carried  naked  babes  astride  their  hips; 
some  smoked  long,  slender  cigars  of  their  own  rolling.  Half- 
clad  children  of  all  ages,  mixtures  of  mestizo,  Spaniard,  and 
Jamaican  negro,  trotted  along  beside  them;  and  at  intervals  a 
blustering  cochero  rattled  around  the  corner  in  a  rickety, 
obsolete  type  of  trap  behind  a  brace  of  emaciated  horses. 

The  lively  gossip  of  the  passing  groups  preluded  the  noisy 
chaffering  to  follow  their  arrival  at  the  market  place. 

"Caramba,  little  pig!"  shrilled  a  buxom  matron,  snatching 
her  naked  offspring  away  from  a  passing  vehicle.  "Think  you 
I  have  money  to  waste  on  Masses  for  your  naughty  soul?" 

"Na,  senora,"  bantered  another,  "it  will  cost  less  now  than 
later  to  get  him  out  of  purgatory." 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  comadre,  do  you  stop  at  the  Cathedral  to  say  a  Pater 
noster?" 

"To  be  sure,  amiga,  and  an  Ave,  too.  And  let  us  return  by 
way  of  the  Hotel  Espana,  for,  quien  sabe?  we  may  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  famous  matador." 

"Senor  Varilla?" 

"Yes.  He  arrived  from  Barranquilla  last  night — so  my 
Pedro  tells  me — and  will  fight  in  the  arena  this  Sunday.  I  have 
saved  fifty  pesos  to  see  him.  Madre  de  Dios!  but  I  would  sell 
my  soul  to  see  him  slay  but  a  single  bull.  And  do  you  go?" 

"God  willing!" 

The  soft  air,  tempered  by  the  languid  ocean  breeze,  bore 
aloft  the  laughter  and  friendly  bantering  of  the  marketers, 
mingled  with  the  awakening  street  sounds  and  the  morning 
greetings  which  issued  from  opening  doors  and  windows.  The 
scent  of  roses  and  the  heavier  sweetness  of  orchids  and  tropical 
blooms  drifted  over  the  ancient  city  from  its  innumerable 
patios  and  public  gardens.  The  age-incrusted  buildings  fused 
in  the  mounting  sun  into  squares  of  dazzling  white,  over  which 
the  tiled  roofs  flowed  in  cinctures  of  crimson.  Far  off  at  sea 
the  smoke  of  an  approaching  vessel  wove  fantastic  designs 
against  the  tinted  sky.  Behind  the  city  the  convent  of  Santa 
Candelaria,  crowning  the  hill  of  La  Popa,  glowed  like  a  dia 
mond;  and  stretching  far  to  the  south,  and  merging  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cordilleras  into  the  gloom-shrouded,  menacing  jungle, 
the  steaming  llanos  offered  fleeting  glimpses  of  their  rich 
emerald  color  as  the  morning  breeze  stirred  the  heavy  clouds 
of  vapor  which  hung  sullenly  above  them. 

To  all  this  the  man,  looking  vacantly  out  across  the  city 
walls  to  where  the  sea  birds  dipped  on  the  rippling  waves,  was 
apparently  oblivious.  Nor  did  he  manifest  the  slightest  interest 
in  the  animated  scene  before  him  until  a  tall,  heavy-set  young 
priest  emerged  from  the  entrance  of  the  dormitory  below  and 
stopped  for  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the  road  to  bask  in  the 
brilliant  sunlight  and  fill  his  lungs  with  the  invigorating  ocean 
breeze.  Turning  his  eyes  suddenly  upward,  the  latter  caught 
sight  of  the  man  at  the  window. 

"Ah,  amigo  Jose!"  he  called  in  friendly  greeting,  his  hand 
some  face  aglow  with  a  cordial  smile.  "Our  good  Saint  Claver 
has  not  lobbied  for  us  in  vain!  We  shall  yet  have  a  good  day 
for  the  bulls,  no?" 

"An  excellent  one,  I  think,  Wenceslas,"  quickly  replied  the 
man  addressed,  who  then  turned  abruptly  away  as  if  he  wished 
to  avoid  further  conversation.  The  priest  below  regarded  the 
empty  window  for  a  moment.  Then,  with  a  short,  dry  laugh 
and  a  cynical  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders,  he  passed  on. 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


As  the  man  above  turned  back  into  the  room  his  face,  wear 
ing  the  look  of  one  far  gone  in  despair,  was  contorted  with 
passion.  Fear,  confusion,  and  undefined  soul-longing  seemed  to 
move  rapidly  across  it,  each  leaving  its  momentary  impression, 
and  all  mingling  at  times  in  a  surging  flood  that  swelled  the 
veins  of  his  temples  to  the  point  of  rupture.  Mechanically  he 
paced  his  narrow  cell,  throwing  frequent  furtive  glances  at  the 
closed  door,  as  if  he  suspected  himself  watched.  Often  he 
stopped  abruptly,  and  with  head  bowed  and  brows  furrowed, 
seemed  to  surrender  his  soul  to  the  forces  with  which  it  was 
wrestling.  Often  he  clasped  his  head  wildly  in  his  hands  and 
turned  his  beseeching  eyes  upward,  as  if  he  would  call  upon  an 
invisible  power  above  to  aid  him,  yet  restrained  by  the  deaden 
ing  conviction  of  experience  that  such  appeal  would  meet  with 
no  response,  and  that  he  must  stand  in  his  own  strength,  how 
ever  feeble. 

Hours  passed  thus.  The  sun  gained  the  zenith  and  the 
streets  were  ablaze.  Belated  marketers,  with  laden  baskets  atop 
their  heads,  were  hurrying  homewrard,  hugging  the  scanty  shade 
of  the  glaring  buildings.  Shopkeepers  were  drawing  their  shut 
ters  and  closing  their  heavy  doors,  leaving  the  hot  noon  hour 
asleep  on  the  scorching  portals.  The  midday  Angelas  called 
from  the  Cathedral  tower.  Then,  as  if  shaken  into  remem 
brance  of  the  message  which  the  boy  had  brought  him  at  day 
break,  the  man  hurriedly  took  his  black  felt  hat  from  the  table, 
and  without  further  preparation  left  the  room. 

The  stone  pavements  and  narrow  brick  \valks,  above  which 
the  intense  heat  hung  in  tremulous  waves,  were  almost  deserted 
as  he  hastened  toward  the  Cathedral.  The  business  of  the 
morning  was  finished;  trade  was  suspended  until  the  sun,  now 
dropping  its  fiery  shafts  straight  as  plummets,  should  have 
sunk  behind  La  Popa.  As  he  turned  into  the  Calle  Lozano  an 
elderly  woman,  descending  the  winding  brick  stairway  visible 
through  the  open  door  of  one  of  the  numerous  old  colonial 
houses  in  the  lower  end  of  this  thoroughfare,  called  timidly  to 
him. 

"Marcelena,"  the  priest  returned,  stopping.  "The  girl — is 
she—?" 

"She  is  dying,"  interrupted  the  woman  in  a  voice  broken 
with  sobs. 

"Dying!     Then  the  child—?" 

"Yes,  Padre,  born  an  hour  ago — a  boy.  It  lives.  Ah,  Santa 
Virgen,  such  suffering!  Pray  for  us,  Mother  of  God!"  mur 
mured  the  weeping  woman,  bending  her  head  and  repeatedly 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"Who  is  with  her  now?"  the  priest  continued  hurriedly. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Only  Catalina.  The  doctor  said  he  would  return.  He  is 
good  to  the  blessed  child.  And  Padre  Lorenzo  came — but  he 
would  not  shrive  her  little  white  soul — 

"And  the  father—?" 

"He  does  not  know,"  the  woman  sobbed.  "Who  would  dare 
to  tell  him!  Think  you  he  would  come?  That  he  would  own 
the  babe?  He  would  not  give  one  blessed  candle  to  set  beside 
the  little  mother's  poor  sweet  body!  Ah,  Santa  Maria!  who  will 
buy  Masses  for  her  little  soul?  Who — ?" 

"But  he  shall  know!"  cried  the  priest,  his  face  livid.  "And 
he  shall  acknowledge  his  child  and  care  for  it!  Dios — /  But 
wait,  Marcelena.  I  can  do  nothing  now.  But  I  will  return." 
Leaving  the  woman  sobbing  prayers  to  the  Virgin  Mother,  the 
priest  hurried  on. 

Within  the  Cathedral  the  cool  atmosphere  met  him  with  a 
sweet  calm,  which  flowed  over  his  perturbed  soul  like  a  bene 
diction.  He  drew  a  chair  from  a  pile  in  a  corner  and  sat  down 
for  a  moment  near  one  of  the  little  side  chapels,  to  recover  from 
the  stifling  heat  without  and  prepare  his  thought  for  the  im 
pending  interview  with  the  Bishop.  A  dim  twilight  enveloped 
the  interior  of  the  building,  affording  a  grateful  relief  from  the 
blinding  glare  of  the  streets.  It  brought  him  a  transient  sense 
of  peace — the  peace  which  his  wearied  soul  had  never  fully 
known.  Peace  brooded  over  the  great  nave,  and  hovered  in  the 
soft  air  that  drifted  slowly  through  the  deserted  aisle  up  to  the 
High  Altar,  where  lay  the  Sacred  Host.  A  few  votive  candles 
were  struggling  to  send  their  feeble  glow  through  the  darkness. 
The  great  images  of  the  suffering  Christ,  of  the  Saints  and  the 
Virgin  Mother  had  merged  their  outlines  into  the  heavy  shadows 
which  lay  upon  them. 

The  haunting  memory  of  years  of  soul-struggle  with  doubt 
and  fear,  of  passionate  longing  for  the  light  of  truth  in  the 
gloom  of  superstition  and  man-made  creeds,  for  guidance 
among  the  devious  paths  of  human  conjecture  which  lead 
nowhither — or  to  madness — seemed  to  fade  into  the  darkness 
which  wrapped  him  in  that  holy  calm.  After  all,  what  had  he 
won  in  his  lifelong  warfare  with  human  beliefs?  What  had  he 
gained  by  his  mad  opposition  to  Holy  Church?  There  she  stood, 
calm,  majestic,  undisturbed.  Had  not  the  Christ  himself  de 
clared  that  the  gates  of  hell  should  not  prevail  against  her? 
Was  not  the  unfoldment  of  truth  a  matter,  not  of  years,  but  of 
ages?  And  were  the  minds  of  men  to-day  prepared  for  higher 
verities  than  those  she  offered?  Did  not  the  Church  plant  the 
seed  as  rapidly  as  the  barren  soil  of  the  human  mind  was  tilled 
and  made  fallow?  True,  her  sons,  whom  he  had  so  obstinately 
opposed,  were  blindly  zealous.  But  were  they  wholly  without 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


wisdom?  Had  not  his  own  zeal  been  as  unreasoningly  directed 
to  the  forcing  of  events?  And  still,  through  it  all,  she  had  held 
her  indulgent  arms  extended  to  him,  as  to  all  erring  mankind. 
Why  not  now,  like  a  tired  child,  weary  of  futile  resistance,  yield 
to  her  motherly  embrace  and  be  at  last  at  peace?  Again  the 
temptation  which  he  had  stubbornly  resisted  for  a  lifetime 
urged  upon  him  with  all  its  mesmeric  insistence. 

He  looked  up,  and  his  glance  fell  upon  a  small,  glass- 
covered  case,  dimly  visible  in  the  uncertain  light  at  one  side  of 
the  little  altar.  The  case  was  filled  with  tiny  images  of  gold — 
milagros.  Each  had  received  priestly  blessing,  and  each  was 
believed  to  have  worked  a  miraculous  cure.  The  relaxed  lines 
of  the  priest's  careworn  face  instantly  drew  into  an  expression 
of  hard  austerity.  Like  the  ebb  of  the  ocean,  his  recalcitrant 
thought  surged  back  again  in  a  towering  flood. 

"What  a  spectacle!"  he  murmured.  "Holy  Church,  assum 
ing  spiritual  leadership  of  the  world,  sunken  in  idolatry,  and 
publicly  parading  her  fetishism  in  these  lingering  echoes  of 
primitive  demon-worship!" 

Ah,  the  Master  taught  the  omnipotence  of  God,  whose  ways 
he  declared  as  high  above  the  blind  grovelings  of  man  as  the 
dome  of  heaven  swings  above  earth.  But  how  long,  gentle 
Master,  shall  such  as  this  be  declared  thy  Father's  ways?  How 
long  shall  superstition  and  idolatry  retain  the  power  to  fetter 
the  souls  of  men?  Is  there  no  end  to  the  black  curse  of  igno 
rance  of  Truth,  which,  after  untold  centuries,  still  makes  men 
sink  with  vain  toil  and  consume  with  disease?  And— are  those 
who  sit  about  Peter's  gorgeous  tomb  and  approve  these  things 
unerring  guides  to  a  right  knowledge  of  God,  to  know  whom, 
the  Christ  has  said,  is  life  eternal? 

A  step  behind  him  broke  the  flow  of  his  dark  revery. 

"Our  good  Jose  dreams  below,  while  His  Grace  bites  his 
nails  above,"  said  a  soft,  mellifluous  voice.  "Que  chiste!  It  is — " 

The  priest  sprang  to  his  feet  and  faced  the  speaker.  For  a 
moment  the  men  regarded  each  other,  the  one  uncertain  as  to 
the  impending  event,  but  supremely  confident  of  his  ability  to 
meet  it;  the  other  sick  in  soul  and  torn  with  mental  struggle, 
but  for  the  moment  fired  anew  with  the  righteous  wrath  which 
his  recent  brief  interview  with  the  woman,  Marcelena,  had 
kindled. 

"Wenceslas — "  The  priest  spoke  in  a  strained,  uncertain 
tone,  striving  to  hold  his  emotions  in  leash.  "I  have  learned 
to-day — The  girl,  Maria — " 

"Caro  amigo,"  interrupted  Wenceslas  smoothly,  "what  you 
have  learned  to-day,  or  any  other  day,  of  the  girl,  Maria,  is  a 
lie." 

8 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Hombre!"  The  priest  turned  livid.  Stepping  closer  to 
Wenceslas — 

"Do  you  think,  inhuman !  that  I  have  not  long  known  or 
your  relations  with  this  girl?  Who  has  not!  And,  further,  1 
know — and  Cartagena  shall  know — that  to-day  she  lies  dving 
beside  your  child!" 

Wenceslas  recoiled.  His  face  flushed,  and  the  veins  of  his 
forehead  swelled  with  a  purple  flood.  Then  a  pallor  spread 
over  his  features,  and  beads  of  perspiration  started  from  his 
pores. 

It  was  but  momentary.  Recovering  himself,  he  laid  a  Iar0  • 
hand  on  the  priest's  shoulder,  and,  his  face  assuming  its  wonted 
smile,  said  in  his  usual  low  tone,  "Amiga,  it  seems  that  you 
have  a  penchant  for  spreading  gossip.  Think  you  I  am  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  because  of  it  Rome  spewed  you  out  for  a  med 
dlesome  pest?  Do  you  deceive  yourself  that  Cartagena  will 
open  her  ears  to  your  garbled  reports?  The  hag,  Marcelena, 
lies!  She  has  long  hoped  to  gain  some  advantage  from  me,  I 
have  told  you —  But  go  now  above  and  learn  from  His  Grace, 
whom  you  have  had  the  impudence  to  keep  waiting  all  morn 
ing,  how  tongues  that  wag  too  freely  can  be  silenced."  He 
checked  himself  suddenly,  as  if  he  feared  he  had  said  too  much. 
Then,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  quickly  left  the  Cathedral. 

The  priest's  head  sank  upon  his  breast,  and  he  stood,  infirm 
of  purpose  and  choking  with  words  which  he  could  not  voice. 
The  whirl  in  which  his  confused  brain  had  revolved  for  months 
—nay,  years — had  made  the  determination  of  conduct  with 
him  a  matter  of  hours,  of  days,  of  weeks.  Spontaneity  of  action 
had  long  since  ceased  within  his  fettered  mind,  where  doubt 
had  laid  its  detaining  hand  upon  his  judgment.  Uncertainty  of 
his  steps,  fear  of  their  consequence,  and  dread  lest  he  precipi 
tate  the  calamity  which  he  felt  hung  always  just  above  him, 
had  sapped  the  courage  and  strength  of  will  which  his  soul 
needed  for  a  determined  stand,  and  left  him  incapable  of  deci 
sive  action,  even  in  the  face  of  grossest  evil.  The  mordant 
reply  of  Wenceslas  only  strengthened  his  conviction  of  the 
futility  of  massing  his  own  feeble  forces  against  those  of  one 
so  thoroughly  entrenched  as  this  man,  who  had  the  ear  of  the 
Bishop— nay,  whose  resourceful  mind  was  now  said  to  be  ac 
tually  directing  the  policies  of  the  feeble  old  ecclesiastic  who 
held  the  bishopric  of  Cartagena. 

As  if  groping  through  the  blackness  of  midnight,  he  moved 
slowly  down  the  deserted  nave  of  the  Cathedral  and  mounted 
the  winding  stairs  to  the  ambulatory  above.  Pausing  at  the 
door  of  the  sanctum  for  a  moment  to  gather  up  his  remnant  of 
moral  strength,  he  entered  and  stood  hesitant  before  the  wait 
ing  Bishop. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  2 

THE  long  War  of  Independence  which  destroyed  the  last  ves 
tige  of  Spanish  control  over  the  Peruvian  colonies  of 
South  America  was  virtually  brought  to  a  close  by  the 
terrific  battle  of  Ayacucho,  fought  on  the  plains  between  Pizar- 
ro's  city  of  Lima  and  the  ancient  Inca  seat  of  Cuzco  in  the  fall 
of  1824.  The  result  of  this  battle  had  been  eagerly  awaited  in 
the  city  of  Cartagena,  capital  of  the  newly  formed  federation  of 
Colombia.  It  was  known  there  that  the  Royalist  army  was 
concentrating  for  a  final  stand.  It  was  known,  too,  that  its 
veterans  greatly  outnumbered  the  nondescript  band  of  patriots, 
many  of  whom  were  provided  only  with  the  arma  blanca,  the 
indispensable  machete  of  tropical  America.  This  fact  lent  a 
shred  of  encouragement  to  the  few  proud  Tory  families  still 
remaining  in  the  city  and  clinging  forlornly  to  their  broken 
fortunes,  while  vainly  hoping  for  a  reestablishment  of  the 
imperial  regimen,  as  they  pinned  their  fate  to  this  last  desperate 
conflict.  Among  these,  none  had  been  prouder,  none  more  loyal 
to  the  Spanish  Sovereign,  and  none  more  liberal  in  dispensing 
its  great  wealth  to  bolster  up  a  hopeless  cause  than  the  ancient 
and  aristocratic  family  at  whose  head  stood  Don  Ignacio  Jose 
Marquez  de  Rincon,  distinguished  member  of  the  Cabildo,  and 
most  loval  subject  of  his  imperial  majesty,  King  Ferdinand 
VII.  of  Spain. 

The  house  of  Rincon  traced  its  lineage  back  to  the  ferocious 
adventurer,  Juan  de  Rincon,  favorite  lieutenant  of  the  renowned 
Conquistador,  Pedro  de  Heredia.  When  the  latter,  in  the  year 
1533,  obtained  from  Charles  V.  the  concession  of  New  Andalu 
sia,  the  whole  territory  comprised  between  the  mouths  of  the 
Magdalena  and  Atrato  rivers  in  what  is  now  the  Republic  of  Co 
lombia,  and  undertook  the  conquest  of  this  enormously  rich  dis 
trict,  the  fire-eating  Juan,  W7hom  the  chroniclers  of  that  ro 
mantic  period  quaintly  described  as  "causing  the  same  effects 
as  lightning  and  quicksilver,"  was  his  most  dependable  support. 
Together  they  landed  at  the  Indian  village  of  Calamari,  and, 
after  putting  the  pacific  inhabitants  to  the  sword — a  manner  of 
disposal  most  satisfactory  to  the  practical  Juan — laid  the  foun 
dations  of  the  present  city  of  Cartagena,  later  destined  to  be 
come  the  "Queen  of  the  Indies,"  the  pride,  as  it  was  the  despair, 
of  the  haughty  monarchs  of  Spain. 

For  his  eminent  services  in  this  exploit  Juan  received  a 
large  tract  of  land  in  the  most  fertile  part  of  the  Magdalena 
valley — which  he  immediately  staked  and  lost  at  the  gaming- 

10 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


table.  As  a  measure  of  consolation,  and  doubtless  with  the  view 
of  checking  Juan's  gambling  propensities,  Pedro  de  Heredia 
then  bestowed  upon  him  a  strip  of  bleak  and  unexplored  moun 
tain  country  adjacent  to  the  river  Atrato.  Stung  by  his  sense 
of  loss,  as  well  as  by  the  taunts  of  his  boisterous  companions, 
and  harassed  by  the  practical  conclusion  that  life's  brevity 
would  not  permit  of  wiping  out  their  innumerable  insults 
singly  by  the  sword,  the  raging  Juan  gathered  together  a  few 
blood-drinking  companions  of  that  ilk  and  set  out  to  find  diver 
sion  of  mind  on  his  possessions. 

Years  passed.  One  day  Juan  again  appeared  on  the  streets 
of  Cartagena,  and  this  time  with  gold  enough  to  buy  the  city. 
The  discovery  of  rich  auriferous  sands  on  his  estates  adjoining 
the  Atrato,  which  were  worked  extensively  for  him  by  the 
natives  whom  he  and  his  companions  had  forced  into  subjec 
tion,  had  yielded  him  enormous  wealth.  He  settled  in  Carta 
gena,  determined  to  make  it  his  future  home,  and  at  once  set 
about  buying  great  blocks  of  houses  and  erecting  a  palace 
for  himself.  He  began  to  acquire  lands  and  mines  in  all 
directions.  He  erected  a  sumptuous  summer  residence  in  what 
is  now  the  suburb  of  Turbaco.  He  built  an  arena,  and  bred 
bulls  for  it  from  famous  stock  which  he  imported  from  the 
mother-country.  He  gave  fetes  and  public  entertainments  on 
the  most  lavish  scale  imaginable.  In  short,  he  quickly  became 
Cartagena's  most  influential  and  distinguished  citizen,  as  he 
was  easily  her  richest. 

But  far  more  important  to  mention  than  all  these  dry 
details  was  the  undoubted  change  of  character  which  had 
come  over  the  man  himself.  Perhaps  it  was  the  awful  heat 
of  the  steaming  Atrato  valley  that  drew  the  fire  from  his  livid 
soul.  Perhaps  it  was  a  dawning  appreciation  of  the  opportu 
nities  made  possible  by  his  rapid  acquisition  of  wealth  that 
had  softened  his  character.  Some  said  he  had  seen  a  vision 
of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Others  laid  it  to  a  terrible  fever,  in 
which  for  days  he  had  lain  delirious  in  the  shadow  of  death. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  bloodthirsty  Conquistador,  who  a  few 
years  before  angrily  shook  the  dust  of  Cartagena  from  his 
feet,  had  now  returned  a  changed  man. 

At  once  Juan  began  to  manifest  in  an  ever  increasing 
degree  an  interest  in  matters  religious.  In  this  respect  his" 
former  character  suffered  a  complete  reversal.  He  assidu 
ously  cultivated  the  clergy,  and  gave  large  sums  for  the 
support  of  the  Cathedral  and  the  religious  orders  of  the  city. 
The  Bishop  became  a  frequent  guest  at  his  sumptuous  table; 
and  as  often  he  in  turn  sought  the  Bishop  for  consultation 
anent  his  benefactions  and,  in  particular,  for  consolation  when 

11 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


haunted  by  sad  memories  of  his  devilish  exploits  in  early 
life.  When  the  great-hearted  Padre  Bartolome  de  las  Casas, 
infirm  but  still  indefatigable  in  his  work  for  the  protection  and 
uplift  of  the  Indians,  arrived  one  memorable  day  in  his  little 
canoe  which  his  devoted  native  servants  had  paddled  through 
the  dique  from  the  great  river  beyond,  Juan  was  the  first  to 
greet  him  and  insist  that  he  make  his  home  with  him  while 
in  the  city.  And  on  the  night  of  the  Padre's  arrival  it  is  said 
that  Juan,  with  tears  streaming  down  his  scarred  and  wrinkled 
face,  begged  to  be  allowed  to  confess  to  him  the  awful  atroc 
ities  \vhich  he  had  committed  upon  the  innocent  and  harmless 
aborigines  when,  as  was  his  wont,  his  breath  hot  with  the 
lust  of  blood,  he  had  fallen  upon  them  without  provocation 
and  hewed  them  limb  from  limb. 

In  his  old  age  the  now  gentle  Juan,  his  former  self  almost 
obliterated,  expressed  a  desire  to  renounce  the  world,  bestow 
his  great  wealth  upon  the  Church,  and  enter  a  monastery  to 
pass  his  remaining  years.  Despite  the  protestations  of  his 
numerous  family,  for  whom  his  religious  zeal  would  permit 
him  to  leave  but  scanty  provision,  he  wras  already  formulating 
plans  toward  this  end  when  death  overtook  him,  and  his  vast 
estates  descended  intact  to  the  family  which  he  had  founded. 

So  complete  had  been  the  transformation  of  Juan  de  Rincon 
during  the  many  years  that  he  lived  after  his  return  to  Carta 
gena  that  the  characteristics  which  he  transmitted  to  his 
posterity  were,  in  general,  quite  the  reverse  of  those  wrhich  he 
himself  had  manifested  so  abundantly  in  early  life.  Whereas, 
he  had  formerly  been  atrociously  cruel,  boastingly  impious, 
and  a  scoffer  at  matters  religious,  his  later  descendants  were 
generally  tender  of  heart,  soft  of  manner,  and  of  great  piety. 
Whereas,  in  early  manhood  he  had  been  fiery  and  impulsive, 
quick  of  decision  and  immovable  of  opinion,  his  progeny  were 
increasingly  inclined  to  be  deliberate  in  judgment  and  vacil 
lating  of  purpose.  So  many  of  his  descendants  entered  the 
priesthood  that  the  family  was  threatened  with  extinction,  for 
in  the  course  of  time  it  had  become  a  sacred  custom  in  the 
Rincon  family  to  consecrate  the  first-born  son  to  the  Church. 
This  custom  at  length  became  fixed,  and  was  rigidly  observed, 
even  to  the  point  of  bigotry,  despite  the  obliteration  of  those 
"branches  where  there  was  but  a  single  son. 

The  family,  so  auspiciously  launched,  waxed  increasingly 
rich  and  influential;  and  when  the  smoldering  fires  of  revolu 
tion  burst  into  flame  among  the  oppressed  South  American 
colonies,  late  in  the  year  1812,  the  house  of  Rincon,  under 
royal  and  papal  patronage,  was  found  occupying  the  first 
position  of  eminence  and  prestige  in  the  proud  old  city  of 

12 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Cartagena.  Its  wealth  had  become  proverbial.  Its  sons,  edu 
cated  by  preceptors  brought  from  Paris  and  Madrid,  were 
prominent  at  home  and  abroad.  Its  honor  was  unimpeachable. 
Its  fair  name  was  one  of  the  most  resplendent  jewels  in 
the  Spanish  crown.  And  Don  Ignacio  epitomized  loyalty  to 
Sovereign  and  Pope. 

With  the  inauguration  of  hostilities  no  fears  were  felt  by 
the  Rincon  family  for  the  ultimate  success  of  the  royalist 
arms,  and  Don  Ignacio  immediately  despatched  word  to  his 
Sovereign  in  Madrid  that  the  wealth  and  services  of  his  house 
were  at  the  royal  disposal.  Of  this  offer  Ferdinand  quickly 
availed  himself.  The  Rincon  funds  were  drawn  upon  imme 
diately  and  without  stint  to  furnish  men  and  muniments  for 
the  long  and  disastrous  struggle.  Of  the  family  resources 
there  was  no  lack  while  its  members  held  their  vast  possessions 
of  lands  and  mines.  But  when,  after  the  first  successes  of  the 
patriots,  reprisals  began  to  be  visited  upon  the  Tories  of 
Cartagena,  and  their  possessions  fell,  one  after  another,  into 
the  hands  of  the  successful  revolutionists,  or  were  seized  by 
former  slaves,  Don  Ignacio  found  it  difficult  to  meet  his  royal 
master's  demands.  The  fickle  King,  already  childish  to  the 
verge  of  imbecility,  gave  scant  thanks  in  return  for  the  Rincon 
loyalty,  and  when  at  last,  stripped  of  his  fortune,  deserted  by 
all  but  the  few  Tory  families  who  had  the  courage  to  remain 
in  Cartagena  until  the  close  of  the  war,  Don  Ignacio  received 
with  sinking  heart  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Ayacucho,  he  knew 
full  well  that  any  future  appeal  to  Ferdinand  for  recognition 
of  his  great  sacrifices  would  fall  upon  unhearing  ears. 

But  to  remain  in  republican  Cartagena  after  the  final  suc 
cess  of  the  revolutionists  was  to  the  royalist  Don  Ignacio  quite 
impossible.  Even  if  permitted  the  attempt,  he  was  so  attached 
to  the  ancient  order  of  things  that  he  could  not  adjust  himself 
to  the  radically  changed  conditions.  So,  gathering  about  him 
the  sorrowing  remnant  of  his  family,  and  converting  into  a 
pitifully  small  sum  his  few  remaining  possessions,  he  took 
passage  on  an  English  trader  and  sailed  for  the  mother- 
country,  to  begin  life  anew  among  those  whose  speech  and 
customs  were  most  familiar  to  him. 

He  settled  in  Seville,  where  the  elder  of  his  two  sons, 
Rafael  de  Rincon,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  was  studying  for  the  priest 
hood,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Archbishop.  There  he  estab 
lished  himself  in  the  wine  business,  associating  with  him  his 
second  son,  Carlos,  only  a  year  the  junior  of  his  brother.  But, 
broken  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  fortune,  he  made  little  headway, 
and  two  years  later  died  pitiably  in  poverty  and  obscurity. 

Through   the   influence   of   the    Archbishop,    the   business, 

13 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


which  Carlos  was  far  too  young  and  immature  to  conduct,  was 
absorbed  by  larger  interests,  and  the  young  lad  retained  as 
an  employe.  As  the  years  passed  the  boy  developed  sufficient 
commercial  ability  to  enable  him  to  retain  his  position  and 
to  extract  from  it  enough  to  provide  for  the  needs  of  himself 
and  his  dependents.  He  married,  late  in  life,  a  woman  whose 
family  had  fled  from  Cartagena  with  his  own  and  settled  in 
Seville.  She  was  but  a  babe  in  arms  at  the  time  of  the  exodus, 
and  many  years  his  junior.  A  year  after  the  marriage  a 
child  was  born  to  them,  a  son.  The  babe's  birth  was  premature, 
following  a  fright  which  the  mother  received  wrhen  attacked 
by  a  beggar.  But  the  child  lived.  And,  according  to  the 
honored  family  custom,  which  the  father  insisted  on  observing 
as  rigidly  in  Spain  as  it  had  been  formerly  in  Cartagena,  this 
son,  Jose  Francisco  Enrique  de  Rincon,  was  at  birth  conse 
crated  to  the  service  of  God  in  the  Holy  Catholic  Church. 


CHAPTER  3 

IF,  as  Thoreau  said,  "God  is  on  the  side  of  the  most  sensi 
tive,"  then  He  should  have  been  very  close  to  the  timid, 
irresolute  lad  in  Seville,  in  whom  the  softer  traits  of  char 
acter,  so  unexpectedly  developed  in  the  adventurous  founder 
of  the  Rincon  family,  now  stood  forth  so  prominently.  Somber, 
moody,  and  retiring;  delicately  sensitive  and  shrinking;  acutely 
honest,  even  to  the  point  of  morbidity;  deeply  religious  and 
passionately  studious,  writh  a  consuming  zeal  for  knowledge, 
and  an  unsatisfied  yearning  for  truth,  the  little  Jose  early  in 
life  presented  a  strange  medley  of  characteristics,  which  be 
spoke  a  need  of  the  utmost  care  and  wisdom  on  the  part  of 
those  who  should  have  the  directing  of  his  career.  Forced 
into  the  world  before  his  time,  and  strongly  marked  by  his 
mother's  fear;  afflicted  with  precarious  health,  and  subjected 
to  long  and  desperate  illnesses  in  childhood,  his  little  soul 
early  took  on  a  gloom  and  asceticism  wholly  unnatural  to 
youth.  Fear  was  constantly  instilled  into  his  acutely  receptive 
mind  by  his  solicitous,  doting  parents;  and  his  life  was  thereby 
stunted,  warped,  and  starved.  He  was  reared  under  the  con 
stant  reminder  of  the  baleful  effects  of  food,  of  air,  of  conduct, 
of  this  and  that  invisible  force  inimical  to  health;  and  terror 
and  anxiety  followed  him  like  a  ghost  and  turned  about  all 
his  boyish  memories.  Under  these  repressing  influences  his 
mind  could  not  but  develop  with  a  lack  of  stamina  for  self- 
support.  Hesitancy  and  vacillation  became  pronounced.  In 

14 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


time,  the  weight  of  any  important  decision  gave  him  acute, 
unendurable  agony  of  mind.  Galled  upon  to  decide  for  himself 
a  matter  of  import,  his  thought  would  become  confused,  his 
brain  torpid,  and  in  tears  and  perplexity  the  tormented  lad 
would  throw  himself  into  the  arms  of  his  anxious  parents 
and  beg  to  be  told  what  course  to  pursue. 

Thus  his  nature  grew  to  depend  upon  something  stronger 
than  itself  to  twine  about.  He  sought  it  in  his  schoolmates; 
but  they  misread  him.  The  little  acts  which  were  due  to  his 
keen  sensitiveness  or  to  his  exaggerated  reticence  of  disposition 
wrere  frequently  interpreted  by  them  as  affronts,  and  he  was 
generally  left  out  of  their  games,  or  avoided  entirely.  His 
playmates  consequently  became  fewer  and  more  transient  as 
the  years  gained  upon  him,  until  at  length,  trodden  upon,  but 
unable  to  turn,  he  withdrew  his  love  from  the  world  and 
bestowed  it  all  upon  his  anxious  mother.  She  became  his  only 
intimate,  and  from  her  alone  he  sought  the  affection  for  which 
he  yearned  with  an  intensity  that  he  could  not  express.  Shun 
ning  the  boisterous,  frolicking  children  at  the  close  of  the 
school  day,  he  would  seek  her,  and,  nestling  at  her  side,  her 
hand  clasped  in  his,  would  beg  her  to  talk  to  him  of  the 
things  with  which  his  childish  thought  was  struggling.  These 
were  many,  but  they  revolved  about  a  common  center — religion. 

The  salient  characteristics  already  mentioned  were  asso 
ciated  with  others,  equally  prominent,  and  no  less  influential 
in  the  shaping  of  his  subsequent  career.  With  the  develop 
ment  of  his  deep,  inward  earnestness  there  had  appeared 
indications  of  latent  powers  of  mind  that  were  more  than 
ordinary.  These  took  the  form  of  childish  precocity  in  his 
studies,  clearness  of  spiritual  vision,  and  maturity  in  his  con 
duct  and  mode  of  life.  The  stunting  of  his  physical  nature 
threw  into  greater  prominence  his  exaggerated  soul-qualities, 
his  tenderness,  his  morbid  conscientiousness,  and  a  profound 
emotionalism  which,  at  the  sight  of  a  great  painting,  or  the 
roll  of  the  Cathedral  organ,  would  flood  his  eyes  and  fill  his 
throat  with  sobs.  When  the  reckless  founder  of  the  family 
experienced  a  reversal  of  his  own  dark  traits  of  soul,  nearly 
three  centuries  before,  it  was  as  if  the  pendulum  had  swung 
too  far  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  at  the  extreme  point  of 
its  arc  had  left  the  little  Jose,  with  the  sterner  qualities  of  the 
old  Conquistador  wholly  neutralized  by  self-condemnation, 
fear,  infirmity  of  purpose,  a  high  degree  of  intellectuality,  and 
a  soul-permeating  religious  fervor. 

At  the  mention  of  religion  the  timid  lad  at  once  became 
passionate,  engrossed — nay,  obsessed.  In  his  boyhood  years, 
before  the  pall  of  somber  reticence  had  settled  over  him,  he  had 

2  15 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


been  impressed  with  the  majesty  of  the  Church  and  the 
gorgeousness  of  her  material  fabric.  The  religious  ideals  taught 
him  by  his  good  mother  took  deep  root.  But  the  day  arrived 
when  the  expansion  of  his  intellect  reached  such  a  point  as  to 
enable  him  to  detect  a  flaw  in  her  reasoning.  It  was  but  a 
little  rift,  yet  the  sharp  edge  of  doubt  slipped  in.  Alas!  from 
that  hour  he  ceased  to  drift  with  the  current  of  popular  theo 
logical  belief;  his  frail  bark  turned,  and  launched  out  upon 
the  storm-tossed  sea,  where  only  the  outstretched  hand  of 
the  Master,  treading  the  heaving  billows  through  the  thick 
gloom,  saved  it  at  length  from  destruction. 

The  hungry  lad  began  to  question  his  parents  incessantly 
regarding  the  things  of  the  spirit.  His  teachers  in  the  paro 
chial  school  he  plied  with  queries  which  they  could  not  meet. 
Day  after  day,  while  other  boys  of  his  tender  age  romped  in 
the  street,  he  would  steal  into  the  great  Cathedral  and  stand, 
pathetically  solitary,  before  the  statues  of  the  Christ  and  the 
Virgin  Mary,  yearning  over  the  problems  with  which  his 
childish  thought  was  struggling,  and  the  questions  to  which 
no  one  could  return  satisfying  replies. 

Here  again  the  boy  seemed  to  manifest  in  exaggerated  form 
the  reversed  characteristics  of  the  old  Conquistador.  But, 
unlike  that  of  the  pious  Juan,  the  mind  of  the  little  Jose  was 
not  so  simple  as  to  permit  it  to  accept  without  remonstrance 
the  tenets  of  his  family's  faith.  Blind  acceptance  of  any  teach 
ing,  religious  or  secular,  early  became  quite  impossible  to  him. 
This  entailed  many  an  hour  of  suffering  to  the  lad,  and  brought 
down  upon  his  little  head  severe  punishments  from  his  pre 
ceptors  and  parents.  But  in  vain  they  admonished  and  threat 
ened.  The  child  demanded  proofs;  and  if  proofs  were  not  at 
hand,  his  acceptance  of  the  mooted  teaching  was  but  tentative, 
generally  only  an  outward  yielding  to  his  beloved  mother's 
inexorable  insistence.  Many  the  test  papers  he  returned  to  his 
teachers  whereon  he  had  written  in  answer  to  the  questions 
set,  "I  am  taught  to  reply  thus;  but  in  my  heart  I  do  not  believe 
it."  Vainly  the  teachers  appealed  to  his  parents.  Futilely  the 
latter  pleaded  and  punished.  The  placid  receptiveness  of  the 
Rincon  mind,  which  for  more  than  three  hundred  years  had 
normally  performed  its  absorptive  functions  and  imbibed  the 
doctrines  of  its  accepted  and  established  human  authorities, 
without  a  trace  of  the  heresy  of  suspecting  their  genuineness, 
had  at  last  experienced  a  reversal.  True,  the  boy  had  been 
born  in  the  early  hours  of  nineteenth  century  doubt  and  re 
ligious  skepticism.  The  so-called  scientific  spirit,  buried  for 
ages  beneath  the  debris  of  human  conjecture,  was  painfully 
emerging  and  preening  its  wings  for  flight.  The  "higher 

16 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


criticism"  was  nascent,  and  ancient  traditions  were  already 
beginning  to  totter  on  the  foundations  which  the  Fathers  had 
set.  But  Spain,  close  wrapped  in  mediaeval  dreams,  had  suf 
fered  no  taint  of  "modernism."  The  portals  of  her  mind  were 
well  guarded  against  the  entrance  of  radical  thought,  and  her 
dreamers  were  yet  lulled  into  lethargic  adherence  to  outworn 
beliefs  and  musty  creeds  by  the  mesmerism  of  priestly  tradi 
tion.  The  peculiar  cast  of  mind  of  the  boy  Jose  was  not  the 
product  of  influences  from  without,  but  was  rather  an  exempli 
fication  of  the  human  mind's  reversion  to  type,  wherein  the 
narrow  and  bigoted  mentality  of  many  generations  had  ex 
panded  once  more  into  the  breadth  of  scope  and  untrammeled 
freedom  of  an  ancient  progenitor. 

As  the  boy  grew  older  his  ability  to  absorb  learning  in 
creased  astonishingly.  His  power  of  analysis,  his  keen  percep 
tion  and  retentive  memory  soon  advanced  him  beyond  the 
youths  of  his  own  age,  and  forced  him  to  seek  outside  the 
pale  of  the  schoolroom  for  the  means  to  satisfy  his  hunger 
for  knowledge.  He  early  began  to  haunt  the  bookstalls  of 
Seville,  and  day  after  day  would  stand  for  hours  searching  the 
treasures  which  he  found  there,  and  mulling  over  books  which 
all  too  frequently  were  anathema  to  the  orthodox.  Often  the 
owner  of  one  of  these  shops,  who  knew  the  lad's  parents,  and 
whose  interest  had  been  stirred  by  his  passion  for  reading, 
\vould  let  him  take  one  or  more  of  the  coveted  volumes  home 
over  night,  for  the  slender  family  purse  would  not  permit  him 
to  purchase  what  his  heart  craved.  Then  came  feasts  for  his 
famished  little  soul  which  often  lasted  until  daybreak. 

It  happened  one  evening  that,  when  he  crept  off  to  his  little 
room  to  peer  into  one  of  these  borrowed  treasures,  his  father 
followed  him.  Pushing  the  chamber  door  softly  open  the 
parent  found  the  boy  propped  against  his  pillow  in  bed,  ab 
sorbed  in  a  much-thumbed  volume  which  he  was  reading  by 
the  pale  light  of  the  single  candle. 

"Is  it  thus  that  you  deceive  your  poor  parents?"  the  fond 
father  began,  in  a  tone  of  mock  severity. 

The  startled  lad  stifled  a  cry  and  hastily  thrust  the  book 
beneath  his  pillow.  The  father's  interest  now  became  genuine. 
Leaning  over  the  terrified  boy  he  drew  forth  the  volume. 

"Voltaire!" 

The  doting  father  stood  petrified.  Voltaire,  Antichrist, 
Archfiend  of  impiety — and  in  the  hands  of  his  beloved  son! 

Sleep  fled  the  little  household  that  night.  In  his  father's 
arms,  while  the  distressed  mother  hung  over  them,  the  boy 
sobbed  out  his  confession.  He  had  not  intended  to  deceive. 
He  had  picked  up  this  book  in  the  stall  without  knowing  its 

17 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nature.  He  had  become  so  interested  in  what  it  said  about 
the  Virgin  Mary  that  he  forgot  all  else.  The  shopkeeper  had 
found  him  reading  it,  and  had  laughed  and  winked  at  his  clerk 
when  he  bade  the  boy  take  it  home  for  the  night.  The  book 
had  fascinated  him.  He  himself — did  not  his  father  know? — 
had  so  often  asked  how  the  Virgin  could  be  the  mother  of  God, 
and  why  men  prayed  to  her.  Yes,  he  knew  it  mocked  their 
faith — and  the  sacred  Scriptures.  He  knew,  too,  that  his  father 
wrould  not  approve  of  it.  That  was  why  he  had  tried  to  hide  it 
beneath  his  pillow.  He  had  been  wicked,  desperately  wicked, 
to  deceive  his  dear  parents — But  the  book — It  made  him  forget 
—It  said  so  many  things  that  seemed  to  be  true — And — and — 

"Oh,  padre  mio,  forgive  me,  forgive  me!  I  want  to  know 
the  truth  about  God  and  the  world!"  The  delicate  frame  of  the 
young  lad  shook  in  paroxysms  of  grief. 

Alas !  it  was  but  the  anguished  soul-cry  which  has  echoed 
through  the  halls  of  space  since  time  began.  What  a  mockery 
to  meet  it  with  empty  creed  and  human  dogma !  Alas !  what  a 
crime  against  innocence  to  stifle  the  honest  questionings  of  a 
budding  mind  with  the  musty  cloak  of  undemonstrable  beliefs. 

"But,  my  son,  have  I  not  often  told  you?  The  Holy  Church 
gives  us  the  truth,"  replied  the  father,  frightened  by  the  storm 
which  raged  within  the  childish  soul,  yet  more  alarmed  at 
the  turn  wrhich  the  mind  of  his  cherished  son  was  apparently 
taking — his  only  son,  dedicated  to  the  service  of  God  from  the 
cradle,  and  in  whom  the  shattered  hopes  of  this  once  proud 
family  were  now  centered. 

"But  this  book  laughs  at  us  because  we  pray  to  a  woman!" 
sobbed  the  boy. 

"True.  But  does  not  its  author  need  the  prayers  of  so  pure 
a  woman  as  the  Virgin?  Do -we  not  all  need  them?  And  is 
it  not  likely  that  one  so  good  as  she  would  have  great  influence 
with  God — much  greater  than  \ve  ourselves,  or  even  the  best 
of  men,  could  have?" 

"But  how  can  she  be  the  mother  of  God?  The  Bible  does 
not  teach  that!" 

"How  do  you  know  that  the  Bible  does  not  teach  it,  my 
son?" 

"I— I— have  read— the  Bible,"  faltered  the  lad. 

"You  have  read  the  Bible!"  cried  the  astonished  father. 
"And  where  have  you  done  that,  you  wicked  boy?" 

"At  the  bookstore  of  Mariano,"  confessed  the  trembling 
child. 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  burst  from  the  father,  as  he  started  to 
his  feet.  "Mariano  is  a  wicked  infidel!  The  Bishop  shall  hear 
of  this!  Ah,  well  may  the  Holy  Father  in  Rome  grieve  to  see 

18 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


his  innocent  babes  led  astray  by  these  servants  of  hell!  But, 
my  son,"  returning  to  the  boy  and  clasping  him  again  in  his 
arms,  "it  is  not  too  late.  The  Virgin  Mother  has  protected 
you.  You  meant  no  harm.  Satan  covets  your  pure  little  soul 
—But  he  shall  not  have  it!"  The  father's  tremulous  voice 
mounted  high,  "No,  by  the  Saints  in  heaven,  he  shall  not 
have  it!" 

The  boy's  assurance  slowly  returned  under  the  influence 
of  his  father's  tender  solicitude,  even  though  he  remained 
dimly  conscious  of  the  rift  widening  little  by  little  between  his 
parents'  settled  convictions  and  his  own  groping  thought. 
With  the  assuaging  of  his  grief  came  again  those  insistent 
questions  which  throughout  his  life  had  tormented  his  peace 
and  driven  him  even  to  the  doors  of  infidels  in  search  of  truth. 

"Father,"  he  began  timidly,  "why  was  I  wicked  to  read 
the  Bible?" 

"Because,  my  son,  in  doing  so  you  yielded  to  the  tempta 
tions  of  Satan.  The  Bible  is  a  great  and  mysterious  book, 
written  by  God  himself.  He  meant  it  to  be  explained  to  us  by 
the  Holy  Father,  who  is  the  head  of  the  Church  which  the  good 
Sajnt  Peter  founded.  We  are  not  great  enough  nor  good 
enough  to  understand  it.  The  Holy  Father,  who  cares  for 
God's  Church  on  earth,  he  is  good  enough,  and  he  alone  can 
interpret  it  to  us.  Satan  tries  to  do  with  all  men  just  what  he 
did  with  you,  my  child.  He  seeks  to  make  them  read  the  Bible 
so  that  he  can  confuse  them  and  rob  them  of  their  faith. 
Then  when  he  gets  possession  of  their  souls  he  drags  them 
down  with  him  to  hell,  where  they  are  lost  forever." 

"And  does  the  Holy  Father  really  believe  that  Mary  is  the 
mother  of  God?"  persisted  the  boy,  raising  his  tear-stained 
face. 

"Yes — is  she  not?  The  blessed  Saviour  said  that  he  and 
God  were  one.  And,  as  Mary  is  the  mother  of  Christ,  she  is 
also  the  mother  of  God — is  she  not?  Let  us  read  what  the 
good  Saint  John  Chrysostom  says."  He  rose  and  went  into 
another  room,  returning  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  little  volume. 
Taking  the  boy  again  on  his  knee,  he  continued,  "The  blessed 
Saint  tells  us  that  the  Virgin  Mary  was  made  the  mother  of 
God  in  order  that  she  might  obtain  salvation  for  many  who, 
on  account  of  their  wicked  lives,  could  not  be  saved,  because 
they  had  so  offended  divine  justice,  but  yet,  by  the  help  of 
her  sweet  mercy  and  mighty  intercession,  might  be  cleansed 
and  rendered  fit  for  heaven.  My  little  son,  you  have  always 
been  taught  that  Mary  is  heaven's  Queen.  And  so  she  is  ours, 
and  reigns  in  heaven  for  us.  Jesus  loves  to  have  her  close  to 
him,  and  he  can  never  refuse  her  requests.  He  always  grants 

19 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


what  she  asks.  And  that  is  the  reason  why  we  pray  to  her. 
She  never  forgets  us — never!" 

A  troubled  look  crossed  the  boy's  face.  Then  he  began 
anew.  "Father  dear,  God  made  everything,  did  He  not?  The 
Bible  says  that,  anyway." 

"Yes,  child." 

"Did  He  make  Satan?" 

The  father  hesitated.  The  child  hurried  on  under  the  lash 
of  his  holy  inquisitiveness.  "Father,  how  did  evil  come  into 
the  world?  Is  God  both  good  and  bad?  And  how  can  a  good 
God  punish  us  forever  for  sins  committed  here  in  only  a  few 
short  years?" 

"Ah,  queridito!"  cried  the  harassed  father.  "Such  ques 
tions  should  not  have  entered  your  little  head  for  years  to 
come!  Why  can  you  not  run  and  play  as  do  other  children? 
Why  are  you  not  happy  as  they  are?  Why  must  you  spend 
your  days  thinking  of  things  that  are  far  too  deep  for  you? 
Can  you  not  wait?  Some  day  you  shall  know  all.  Some  day, 
when  you  have  entered  the  service  of  God,  perhaps  you  may 
even  learn  these  things  from  the  Holy  Father  himself.  Then 
you  will  understand  how  the  good  God  lets  evil  tempt  us  in 
order  that  our  faith  in  Him  may  be  exercised  and  grow 
strong — 

"And  He  lets  Satan  harm  us  purposely?"  The  boy's  inno 
cent  dark  eyes  looked  up  appealingly  into  his  father's  face. 

"It  is  only  for  a  short  time,  little  son.  And  only  those  who 
are  never  fit  for  heaven  go  down  with  Satan.  But  you  are  not 
one  of  those,"  he  hastily  added,  straining  the  boy  to  him. 
"And  the  Masses  which  the  good  priests  say  for  us  will  lift  us 
out  of  purgatory  and  into  heaven,  where  the  streets  are  pure 
gold  and  the  gates  are  pearl.  And  there  we  will  all  live  to 
gether  for — " 

"Father,"  interrupted  the  boy,  "I  have  thought  of  these 
things  for  a  long,  long  time.  I  do  not  believe  them.  And  I  do 
not  wrish  to  become  a  priest." 

The  father  fell  silent.  It  was  one  of  those  tense  moments 
which  every  man  experiences  when  he  sees  a  withering  frost 
slowly  gathering  over  the  fondest  hopes  of  a  lifetime.  The 
family  of  Rincon,  aristocratic,  intensely  loyal  to  Church  and 
State,  had  willingly  laid  itself  upon  the  sacrificial  altar  in  defer 
ence  to  its  honored  traditions.  Custom  had  become  law.  Obe 
dience  of  son  to  parent  and  parent  to  Sovereign,  spiritual  or 
temporal,  had  been  the  guiding  star  of  the  family's  destinies. 
To  think  was  lawful;  but  to  hold  opinions  at  variance  with 
tradition  was  unspeakable  heresy.  Spontaneity  of  action  was 
commendable;  but  conduct  not  prescribed  by  King  or  Pope 

20 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  unpardonable  crime.  Loss  of  fortune,  of  worldly  power 
and  prestige,  were  as  nothing;  deviation  from  the  narrow  path 
trodden  by  the  illustrious  scions  of  the  great  Juan  was  every 
thing.  That  this  lad,  to  whom  had  descended  the  undying 
memories  of  a  long  line  of  glorious  defenders  of  kingly  and 
papal  power,  should  presume  to  shatter  the  sacred  Rincon 
traditions,  was  unbelievable.  It  was  none  other  than  the  work 
of  Satan.  The  boy  had  fallen  an  innocent  victim  to  the  devil's 
wiles. 

But  the  house  of  Rincon  had  withstood  the  assaults  of  the 
son  of  perdition  for  more  than  three  centuries.  It  would  not 
yield  now!  The  all-powerful  Church  of  Rome  stood  behind  it 
— and  the  gates  of  hell  could  not  prevail  against  her!  The 
Church  wrould  save  her  own.  Yes,  the  father  silently  argued, 
through  his  brother's  influence  the  case  should  be  laid  before 
His  Eminence,  the  Archbishop.  And,  if  need  be,  the  Holy 
Father  himself  should  be  called  upon  to  cast  the  devil  out  of 
this  tormented  child.  To  argue  with  the  boy  now  were  futile, 
even  dangerous.  The  lad  had  grown  up  with  full  knowledge 
of  his  parents'  fond  hopes  for  his  future.  He  had  never  openly 
opposed  them,  although  at  times  the  worried  mother  would 
voice  her  fears  to  the  father  when  her  little  son  brought  his 
perplexing  questions  to  her  and  failed  to  find  satisfaction. 
But  until  this  night  the  father  had  felt  no  alarm.  Indeed,  he 
had  looked  upon  the  child's  inquisitiveness  as  but  a  logical 
consequence  of  his  precocity  and  unusual  mental  powers,  in 
which  he  himself  felt  a  father's  swelling  pride.  To  his  thought 
it  augured  rapid  promotion  in  the  Church;  it  meant  in  time 
a  Cardinal's  hat.  Ah,  what  glorious  possibilities!  How  the 
prestige  of  the  now  sunken  family  would  soar!  Happily  he 
had  been  aroused  to  an  appreciation  of  the  boy's  really  des 
perate  state  in  time.  The  case  should  go  before  the  Arch 
bishop  to-morrow,  and  the  Church  should  hear  his  call  to 
hasten  to  the  rescue  of  this  wandering  lamb. 


CHAPTER  4 

SEVILLE  is  called  the  heart  of  Spain.     In  a  deeper  sense  it 
is  her  soul.     Within  it,  extremes  touch,  but  only  to  blend 
into    a    harmonious    unit    which    manifests    the    Spanish 
temperament  and  character  more  truly  there  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world.     In  its  Andalusian  atmosphere  the  religious 
instinct  of  the  Spaniard  reaches  its  fullest  embodiment.     True, 
its  bull-fights  are  gory  spectacles;  but  they  are  also  gorgeous 

21 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  solemn  ceremonies.  Its  ferias  are  tremendously  worldly; 
but  they  are  none  the  less  stupendous  religious  fetes.  Its 
picturesque  Easter  processions,  when  colossal  images  of  the 
Virgin  are  carried  among  bareheaded  and  kneeling  crowds, 
smack  of  paganism;  but  we  cannot  question  the  genuineness  of 
the  religious  fervor  thus  displayed.  Its  Cathedral  touches  the 
arena;  and  its  Archbishop  washes  the  feet  of  its  old  men.  Its 
religion  is  still  the  living  force  which  unites  and  levels,  exalts 
and  debases.  And  its  religion  is  Rome. 

On  the  fragrant  spring  morning  following  the  discovery  of 
the  execrated  Voltaire,  the  little  Jose,  tightly  clutching  his 
father's  hand,  threaded  the  narrow  Sierpes  and  crossed  the 
Prado  de  San  Sebastian,  once  the  Quemador,  where  the  Holy 
Inquisition  was  wont  to  purge  heresy  from  human  souls  with 
fire.  The  father  shuddered,  and  his  stern  face  grew  dark,  as 
he  thought  of  the  revolting  scenes  once  enacted  in  that  place 
in  the  name  of  Christ;  and  he  in\vardly  voiced  a  prayer  of 
gratitude  that  the  Holy  Office  had  ceased  to  exist.  Yet  he  knew 
that,  had  he  lived  in  that  day,  he  would  have  handed  his  beloved 
son  over  to  that  awful  institution  without  demurral,  ralher 
than  see  him  develop  those  heretical  views  which  were  already 
rising  from  the  soil  of  his  fertile,  inquisitive  mind. 

The  tinkling  of  a  bell  sounded  down  the  street.  Father  and 
son  quickly  doffed  their  hats  and  knelt  on  the  pavement,  while 
a  priest,  mounted  on  a  mule,  rode  swiftly  past  on  his  way  to 
the  bedside  of  a  dying  communicant,  the  flickering  lights  and 
jingling  bell  announcing  the  fact  that  he  bore  with  him  the 
Sacred  Host. 

"Please  God,  you  will  do  the  same  some  day,  my  son," 
murmured  the  father.  But  the  little  Jose  kept  his  eyes  to  the 
pavement,  and  would  make  no  reply. 

Meanwhile,  at  a  splendidly  carved  table  in  the  library  of 
his  palatial  residence,  surrounded  by  every  luxury  that  wealth 
and  ecclesiastical  influence  could  command,  the  Archbishop, 
pious  shepherd  of  a  restless  flock,  sat  with  clouded  brow  and 
heavy  heart.  The  festive  ceremonials  of  Easter  were  at  hand, 
and  the  Church  was  again  preparing  to  display  her  chief 
splendors.  But  on  the  preceding  Easter  disturbances  had  inter 
rupted  the  processions  of  the  Virgin;  and  already  rumors  had 
reached  the  ears  of  the  Archbishop  of  further  trouble  to  be 
incited  during  the  approaching  Holy  Week  by  the  growing  body 
of  skeptics  and  anticlericals.  To  what  extent  these  liberals 
had  assumed  the  proportions  of  a  propaganda,  and  how  active 
they  would  now  show  themselves,  were  questions  causing  the 
holy  man  deep  concern.  Heavy  sighs  escaped  him  as  he  voiced 
his  fears  to  his  sympathetic  secretary  and  associate,  Rafael  de 
Rincon,  the  gaunt,  ascetic  uncle  of  the  little  Jose. 

22 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Alas!"  he  murmured  gloomily.  "Since  the  day  that  our 
Isabella  yielded  to  her  heretic  ministers  and  thrust  aside  the 
good  Sister  Patrocinio,  Spain  has  been  in  a  perilous  state.  After 
that  unholy  act  the  dethronement  and  exile  of  the  Queen  were 
inevitable." 

"True,  Your  Eminence,"  replied  the  secretary.  "But  is 
there  no  cause  for  hope  in  the  elevation  of  her  son,  Alfonso,  to 
the  throne?" 

"He  is  but  seventeen — and  absent  from  Spain  six  years.  He 
lacks  the  force  of  his  talented  mother.  And  there  is  no  longer 
a  Sister  Patrocinio  to  command  the  royal  ear." 

"Unfortunate,  I  admit,  Your  Eminence.  She  bore  the 
stigmata,  the  very  marks  of  our  Saviour's  wounds,  imprinted 
on  her  flesh,  and  worked  his  miracles.  But,  in  Alfonso — " 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  the  Archbishop  impatiently;  "he  has 
styled  himself  the  first  Republican  in  Europe.  He  will  make 
Catholicism  the  state  religion;  but  he  will  extend  religious  tol 
eration  to  all.  He  is  consumptive  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body. 
And  the  army — alas!  what  may  we  look  for  from  it  when 
soldiers  like  this  Polo  Hernandez  refuse  to  kneel  during  the 
Mass?" 

"The  man  has  been  arrested,  Your  Eminence,"  the  secretary 
offered  in  consolation. 

"But  the  court-martial  acquitted  him!" 

"True.  Yet  he  has  now  been  summoned  before  the  supreme 
court  in  Madrid." 

The  Archbishop's  face  brightened  somewhat.  "And  the 
result — what  think  you?" 

The  secretary  shrugged  his  drooping  shoulders.  "They  will 
condemn  him." 

Yes,  doubtless  he  would  be  condemned,  for  mediaevalism 
dies  hard  in  Spain.  But  the  incident  was  portentous,  and  the 
Archbishop  and  his  keen  secretary  heard  in  it  an  ominous  echo. 

A  servant  appeared  at  the  heavy  portieres,  and  at  a  sign 
from  the  secretary  ushered  Jose  and  his  father  into  the  august 
presence  awaiting  them. 

An  hour  later  the  pair  emerged  from  the  palace  and  started 
homeward.  His  Eminence,  rousing  himself  from  the  profound 
revery  in  which  he  had  been  sunk  for  some  moments,  turned 
to  his  expectant  secretary. 

"A  Luther  in  embryo!"  he  ejaculated. 

"I  feared  as  much,  Your  Eminence,"  returned  the  austere 
secretary. 

"And  yet,  a  remarkable  intellect!  Astonishing  mental 
power!  But  all  tainted  with  the  damnable  so-called  scientific 
spirit!" 

23 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"True,  Your  Eminence." 

"But  marked  you  not  his  deep  reverence  for  God?  And  his 
sturdy  honesty?  And  how,  despite  his  embarrassment,  the 
religious  zeal  of  his  soul  shown  forth?" 

"He  is  morbidly  honest,  Your  Grace." 

"A  trait  I  wish  we  might  employ  to  our  own  advantage," 
mused  the  churchman.  Then,  continuing,  "He  is  learned  far 
beyond  his  years.  Indeed,  his  questions  put  me  to  some  stress 
—but  only  for  the  difficulty  of  framing  replies  intelligible  to  a 
mind  so  immature,"  he  added  hastily.  "Either  he  feared  my 
presence,  or  he  is  naturally  shrinking." 

"He  is  so  by  nature,  Your  Eminence." 

The  Archbishop  reflected.  "Naive — pure — simple — mature, 
yet  childish.  Have  we  covered  the  ground?" 

"Not  fully,  Your  Eminence.  We  omitted  to  mention  his 
absorbing  filial  devotion." 

"True.    And  that,  you  tell  me,  is  most  pronounced." 

"It  is  his  strongest  characteristic,  Your  Eminence.  He  has 
no  will  to  oppose  it." 

"Would  that  his  devotion  were  for  Holy  Church!"  sighed 
the  Archbishop. 

"I  think  it  may  be  so  directed,  Your  Eminence,"  quickly 
returned  the  secretary. 

"But — would  he  ever  consent  to  enter  the  priesthood?  And 
once  in,  would  he  not  prove  a  most  dangerous  element?" 

The  secretary  made  a  deprecating  gesture.  "If  I  may  sug 
gest,  such  a  man  as  he  promises  to  become  is  far  more  danger 
ous  outside  of  the  Church  than  within,  Your  Eminence." 

The  Archbishop  studied  the  man's  face  for  a  few  moments. 
"There  is  truth  in  your  words,  my  friend.  Yet  how,  think  you, 
may  he  be  secured?" 

"Your  Eminence,"  replied  the  secretary  warmly,  "pardon 
these  suggestions  in  matters  where  you  are  far  better  fitted  to 
pass  sound  judgment  than  a  humble  servant  of  the  Church  like 
myself.  But  in  this  case  intimacy  with  my  brother's  family 
affords  me  data  which  may  be  serviceable  in  bringing  this 
matter  to  a  conclusion.  If  I  may  be  permitted — " 

The  Archbishop  nodded  an  unctuous  and  patronizing  appre 
ciation  of  his  elderly  secretary's  position,  and  the  latter  con 
tinued — 

"Your  Eminence,  Holy  Week  is  approaching,  and  we  are 
beset  with  fears  lest  the  spirit  of  heresy  which,  alas!  is  abroad 
in  our  fair  city,  shall  manifest  itself  in  such  disturbances  as 
may  force  us  to  abandon  these  religious  exercises  in  future.  I 
need  not  point  out  the  serious  nature  of  these  demonstrations. 
Nor  need  I  suggest  that  their  relative  unimportance  last  year 

24 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


was  due  solely  to  lack  of  strong  leadership.  Already  our  sol 
diers  begin  to  refuse  to  kneel  during  the  Mass.  The  Holy 
Church  is  not  yet  called  upon  to  display  her  weapons.  But 
who  shall  say  to  what  measures  she  may  not  be  forced  when  an 
able  and  fearless  leader  shall  arise  among  the  heretics?  To 
day  there  has  stood  before  Your  Eminence  a  lad  possessing, 
in  my  opinion,  the  latent  qualifications  for  such  leadership. 
I  say,  latent.  I  use  the  term  advisedly,  for  I  know  that  he 
appears  to  manifest  the  Rincon  lack  of  decision.  But  so  did  I 
at  his  age.  And  who  can  say  when  the  unfolding  of  his  other 
powers,  now  so  markedly  indicated,  may  not  force  the  develop 
ment  of  those  certain  traits  of  character  in  which  he  now 
seems  deficient,  but  which,  developed,  would  make  him  a 
power  in  the  world?  Shall  the  Church  permit  this  promising 
lad  to  stray  from  her,  possibly  later  to  join  issue  with  her 
enemies  and  use  his  great  gifts  to  propagate  heresy  and  assault 
her  foundations?  Are  we  faithful  to  our  beloved  Mother  if  we 
do  not  employ  every  means,  foul  or  fair,  to  destroy  her  enemies, 
even  in  the  cradle?  Remember,  'He  who  gains  the  youth, 
possesses  the  future,'  as  the  saying  goes." 

"Loyally  spoken,  faithful  son,"  replied  the  Archbishop, 
shifting  into  a  more  comfortable  position.  "And  you  sug 
gest—?" 

"This:  that  we  wisely  avail  ourselves  of  his  salient  charac 
teristics — his  weaknesses,  if  you  wish — and  secure  him  now 
to  the  Church." 

"And,  more  specifically — ?"  with  increasing  animation. 

"Your  Eminence  is  already  aware  of  the  custom  in  our 
family  of  consecrating  the  first-born  son  to  the  service  of  God. 
This  boy  has  been  so  consecrated  from  birth.  It  is  the  dearest 
hope  of  his  parents.  At  present  their  wishes  are  still  his  law. 
Their  judgments  yet  formulate  his  conduct.  His  sense  of  honor 
is  acute.  Your  Eminence  can  see  that  his  word  is  sacred. 
His  oath  once  taken  would  bind  him  eternally.  //  is  for  us  to 
secure  that  oath!" 

"And  how?"     The  Archbishop  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"We,  cooperating  with  his  parents,  will  cater  to  his  con 
suming  passion  for  learning,  and  offer  him  the  education  which 
the  limited  resources  of  his  family  cannot  provide.  We  save 
him  from  the  drudgery  of  commercialism,  and  open  to  him  the 
life  of  the  scholar.  We  suggest  to  him  a  career  consecrated 
to  study  and  holy  service.  The  Church  educates  him — he 
serves  his  fellowr-men  through  her.  Once  ordained,  his  char 
acter  is  such,  I  believe,  that  he  could  never  become  an  apostate. 
And,  whatever  his  services  to  Holy  Church  may  be  there 
after,  she  at  least  will  have  effectually  disposed  of  a  possible  op- 

25 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ponent.  She  has  all  to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose  by  such  pro 
cedure.  Unless  I  greatly  mistake  the  Rincon  character,  the  lad 
will  yield  to  our  inducements  and  his  mother's  prayers,  the 
charm  of  the  Church  and  the  bias  of  her  tutelage,  and  ulti 
mately  take  the  oath  of  ordination.  After  that — " 

"My  faithful  adviser,"  interrupted  the  Archbishop  genially, 
as  visions  of  the  Cardinal's  hat  for  eminent  services  hovered 
before  him,  "write  immediately  to  Monsignor,  Rector  of  the 
Seminario,  in  Rome.  Say  that  he  must  at  once  receive,  at  our 
expense  and  on  our  recommendation,  a  lad  of  twelve,  who 
greatly  desires  to  be  trained  for  the  priesthood." 


CHAPTER  5 

THUS  did  the  Church  open  her  arms  to  receive  her  wander 
ing  child.  Thus  did  her  infallible  wisdom,  as  expressed 
through  her  zealous  agents  in  Seville,  essay  to  solve  the 
perplexing  problems  of  this  agitated  little  mind,  and  whisper 
to  its  confused  throbbing,  "Peace,  be  still."  The  final  disposi 
tion  came  to  the  boy  not  without  some  measure  of  relief,  despite 
his  protest.  The  long  days  of  argument  and  pleading,  of  assur 
ance  that  within  the  Church  he  should  find  abundant  and 
satisfactory  answers  to  his  questions,  and  of  explanations  which 
he  was  adjured  to  receive  on  faith  until  such  time  as  he  might 
be  able  to  prove  their  soundness,  had  utterly  exhausted  his 
sensitive  little  soul,  and  left  him  without  the  combative  energy 
or  will  for  further  remonstrance. 

Nor  was  the  conflict  solely  a  matching  of  his  convictions 
against  the  desires  of  his  parents  and  the  persuasions  of  the 
Archbishop  and  his  loyal  secretary.  The  boy's  hunger  for 
learning  alone  might  have  caused  him  to  yield  to  the  lure  of  a 
broad  education.  Moreover,  his  nature  contained  not  one  ele 
ment  of  commercialism.  The  impossibility  of  entering  the  wine 
business  with  his  father,  or  of  spending  his  life  in  physical 
toil  for  a  bare  maintenance,  was  as  patent  to  himself,  even  at 
that  early  age,  as  to  his  parents.  His  bent  was  wholly  intel 
lectual.  But  he  knew  that  his  father  could  not  afford  him  an 
education.  Yet  this  the  Church  now  offered  freely.  Again, 
his  nature  was  essentially  religious.  The  Church  now  ex 
tended  all  her  learning,  all  her  vast  resources,  all  her  spiritual 
power,  to  develop  and  foster  this  instinct.  Nay,  more,  to  pro 
tect  and  guide  its  development  into  right  channels. 

The  fact,  too,  that  the  little  Jose  was  a  child  of  extreme 
emotions  must  not  be  overlooked  in  an  estimate  of  the  influ- 

26 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ences  which  bore  upon  him  during  these  trying  days.  His 
devotion  to  an  object  upon  which  he  had  set  his  affections 
amounted  to  obsession.  He  adored  his  parents — reverenced  his 
father — worshiped  his  mother.  The  latter  he  was  wont  to 
compare  to  the  flowers,  to  the  bright-plumed  birds,  to  the 
butterflies  that  hovered  in  the  sunlight  of  their  little  patio.  He 
indited  childish  poems  to  her,  and  likened  her  in  purity  and 
beauty  to  the  angels  and  the  Virgin  Mary.  Her  slightest  wish 
was  his  inflexible  law.  Not  that  he  was  never  guilty  of  childish 
faults  of  conduct,  of  little  whims  of  stubbornness  and  petu 
lance;  but  his  character  rested  on  a  foundation  of  honesty, 
sincerity,  and  filial  love  that  was  never  shaken  by  the  summer 
storms  of  naughtiness  which  at  times  made  their  little  dis 
turbances  above. 

The  parents  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  tired  child 
at  last  bowed  to  their  wishes  and  accepted  the  destiny  thrust 
upon  him.  The  coming  of  a  son  to  these  loyal  royalists  and 
zealous  Catholics  had  meant  the  imposition  of  a  sacred  trust. 
That  he  was  called  to  high  service  in  the  Church  of  God  was 
evidenced  by  Satan's  early  and  malicious  attacks  upon  him. 
There  was  but  one  course  for  them  to  pursue,  and  they  did  not 
for  a  moment  question  its  soundness.  To  their  thought,  this 
precocious  child  lacked  the  wisdom  and  balance  which  comes 
only  with  years.  The  infallible  Church,  their  all-wise  spiritual 
guide,  supported  their  contentions.  What  they  did  was  for 
her  and  for  the  eternal  welfare  of  the  boy.  Likewise,  for  the 
maintenance  of  family  pride  and  honor  in  a  generation  tainted 
with  liberalism  and  distrust  of  the  sacred  traditions. 

The  Church,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  august  person  of  the 
Archbishop,  had  accomplished  a  triumph.  She  had  recognized 
the  child's  unusual  gifts  of  mind,  and  had  been  alert  to  the 
dangers  they  threatened.  If  secured  to  herself,  and  their  de 
velopment  carefully  directed,  they  would  mold  him  into  her 
future  champion.  If,  despite  her  careful  weeding  and  pruning, 
they  expanded  beyond  the  limits  which  she  set,  they  should  be 
stifled!  The  peculiar  and  complex  nature  of  the  child  offered 
her  a  tremendous  advantage.  For,  if  reactionary,  his  own 
highly  developed  sense  of  honor,  together  with  his  filial  devo 
tion  and  his  intense  family  pride,  should  of  themselves  be 
forced  to  choke  all  activity  in  the  direction  of  apostasy  and 
liberalism.  Heaven  knew,  the  Church  could  not  afford  to 
neglect  any  action  which  promised  to  secure  for  her  a  loyal 
son;  or,  failing  that,  at  least  effectually  check  in  its  incipiency 
the  development  of  a  threatened  opponent!  Truly,  as  the 
astute  secretary  had  said,  this  boy  might  prove  troublesome 
within  the  fold;  but  he  might  also  prove  more  dangerous  with- 

27 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


out.  Verily,  it  was  a  triumph  for  the  cause  of  righteousness! 
And  after  the  final  disposition,  the  good  Archbishop  had  sat 
far  into  the  night  in  the  comfort  of  his  sanctum,  drowsing 
over  his  pleasant  meditations  on  the  rewards  which  his  un 
flagging  devotion  to  the  cause  of  Holy  Church  was  sure  some 
day  to  bring. 

Time  sped.  The  fragrant  Sevillian  spring  melted  into  sum 
mer,  and  summer  merged  with  fall.  The  Rincon  family  was 
adjusting  itself  to  the  turn  in  the  career  of  its  heir,  the  guar 
dian  and  depository  of  its  revived  hopes.  During  the  weeks 
which  intervened  between  his  first  interview  with  the  Arch 
bishop  and  his  final  departure  for  Rome,  Jose  had  been  carefully 
prepared  by  his  uncle,  who  spared  no  effort  to  stimulate  in  the 
boy  a  proper  appreciation  of  his  high  calling.  He  was  taught 
that  as  a  priest  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  he  would  become 
a  representative  of  the  blessed  Christ  among  men.  His  mission 
would  be  to  carry  on  the  Saviour's  work  for  the  salvation  of 
souls,  and,  with  the  power  of  Christ  and  in  His  name,  to  in 
struct  mankind  in  true  beliefs  and  righteous  conduct.  He 
would  forgive  sins,  impose  penalties,  and  offer  sacrificial  atone 
ment  in  the  body  of  the  Saviour — in  a  word,  he  was  to  become 
sacerdos  alter  Christus,  another  Christ.  His  training  for  this 
exalted  work  would  cover  a  period  of  six  or  eight  years,  per 
haps  longer,  and  would  fit  him  to  become  a  power  among  men, 
a  conserver  of  the  sacred  faith,  and  an  ensample  of  the  highest 
morality. 

"Ah,  sobrinito,"  the  sharp-visaged,  gray-haired  uncle  had 
said,  "truly  a  fortunate  boy  are  you  to  hear  this  grandest  of 
opportunities  knocking  at  your  door!  A  priest — a  God!  Nay, 
even  more  than  God,  for  as  priest  God  gives  you  power  over 
Himself!" 

The  boy's  wondering  eyes  widened,  and  a  look  of  mingled 
confusion  and  astonishment  came  into  his  wan  face.  "I  do 
not  see,  tio  mio — I  do  not  see,"  he  murmured. 

"But  you  shall,  you  shall!  And  you  shall  understand  the 
awful  responsibility  which  God  thus  reposes  upon  you,  when 
He  gives  you  power  to  do  greater  things  than  He  did  when  He 
created  the  world.  You  shall  command  the  Christ,  and  He 
shall  come  down  at  your  bidding.  Ah,  chiquito,  a  fortunate 
boy!"  But  the  lad  turned  wearily  away,  without  sharing  his 
uncle's  enthusiasm. 

The  day  before  his  departure  Jose  was  again  conducted  be 
fore  the  Archbishop,  and  after  listening  to  a  lengthly  resume 
of  what  the  Church  was  about  to  do  for  him,  and  what  she 
expected  in  return,  two  solemn  vows  were  exacted  from  him — 

"First,"  announced  the  uncle,  in  low,  deliberate  tones,  "you 

28 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


will  solemnly  promise  your  mother  and  your  God  that,  daily 
praying  to  be  delivered  from  the  baneful  influences  which  now 
cause  doubt  and  questioning  in  your  mind,  and  refraining  from 
voicing  them  to  your  teachers  or  fellow-students,  you  will  strive 
to  accept  all  that  is  taught  you  in  Rome,  deferring  every  en 
deavor  to  prove  the  teachings  you  are  to  receive  until  the  end 
of  your  long  course,  when,  by  training  and  discipline,  you 
shall  have  so  developed  in  goodness,  purity,  and  power,  that 
you  shall  be  found  worthy  to  receive  spiritual  confirmation  of 
the  great  tenets  upon  which  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  Church 
has  been  founded  and  reared." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  to  catch  his  breath  and  let  his 
portentous  words  sink  into  the  quivering  brain  of  the  lad  before 
him.  Then  he  resumed — 

"Second,  keeping  ever  in  mind  your  debt  of  gratitude  to  the 
Church,  you  promise  faithfully  to  finish  your  course,  and  at 
the  end  offer  yourself  to  the  service  of  God  in  the  holy  priest 
hood." 

The  solemn  hush  that  lay  over  the  room  when  he  finished 
was  broken  only  by  the  muffled  sobs  of  the  mother. 

Tender  in  years,  plunged  into  grief  at  the  impending  separa 
tion  from  home  and  all  that  he  held  dear,  the  boy  knelt  before 
the  secretary  and  gave  his  trembling  word  to  observe  these 
obligations.  Then,  after  he  had  kissed  the  Bible  and  the  Arch 
bishop's  extended  hand,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  floor  in  a 
torrent  of  tears. 

On  the  following  morning,  a  bright,  sparkling  November 
day,  the  little  Jose,  spent  with  emotion,  tore  himself  from  his 
mother's  clinging  embrace  and  set  out  for  Rome,  accompanied 
by  his  solicitous  uncle. 

"And,  queridito,"  were  the  mother's  last  words,  "I  have 
your  promise  that  never  will  you  voluntarily  leave  the  Church?" 

The  appeal  which  his  beseeching  look  carried  back  to  her 
was  not  granted.  He  slowly  bowed  his  acquiescence,  and 
turned  away.  A  week  later  he  had  entered  upon  the  retreat 
with  which  the  school  year  opens  in  the  Seminario. 


CHAPTER  6 

OME,  like  a  fallen  gladiator,  spent  and  prostrate  on  the 
Alban  hills,  still  awaits  the  issue  of  the  conflict  between 
the  forces  of  life  and  death  within.  Dead,  where  the 
blight  of  pagan  and  mediaeval  superstition  has  eaten  into  the 
quivering  tissues;  it  lives  where  the  pulsing  current  of  modern- 


R 


29 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ism  expands  its  shrunken  arteries  and  bears  the  nourishing 
truth.  Though  eternal  in  tradition  and  colossal  in  material 
achievement,  the  glory  of  the  Imperial  City  nevertheless  rests 
on  a  foundation  of  perishable  human  ambitions,  creeds,  and 
beliefs,  manifested  outwardly  for  a  time  in  brilliant  deeds,  great 
edifices,  and  comprehensive  codes,  but  always  bearing  within 
themselves  the  seeds  of  their  own  decay.  No  trophy  brought 
to  her  gates  in  triumph  by  the  Caesars  ever  approached  in 
worth  the  simple  truth  with  which  Paul  of  Tarsus,  chained  to 
his  jailer,  illumined  his  gloomy  dungeon.  Had  the  religious 
principles  which  he  and  his  devoted  associates  labored  so  un 
selfishly  to  impart  to  a  benighted  world  for  its  own  good  been 
recognized  by  Rome  as  the  "pearl  without  price,"  she  would 
have  built  upon  them  as  foundation  stones  a  truer  glory,  and 
one  which  would  have  drawrn  the  nations  of  the  earth  to 
worship  within  her  walls.  But  Rome,  in  her  master,  Constan- 
tine,  saw  only  the  lure  of  a  temporal  advantage  to  be  gained 
by  fettering  the  totally  misunderstood  teachings  of  Jesus  with 
the  shackles  of  organized  politics.  From  this  unhallowed 
marriage  of  religion  and  statecraft  was  born  that  institution, 
unlike  either  parent,  yet  exhibiting  modified  characteristics  of 
each,  the  Holy  Church.  To  this  institution,  now  mighty  in 
material  riches  and  power,  but  still  mediaeval  in  character, 
despite  the  assaults  of  centuries  of  progress,  a  combination  of 
political  maneuver,  bigotry,  and  weakness  committed  the  young 
Jose,  tender,  sensitive,  receptive,  and  pure,  to  be  trained  as  an 
agent  to  further  its  world-embracing  policies. 

The  retreat  upon  which  the  boy  at  once  entered  on  his 
arrival  at  the  seminary  extended  over  ten  days.  During  this 
time  there  were  periods  of  solitary  meditation — hours  when 
his  lonely  heart  cried  out  in  anguish  for  his  beloved  mother — 
visits  to  the  blessed  sacrament,  recitations  of  the  office,  and 
consultations  with  his  spiritual  advisers,  at  which  times  his 
promises  to  his  parents  and  the  Archbishop,  coupled  with  his 
natural  reticence  and  the  embarrassment  occasioned  by  his 
strange  environment,  sealed  his  lips  and  prevented  the  voicing 
of  his  honest  questions  and  doubts.  It  was  sought  through 
this  retreat  to  so  bring  the  lad  under  the  influence  of  the  great 
religious  teachings  as  to  most  deeply  impress  his  heart  and 
mind  with  the  importance  of  the  seminary  training  upon  which 
he  had  entered.  His  day  began  with  the  dreaded  meditation  at 
five  in  the  morning,  followed  by  hearing  the  Mass  and  receiving 
Communion.  It  closed,  after  study  and  class  work,  with  an 
other  visit  to  the  blessed  sacrament,  recital  of  the  Rosary, 
spiritual  reading,  and  prayer.  On  Sundays  he  assisted  at 
solemn  High  Mass  in  the  church  of  the  Seminario  Pio.  One 

30 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


day  a  week  was  a  holiday;  but  only  in  the  sense  that  it  was 
devoted  to  visiting  hospitals  and  charitable  institutions,  in 
order  to  acquire  practical  experience  and  a  foretaste  of  his 
future  work  among  the  sick  and  needy.  Clad  in  his  little  violet 
cassock,  low-crowned,  three-cornered  hat,  and  soprana,  he 
might  be  seen  on  these  holidays  trotting  along  with  his  fellow- 
students  in  the  wake  of  their  superior,  his  brow  generally  con 
tracted,  and  his  childish  face  seldom  lighted  by  a  happy  smile. 

The  first  year  passed  without  special  incident.  The  boy, 
filled  with  that  quenchless  ambition  to  know,  which  charac 
terizes  the  finest  minds,  entered  eagerly  upon  his  studies  and 
faithfully  observed  his  promises.  If  his  tender  soul  warped 
and  his  fresh,  receptive  mind  shriveled  under  the  religious 
tutelage  he  received,  no  one  but  himself  knew  it,  not  even  his 
fond  mother,  as  she  clasped  him  again  in  her  arms  when  he 
returned  home  for  the  first  summer  vacation.  With  the  second 
year  there  began  studies  of  absorbing  interest  to  the  boy,  and 
the  youthful  mind  fed  hungrily.  This  seemed  to  have  the  effect 
of  expanding  somewhat  his  self-contained  little  soul.  He  ap 
peared  to  grow  out  of  himself  to  a  certain  extent,  to  become 
less  timid,  less  reticent,  even  more  sociable;  and  when  he 
returned  to  Seville  again  at  the  close  of  the  year  he  had  ap 
parently  lost  much  of  the  somberness  of  disposition  which  had 
previously  characterized  him.  The  Archbishop  examined  him 
closely;  but  the  boy,  speaking  little,  gave  no  hint  of  the  inner 
working  of  his  thought;  and  if  his  soul  seethed  and  fermented 
within,  the  Rincon  pride  and  honor  covered  it  with  a  placid 
demeanor  and  a  bearing  of  outward  calm.  When  the  interview 
ended  and  the  lad  had  departed,  the  Archbishop  descended  to 
the  indignity  of  roundly  slapping  his  ascetic  secretary  on  his 
emaciated  back,  as  an  indication  of  triumphant  joy.  The  boy 
certainly  was  being  charmed  into  deep  devotion  to  the  Church! 
He  was  fast  being  bound  to  her  altars!  Again  the  glorious 
spectacle  of  the  Church  triumphant  in  molding  a  wavering 
youth  into  a  devoted  son! 

Four  years  passed  thus,  almost  in  silence  on  the  boy's  part. 
Yet  his  character  suffered  little  change.  At  home  he  strove 
to  avoid  all  mention  of  the  career  upon  which  he  was  entering, 
although  he  gave  slight  indication  of  dissatisfaction  with  it. 
He  was  punctilious  in  his  attendance  upon  religious  services; 
but  to  have  been  otherwise  would  have  brought  sorrow  to  his 
proud,  happy  parents.  His  days  were  spent  in  complete  ab 
sorption  in  his  books,  or  in  writing  in  his  journal.  The  latter 
he  had  begun  shortly  before  entering  the  seminary,  and  it  was 
destined  to  exert  a  profound  influence  upon  his  life.  Often 
his  parents  would  playfully  urge  him  to  read  to  them  from  it; 

31 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


but  the  boy,  devotedly  obedient  and  filial  in  every  other  respect, 
steadfastly  begged  permission  to  refuse  these  requests.  In  this 
little  whim  the  fond  parents  humored  him,  and  he  was  left 
largely  alone  to  his  books  and  his  meditations. 

During  Jose's  fourth  summer  vacation  a  heavy  sorrow  sud 
denly  fell  upon  him  and  plunged  him  into  such  an  excess  of 
grief  that  it  was  feared  his  mind  would  give  way.  His  revered 
father,  advanced  in  years,  and  weakened  by  overwork  and 
business  worries,  succumbed  to  the  malaria  so  prevalent  in 
Seville  during  the  hot  months  and  passed  away,  after  a  brief 
illness.  The  blow  descended  writh  terrific  force  upon  the  mor 
bidly  disposed  lad.  It  was  his  first  intimate  experience  with 
death.  For  days  after  the  solemn  events  of  the  mourning  and 
funeral  he  sat  as  one  stunned,  holding  his  mother's  hand  and 
staring  dumbly  into  space;  or  for  hours  paced  to  and  fro  in 
the  little  patio,  his  face  rigidly  set  and  his  eyes  fixed  vacantly 
on  the  ground  beneath.  The  work  of  four  years  in  opening 
his  mind,  in  expanding  his  thought,  in  drawing  him  out  of  his 
habitual  reticence  and  developing  within  him  the  sense  of 
companionship  and  easy  tolerance,  was  at  one  stroke  rendered 
null.  Brought  face  to  face  with  the  grim  destroyer,  all  the 
doubt  and  confusion  of  former  years  broke  the  bounds  which 
had  held  them  in  abeyance  and  returned  upon  him  with  in 
creased  insistence.  Never  before  had  he  felt  so  keenly  the 
impotence  of  mortal  man  and  the  futility  of  worldly  strivings. 
Never  had  he  seen  so  clearly  the  fatal  defects  in  the  accepted 
interpretation  of  Christ's  mission  on  earth.  His  earlier  ques 
tionings  returned  in  violent  protests  against  the  emptiness  of 
the  beliefs  and  formalities  of  the  Church.  In  times  past  he 
had  voiced  vague  and  dimly  outlined  perceptions  of  her  spirit 
ual  needs.  But  now  to  him  these  needs  had  suddenly  taken 
definite  form.  Jesus  had  healed  the  sick  of  all  manner  of 
disease.  He  himself  was  being  trained  to  represent  the  Christ 
on  earth.  Would  he,  too,  be  taught  to  heal  the  sick  as  the 
Master  had  done?  The  blessed  Saviour  said,  "The  works  that 
I  do,  ye  shall  do  also."  But  the  priests,  his  representatives, 
clearly  were  not  doing  the  works  of  the  Master.  And  if  he 
himself  had  been  an  ordained  priest  at  the  time  of  his  father's 
death,  could  he  have  saved  him?  No,  he  well  knew  that  he 
could  not.  And  yet  he  would  have  been  the  Saviour's  repre 
sentative  among  men.  Alas !  how  poor  a  one  he  well  knew. 

In  his  stress  of  mind  he  sought  his  uncle,  and  by  him  was 
again  led  before  the  Archbishop.  His  reticence  and  timidity 
dispersed  by  his  great  sorrow,  the  distraught  boy  faced  the  high 
ecclesiastic  with  questions  terribly  blunt. 

"Why,  my  Father,  after  four  years  in  the  Seminario,  am  I 

32 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


not  being  taught  to  do  the  works  which  our  blessed  Saviour 
did?" 

The  placid  Archbishop  stared  at  the  boy  in  dumb  astonish 
ment.  Again,  after  years  of  peace  that  had  promised  quiescence 
on  these  mooted  points!  Well,  he  must  buckle  on  his  armor 
— if  indeed  he  had  not  outgrown  it  quite — and  prepare  to  with 
stand  anew  the  assaults  of  the  devil! 

"H'm! — to  be  specific,  my  son — you  mean—?"  The  great 
man  was  sparring. 

"Why  do  we  not  heal  the  sick  as  he  did?"  the  boy  explained 
tersely. 

"Ah!"  The  peace-loving  man  of  God  breathed  easier.  How 
simple!  The  devil  was  firing  a  cracked  blunderbuss. 

"My  son,"  he  advanced  with  paternal  unction,  "you  have 
been  taught — or  should  have  been,  ere  this — that  the  healing 
miracles  of  our  blessed  Saviour  belong  to  a  dispensation  long 
past.  They  were  special  signs  from  God,  given  at  the  time  of 
establishing  His  Church  on  earth,  to  convince  an  incredulous 
multitude.  They  are  not  needed  now.  We  convince  by  logic 
and  reason  and  by  historical  witnesses  to  the  deeds  of  the 
Saints  and  our  blessed  Saviour."  As  he  pronounced  this  sacred 
name  the  holy  man  devoutly  crossed  himself.  "Men  would 
believe  no  more  readily  to-day,"  he  added  easily,  "even  if  they 
should  see  miracles  of  healing,  for  they  would  attribute  them 
to  the  human  mentality,  to  suggestion,  hypnotism,  hallucina 
tion,  and  the  like.  Even  the  mighty  deeds  of  Christ  were 
attributed  to  Beelzebub."  The  complacent  Father  settled  back 
into  his  chair  with  an  air  of  having  disposed  for  all  time  of 
the  mooted  subject  of  miracles. 

"That  begs  the  question,  my  Father!"  returned  the  boy 
quickly  and  excitedly.  "And  as  I  read  church  history  it  is 
thus  that  the  question  has  been  begged  ever  since  the  first 
century!" 

"What!"  The  Archbishop  was  waxing  hot.  "Do  you,  a 
mere  child  of  sixteen,  dare  to  dispute  the  claims  of  Holy 
Church?" 

"My  Father,"  the  boy  spoke  slowly  and  with  awful  earnest 
ness,  "I  have  been  four  years  in  the  Seminario.  I  do  not  find 
the  true  Christ  there;  nor  do  I  think  I  shall  find  him  within 
the  Church." 

"Sanctissima  Maria!"  The  Archbishop  bounded  to  his  feet. 
"Have  you  sold  yourself  to  the  devil?"  he  exploded.  "Have 
you  fed  these  years  at  the  warm  breasts  of  the  Holy  Mother, 
only  to  turn  now  and  rend  her?  Have  you  become  a  Protester? 
Apostate  and  forsworn!" 

"My  Father,"  the  boy  returned  calmly,  "did  Jesus  tell  the 

33 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


truth — or  did  he  lie?  If  he  spoke  truth,  then  I  think  he  is  not 
in  the  Church  to-day.  She  has  wholly  misunderstood  him — or 
else  she — she  deliberately  falsifies." 

The  Archbishop  sank  gasping  into  his  chair. 

Jose  went  on.  "You  call  me  apostate  and  forsworn.  I 
am  neither.  One  cannot  become  apostate  when  he  has  never 
believed.  As  to  being  forsworn — I  am  a  Rincon!" 

The  erect  head  and  flashing  eyes  of  the  youth  drew  an 
involuntary  exclamation  of  approval  from  the  anxious  secre 
tary,  who  had  stood  striving  to  evolve  from  his  befuddled  wits 
some  course  adequate  to  the  strained  situation. 

But  the  boy's  proud  bearing  was  only  momentary.  The 
wonted  look  of  troubled  wistfulness  again  settled  over  his  face, 
and  his  shoulders  bent  to  their  accustomed  stoop,  as  if  his  frail 
body  were  slowly  crushing  beneath  a  tremendous  burden. 

"My  Father,"  he  continued  sadly,  "do  not  the  Gospels  show 
that  Jesus  proved  the  truth  of  all  he  taught  by  doing  the  works 
which  we  call  miracles?  But  does  the  Church  to-day  by  any 
great  works  prove  a  single  one  of  her  teachings?  You  say 
that  Christianity  no  longer  needs  the  healing  of  the  sick  in 
order  to  prove  its  claims.  I  answer  that,  if  so,  it  likewise  no 
longer  needs  the  preaching  of  the  gospel,  for  I  cannot  find  that 
Jesus  made  any  distinction  between  the  two.  Always  he 
coupled  one  with  the  other.  His  command  was  ever,  'Preach 
the  gospel,  heal  the  sick!'  His  works  of  healing  were  simply 
signs  which  showed  that  he  understood  what  he  taught.  They 
were  his  proofs,  and  they  followed  naturally  his  great  under 
standing  of  God.  But  what  proofs  do  you  offer  when  you  ask 
mankind  to  accept  your  preaching?  Jesus  said,  'He  that  be- 
lieveth  on  me,  the  works  that  I  do  shall  he  do  also.'  If  you 
do  not  do  the  works  which  he  did,  it  shows  plainly  that  you  do 
not  believe  on  him — that  is,  that  you  do  not  understand  him. 
When  I  am  an  ordained  priest,  and  undertake  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  the  world,  must  I  confess  to  my  people  that  I  cannot 
prove  what  I  am  teaching?  Must  I  confess  that  there  is  no 
proof  within  the  Church?  Is  it  not  so,  that  true  believers  in 
Jesus  Christ  believe  exactly  in  the  proportion  in  which  they 
obey  him  and  do  his  works?" 

The  boy  paused  for  breath.  The  Archbishop  and  his  secre 
tary  sat  spellbound  before  him.  Then  he  resumed — 

"How  the  consecrated  wafer  through  the  words  of  a  priest 
becomes  the  real  body  of  Christ,  I  am  as  yet  unable  to  learn. 
I  do  not  believe  it  does.  How  priests  can  grant  absolution  for 
sins  when,  to  me,  sins  are  forgiven  only  when  they  are  for 
saken,  I  have  not  been  taught.  I  do  not  believe  they  can.  The 
Church  assumes  to  teach  these  things,  but  it  cannot  prove 

34 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


them.  From  the  great  works  of  Jesus  and  his  apostles  it  has 
descended  to  the  blessing  of  milagros  and  candles,  to  the  wor 
ship  of  the  Virgin  and  man-made  Saints,  to  long  processions, 
to  show  and  glitter — while  without  her  doors  the  poor,  the 
sick  and  the  dying  stretch  out  their  thin,  white  hands  and 
beseech  her  to  save  them,  not  from  hell  or  purgatory  in  a  sup 
posed  life  to  come,  but  from  misery,  want  and  ignorance  right 
here  in  this  world,  as  Jesus  told  his  followers  they  should  do. 
If  you  can  show  forth  the  omnipotence  of  God  by  healing  the 
sick  and  raising  the  dead,  I  could  accept  that  as  proof  of  your 
understanding  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus — and  what  you  really 
understand  you  can  demonstrate  and  teach  to  others.  Theo 
logical  questions  used  to  bother  me,  but  they  do  so  no  longer. 
Holy  oil,  holy  water,  blessed  candles,  incense,  images  and  dis 
play  do  not  interest  me  as  they  did  when  a  child,  nor  do  they 
any  longer  seem  part  of  an  intelligent  worship  of  God.  But"- 
his  voice  rising  in  animation — "to  touch  the  blind  man's  eyes 
and  see  them  open;  to  bid  the  leper  be  clean,  and  see  his  skin 
flush  with  health — ah!  that  is  to  worship  God  in  spirit  and  in 
truth — that  is  to  prove  that  you  understand  what  Jesus  taught 
and  are  obeying,  not  part,  but  all  of  his  commands.  I  am  not 
apostate" — he  concluded  sadly — "I  never  did  fully  believe  that 
the  religion  of  Jesus  is  the  religion  which  the  Church  to-day 
preaches  and  pretends  to  practice.  I  do  not  believe  in  her 
heaven,  her  purgatory  or  her  hell,  nor  do  I  believe  that  her 
Masses  move  God  to  release  souls  from  torment.  I  do  not 
believe  in  her  powers  to  pardon  and  curse.  I  do  not  believe  in 
her  claims  of  infallibility.  But — 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  not  quite  sure  of  his  ground. 
Then  his  face  glowed  wyith  sudden  eagerness,  and  he  cried, 
"My  Father,  the  Church  needs  the  light — do  you  not  see  it?— 
do  you  not,  my  uncle?"  turning  appealingly  to  the  hard-faced 
secretary.  "Can  we  not  work  to  help  her,  and  through  her 
reach  the  world?  Should  not  the  Church  rightly  be  the  greatest 
instrument  for  good?  But  how  can  she  teach  the  truth  when 
she  herself  is  so  filled  with  error?  How  can  she  preach  the 
gospel  when  she  knows  not  what  the  gospel  is?  But  Jesus 
said  that  if  we  obeyed  him  we  should  know  of  the  doctrine, 
should  know  the  true  meaning  of  the  gospel.  But  we  must 
first  obey.  We  must  not  only  preach,  but  we  must  become 
spiritually  minded  enough  to  heal  the  sick — 

"Dios  nos  guarde!"  interrupted  the  Archbishop,  attempting 
to  rise,  but  prevented  by  his  secretary,  who  laid  a  restraining 
hand  on  his  arm.  The  latter  then  turned  to  the  overwrought 
boy. 

"My  dear  Jose,"  he   said,  smiling  patronizingly  upon  the 

35 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


youth,  although  his  cold  eyes  glittered  like  bits  of  polished 
steel,  "His  Eminence  forgives  your  hasty  words,  for  he  recog 
nizes  your  earnestness,  and,  moreover,  is  aware  how  deeply 
your  heart  is  lacerated  by  your  recent  bereavement.  But,  fur 
ther — and  I  say  this  in  confidence  to  you — His  Eminence  and 
I  have  discussed  these  very  matters  to  which  you  refer,  and 
have  long  seen  the  need  of  certain  changes  within  the  Church 
which  will  redound  to  her  glory  and  usefulness.  And  you  must 
know  that  the  Holy  Father  in  Rome  also  recognizes  these  needs, 
and  sees,  too,  the  time  when  they  will  be  met.  However,  his 
great  wisdom  prevents  him  from  acting  hastily.  You  must 
remember  that  our  blessed  Saviour  suffered  many  things  to  be 
so  for  the  time,  although  he  knew  they  would  be  altered  in 
due  season.  So  it  is  writh  the  Church.  Her  children  are  not  all 
deep  thinkers,  like  yourself,  but  are  for  the  most  part  poor  and 
ignorant  people,  wrho  could  not  understand  your  high  views. 
They  must  be  led  in  ways  with  which  they  are  familiar  until 
they  can  be  lifted  gradually  to  higher  planes  of  thought  and 
conduct.  Is  it  not  so?  You  are  one  who  will  do  much  for 
them,  my  son — but  you  will  accomplish  nothing  by  attempting 
suddenly  to  overthrow  the  established  traditions  which  they 
reverence,  nor  by  publicly  prating  about  the  Church's  defects. 
Your  task  will  be  to  lead  them  gently,  imperceptibly,  up  out 
of  darkness  into  the  light,  which,  despite  your  accusations,  does 
shine  in  the  Church,  and  is  visible  to  all  who  rightly  seek  it. 
You  have  yet  four  years  in  the  Seminario.  You  gave  us  your 
promise — the  Rincon  word — that  you  wrould  lay  aside  these 
doubts  and  questionings  until  your  course  was  completed.  We 
do  not  hold  you — but  you  hold  yourself  to  your  word!  Our 
sincere  advice  is  that  you  keep  your  counsel,  and  silently  work 
with  us  for  the  Church  and  mankind.  The  Church  will  offer 
you  unlimited  opportunities  for  service.  She  is  educating  you. 
Indeed,  has  she  not  generously  given  you  the  very  data  where 
with  you  are  enabled  now  to  accuse  her?  You  will  find  her 
always  the  same  just,  tolerant,  wise  Mother,  leading  her 
children  upward  as  fast  as  they  are  able  to  journey.  Her  work 
is  universal,  and  she  is  impervious  to  the  shafts  of  envy,  malice, 
and  hatred  which  her  enemies  launch  at  her.  She  has  resources 
of  which  you  as  yet  know  nothing.  In  the  end  she  will  triumph. 
You  are  offered  an  opportunity  to  contribute  toward  that 
triumph  and  to  share  in  it.  His  Eminence  knows  that  you  will 
not  permit  Satan  to  make  you  reject  that  offer  now." 

The  secretary's  sharp,  beady  eyes  looked  straight  into  those 
of  the  youth,  and  held  him.  His  small,  round  head,  with  its 
low  brow  and  grizzled  locks,  waved  snake-like  on  the  man's 
long  neck.  His  tall  form,  in  its  black  cassock,  bent  over  the 

36 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


lad  like  a  spectre.  His  slender  arms,  of  uncanny  length,  waved 
constantly  before  him;  and  the  long,  bony  fingers  seemed  to 
reach  into  the  boy's  very  soul  and  choke  the  springs  of  life  at 
their  origin.  His  reasoning  took  the  form  of  suggestion,  bear 
ing  the  indisputable  stamp  of  authority.  Again,  the  boy,  con 
fused  and  uncertain,  bowed  before  years  and  worldly  ex 
perience,  and  returned  to  his  solitude  and  the  companionship 
of  his  books  and  his  writing. 

"Occupy  till  I  come,"  the  patient  Master  had  tenderly  said. 
From  earliest  boyhood  Jose  had  heard  this  clarion  call 
within  his  soul.  And  striving,  delving,  plodding,  he  had  sought 
to  obey — struggling  toward  the  distant  gleam,  toward  the  reali 
zation  of  something  better  and  nearer  the  Master's  thought  than 
the  childish  creeds  of  his  fellow-men — something  warmer,  more 
vital  than  the  pulseless  decrees  of  ecumenical  councils — some 
thing  to  solve  men's  daily  problems  here  on  earth — something 
to  heal  their  diseases  of  body  and  soul,  and  lift  them  into  that 
realm  of  spiritual  thinking  where  material  pleasures,  sensa 
tions,  and  possessions  no  longer  form  the  single  aim  and  exist 
ence  of  mankind,  and  life  becomes  what  in  reality  it  is,  eternal 
ecstasy!  The  Christ  had  promised!  And  Jose  would  occupy 
and  wait  in  faith  until,  with  joy  inexpressible,  he  should  behold 
the  shining  form  of  the  Master  at  the  door  of  his  opened  tomb. 

"With  Your  Eminence's  permission  I  will  accompany  the 
boy  back  to  Rome,"  the  secretary  said  one  day,  shortly  before 
Jose's  return  to  the  seminary.  "I  wTill  consult  with  the  Rector, 
and  suggest  that  certain  and  special  tutelage  be  given  the  lad. 
Let  them  bring  their  powers  of  reasoning  and  argument  to  bear 
upon  him,  to  the  end  that  his  thinking  may  be  directed  into 
proper  channels  before  it  is  too  late.  Hombre!"  he  muttered, 
as  with  head  bent  and  hands  clasped  behind  his  back  he  slowly 
paced  before  the  Archbishop.  "To  think  that  he  is  a  Rincon! 
And  yet,  but  sixteen — a  babe — a  mere  babe!" 


CHAPTER  7 

IT  must  have  been,  necessarily,  a  very  complex  set  of  causes 
that  could  lay  hold  on  a  boy  so  really  gifted  as  Jose  de 
Rincon  and,  against  his  instincts  and,  on  the  part  of  those 
responsible  for  the  deed,  with  the  certain  knowledge  of  his 
disinclination,  urge  him  into  the  priesthood  of  a  religious  in 
stitution  with  which  congenitally  he  had  but  little  in  common. 
To  begin  with,  the  bigoted  and  selfish  desires  of  his  parents 
found  in  the  boy's  filial  devotion  a  ready  and  sufficient  means 

37 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  compelling  him  to  any  sacrifice  of  self.  Only  a  thorough 
understanding  of  the  Spanish  temperament  will  enable  one  to 
arrive  at  a  just  estimate  of  Jose's  character,  and  the  sacredness 
of  the  promises  given  his  mother.  Though  the  child  might 
pine  and  droop  like  a  cankered  rosebud,  yet  he  would  never 
cease  to  regard  the  sanctity  of  his  oath  as  eternally  binding. 
And  the  mother  \vould  accept  the  sacrifice,  for  her  love  for  her 
little  son  was  clouded  by  her  great  ambitions  in  respect  to  his 
earthly  career,  and  her  genuine  solicitude  for  his  soul's  eternal 
welfare. 

Family  tradition,  sacred  and  inviolable,  played  its  by  no 
means  small  part  in  this  affair.  Custom,  now  as  inviolable  as 
the  Jewish  law,  decreed  that  the  first-born  son  should  sink  his 
individuality  into  that  of  the  Mother  Church.  And  to  the 
Spaniard,  costumbre  is  law.  Again,  the  vacillating  and  hesitant 
nature  of  the  boy  himself  contributed  largely  to  the  result;  for, 
though  supremely  gifted  in  receptivity  and  broadness  of  mind, 
in  critical  analysis  and  keenness  of  perception,  he  nevertheless 
lacked  the  energy  of  will  necessary  to  the  shaping  of  a  life- 
course  along  normal  lines.  The  boy  knew  what  he  preferred, 
yet  he  said  Amen  both  to  the  prayers  of  his  parents  and  the 
suggestions  of  doubt  wrhich  his  own  mind  offered.  He  was 
weakest  where  the  greatest  firmness  was  demanded.  His  love 
of  study,  his  innate  shrinking  from  responsibility,  and  his 
repugnance  toward  discord  and  strife — in  a  word,  his  lack  of 
fighting  qualities — naturally  caused  him  to  seek  the  lines  of 
least  resistance,  and  thus  afforded  a  ready  advantage  to  those 
who  sought  to  influence  him. 

But  why,  it  may  be  asked,  such  zeal  on  the  part  of  the  Arch 
bishop  and  his  secretary  in  forcing  upon  the  boy  a  career  to 
which  they  knew  he  was  disinclined?  Why  should  loyal  agents 
of  the  Church  so  tirelessly  urge  into  the  priesthood  one  who 
might  prove  a  serpent  in  her  bosom? 

The  Archbishop  may  be  dismissed  from  this  discussion. 
That  his  motives  were  wholly  above  the  bias  of  worldly  ambi 
tion,  we  may  not  affirm.  Yet  we  know  that  he  was  actuated 
by  zeal  for  the  Church;  that  he  had  its  advancement,  its  growth 
in  power  and  prestige  always  at  heart.  And  we  know  that  he 
would  have  rejoiced  some  day  to  boast,  "We  have  saved  to  the 
Church  a  brilliant  son  who  threatened  to  become  a  redoubtable 
enemy."  The  forces  operating  for  and  against  this  desideratum 
seemed  to  him  about  equally  matched.  The  boy  was  still  very 
young.  His  mind  was  as  yet  in  the  formative  period,  and  would 
be  for  some  years.  If  the  Church  could  secure  her  hold  upon 
him  during  this  period  she  would  doubtless  retain  it  for  all 
time;  for,  as  the  sagacious  secretary  so  often  quoted  to  his 

38 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


superior,  "Once  a  priest,  always  a  priest,"  emphasizing  the 
tenet  that  the  character  imprinted  by  ordination  is  inefface 
able. 

As  for  the  secretary,  he  was  a  Rincon,  proud  and  bigoted, 
and  withal  fanatically  loyal  to  the  Church  as  an  institution, 
whatever  its  or  his  own  degree  of  genuine  piety.  It  was  deeply 
galling  to  his  ecclesiastical  pride  to  see  the  threatened  develop 
ment  of  heretical  tendencies  in  a  scion  of  his  house.  These  were 
weeds  which  must  and  should  be  choked,  cost  what  it  might! 
To  this  end  any  means  were  justified,  for  "What  doth  it  profit 
a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul?"  And 
the  Rincon  soul  had  been  molded  centuries  ago.  The  secretary 
hated  the  rapidly  developing  "scientific"  spirit  of  the  age  and 
the  "higher  criticism"  with  a  genuine  and  deadly  hatred.  His 
curse  rested  upon  all  modern  culture.  To  him,  the  Jesuit 
college  at  Rome  had  established  the  level  of  intellectual  free 
dom.  He  worshiped  the  landmarks  which  the  Fathers  had 
set,  and  he  would  have  opposed  their  removal  with  his  life. 
No,  the  Rincon  traditions  must  be  preserved  at  whatever  cost! 
The  heretical  buddings  within  Jose  should  be  checked;  he 
should  enter  the  priesthood;  his  thinking  should  be  directed 
into  proper  channels;  his  mind  should  be  bent  into  conformity 
with  Holy  Church!  If  not — but  there  was  no  alternative. 
The  all-powerful  Church  could  and  would  accomplish  it. 

In  the  choice  of  Rafael  de  Rincon  as  secretary  and  assistant, 
the  Archbishop  had  secured  to  himself  a  man  of  vast  knowledge 
of  ecclesiastical  matters,  of  great  acumen,  and  exceptional  abil 
ity.  The  man  was  a  Jesuit,  and  a  positive,  dynamic  representa 
tive  of  all  that  the  order  stands  for.  He  was  now  in  his  sixty- 
eighth  year,  but  as  vigorous  of  mind  and  body  as  if  he  bore 
but  half  his  burden  of  age.  For  some  years  prior  to  his  connec 
tion  with  the  See  of  Seville  he  had  served  in  the  royal  house 
hold  at  Madrid.  But,  presumably  at  the  request  of  Queen 
Isabella,  he  had  been  peremptorily  summoned  to  Rome  some 
three  years  before  her  exile;  and  when  he  again  left  the  Eternal 
City  it  was  with  the  tentative  papal  appointment  to  Seville. 

Just  why  Padre  Rafael  had  been  relieved  of  his  duties  in 
Madrid  was  never  divulged.  But  gossip  supplied  the  paucity 
of  fact  with  the  usual  delectable  speculations,  the  most  per 
sistent  of  which  had  to  do  with  the  rumored  birth  of  a  royal 
child.  The  deplorable  conduct  of  the  Queen  after  her  enforced 
marriage  to  Don  Francisco  D'Assis  had  thrown  the  shadow  of 
suspicion  on  the  legitimacy  of  all  her  children;  and  when  it 
began  to  be  widely  hinted  that  Padre  Rafael,  were  he  so  dis 
posed,  might  point  to  a  humble  cottage  in  the  sunlit  hills  of 
Granada  where  lay  a  tiny  Infanta,  greatly  resembling  the 

39 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


famous  singer  and  favorite  of  the  Queen,  Marfori,  Marquis  de 
Loja,  Isabella's  alarm  was  sufficient  to  arouse  the  Vatican  to 
action.  With  the  removal  of  Padre  Rafael,  and  the  bestowal 
of  the  "Golden  Rose  of  Faith  and  Virtue"  upon  the  Queen  by 
His  Holiness,  Pio  Nono,  the  rumor  quickly  subsided,  and  was 
soon  forgotten. 

Whether  because  of  this  supposed  secret  Padre  Rafael  was 
in  favor  at  the  court  of  Pio  Nono's  successor,  we  may  not  say. 
The  man's  character  was  quite  enigmatical,  and  divulged  noth 
ing.  But,  if  we  may  again  appeal  to  rumor,  he  did  appear  to 
have  influence  in  papal  circles.  And  we  are  not  sure  that  he 
did  not  seek  to  augment  that  influence  by  securing  his  irreso 
lute  little  nephew  to  the  Church.  And  yet,  the  sincerity  of  his 
devotion  to  the  papacy  cannot  be  questioned,  as  witness  his 
services  to  Pius  IX.,  "the  first  Christian  to  achieve  infallibility," 
during  the  troublesome  years  of  1870-71,  when  the  French 
debacle  all  but  scuttled  the  papal  ship  of  state.  And  if  now 
he  sought  to  use  his  influence  at  the  Vatican,  we  shall  gener 
ously  attribute  it  to  hrs  loyalty  to  Rincon  traditions,  and  his 
genuine  concern  for  the  welfare  of  the  little  Jose,  rather  than  to 
any  desire  to  advance  his  o\vn  ecclesiastical  status. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  during  the  eight  years  of  Jose's  course 
in  the  seminary,  did  his  tutors  not  mark  the  forces  at  work  in 
the  boy's  soul?  And  if  so,  why  did  they  not  urge  his  dismissal 
as  unfit  for  the  calling  of  the  priesthood? 

Because,  true  to  his  promises,  and  stubbornly  hugging  the 
fetish  of  family  pride,  the  boy  gave  but  little  indication  during 
the  first  four  years  of  his  course  of  the  heretical  doubts  and  dis 
beliefs  fermenting  within  his  troubled  mind.  And  when,  after 
the  death  of  his  father  and  its  consequent  release  of  the  flood  of 
protest  and  mental  disquiet  so  long  pent  up  within  him,  the 
uncle  returned  to  Rome  writh  the  lad  to  advise  his  instructors 
to  bring  extra  pressure  to  bear  upon  him  in  order  to  convince 
him  of  the  truths  upon  which  the  Church  rested,  Jose  subsided 
again  into  his  wronted  attitude  of  placid  endurance,  even  of 
partial  acceptance  of  the  religious  tutelage,  and  seldom  gave 
further  sign  of  inner  discord.  Acting  upon  the  suggestions  of 
the  uncle,  Jose's  instructors  took  special  pains  to  parade  before 
him  the  evidence  and  authorities  supporting  the  claims  of  Holy 
Church  and  the  grand  tenets  upon  which  the  faith  reposed.  In 
particular  were  the  arguments  of  Cardinal  Newman  cited  to 
him,  and  the  study  of  the  latter's  Apology  was  made  a  require 
ment  of  his  course.  The  writings  of  the  great  Cardinal  Man 
ning  also  were  laid  before  him,  and  he  was  told  to  find  therein 
ample  support  for  all  assumptions  of  the  Church. 

Silently  and  patiently  the  boy  to  outward  appearance  ac- 

40 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


quiesced;  but  often  the  light  of  his  midnight*  candle  might  have 
revealed  a  wan  face,  frowning  and  perplexed,  while  before  him 
lay  the  Cardinal's  argument  for  belief  in  the  miraculous  resus 
citation  of  the  Virgin  Mary — the  argument  being  that  the  story 
is  a  beautiful  one,  and  a  comfort  to  those  pious  souls  who  think 
it  true! 

Often,  too,  there  lay  before  him  the  words  of  the  great 
Newman: 

"You  may  be  taken  away  young;  you  may  live  to  four 
score;  you  may  die  in  your  bed,  or  in  the  open  field — but  if 
Mary  intercedes  for  you,  that  day  will  find  you  watching  and 
ready.  All  things  wall  be  fixed  to  secure  your  salvation,  all 
dangers  will  be  foreseen,  all  obstacles  removed,  all  aid  pro 
vided." 

And  as  often  he  would  close  the  book  and  drop  his  head  in 
wonder  that  a  man  so  humanly  great  could  believe  in  an  infinite, 
omnipotent  God  amenable  to  influence,  even  to  that  of  the 
sanctified  Mary. 

"The  Christ  said,  'These  signs  shall  follow  them  that  be 
lieve,'  "  he  sometimes  murmured,  as  he  sat  wrapped  in  study. 
"But  do  the  Master's  signs  follow  the  Cardinals?  Yet  these 
men  say  they  believe.  What  can  they  do  that  other  men  can 
not?  Alas,  nothing!  What  boots  their  sterile  faith?" 

The  limitations  with  which  the  lad  was  hedged  about  in 
the  Seminario  quite  circumscribed  his  existence  there.  All  lay 
influences  were  carefully  excluded,  and  he  learned  only  what 
was  selected  for  him  by  his  teachers.  Added  to  this  narrowing 
influence  was  his  promise  to  his  mother  that  he  would  read 
nothing  proscribed  by  the  Church.  Of  Bible  criticism,  there 
fore,  he  might  know  nothing.  For  original  investigation  of 
authorities  there  was  neither  permission  nor  opportunity.  He 
was  taught  to  discount  historical  criticism,  and  to  regard  an 
archy  as  the  logical  result  of  independence  of  thought.  He  was 
likewise  impressed  with  the  fact  that  he  must  not  question  the 
official  acts  of  Holy  Church. 

"But,"  he  once  remonstrated,  "it  was  by  an  ecumenical 
council — a  group  of  frail  human  beings — that  the  Pope  was 
declared  infallible!  And  that  only  a  few  years  ago!" 

"The  council  but  set  its  seal  of  affirmation  to  an  already 
great  and  established  fact,"  was  'the  reply.  "As  the  supreme 
teacher  and  defmer  of  the  Church  of  God  no  Pope  has  ever 
erred,  nor  ever  can  err,  in  the  exposition  of  revealed  truth." 

"But  Tito  Cennini  said  in  class  but  yesterday  that  many  of 
the  Popes  had  been  wicked  men!" 

"You  must  learn  to  distinguish,  my  son,  between  the  man 
and  the  office.  No  matter  what  the  private  life  of  a  Pope  may 

41 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


have  been,  the  validity  of  his  official  acts  is  not  thereby  affected. 
Nor  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Church." 

"But,  — " 

"Nay,  my  son;  this  is  what  the  Church  teaches;  and  to 
slight  it  is  to  emperil  your  soul." 

But,  despite  his  promises  to  his  mother  and  the  Archbishop, 
and  in  despite,  too,  of  his  own  conscientious  endeavor  to  keep 
every  contaminating  influence  from  entering  his  mind,  he  could 
not  prevent  this  same  Tito  from  assiduously  cultivating  his 
friendship,  and  voicing  the  most  liberal  and  worldly  opinions 
to  him. 

"Perdio,  but  you  are  an  ignorant  animal,  Jose!"  ejaculated 
the  little  rascal  one  day,  entering  Jose's  room  and  throwing 
himself  upon  the  bed.  "Why,  didn't  you  know  that  the  Popes 
used  to  raise  money  by  selling  their  pardons  and  indulgences? 
That  fellow  Tetzel,  back  in  Luther's  time,  rated  sacrilege  at 
nine  ducats,  murder  at  seven,  witchcraft  at  six,  and  so  on. 
Ever  since  the  time  of  Innocent  VIII.  immunity  from  purgatory 
could  be  bought.  It  was  his  chamberlain  who  used  to  say,  'God 
willeth  not  the  death  of  a  sinner,  but  that  he  should  pay  and 
live.'  Ha!  ha!  Those  were  good  old  days,  amico  mio!" 

But  the  serious  Jose,  to  whom  honor  was  a  sacred  thing, 
saw  not  his  companion's  cause  for  mirth.  "Tito,"  he  hazarded, 
"our  instructor  tells  us  that  we  must  distinguish — 

"Ho!  ho!"  laughed  the  immodest  Tito,  "if  the  Apostolic 
virtue  has  been  handed  down  from  the  great  Peter  through  the 
long  line  of  Bishops  of  Rome  and  later  Popes,  what  happened 
to  it  when  there  were  two  or  three  Popes,  in  the  Middle  Ages? 
And  which  branch  retained  the  unbroken  succession?  Of  a 
truth,  amico,  you  are  very  credulous!" 

Jo£e  looked  at  him  horrified. 

"And  which  branch  now,"  continued  the  irrepressible  Tito, 
"holds  a  monoply  of  the  Apostolic  virtue,  the  Anglican  Church, 
the  Greek,  or  the  Roman  Catholic?  For  each  claims  it,  and 
each  regards  its  rival  claimants  as  rank  heretics." 

Jose  could  not  but  dwell  long  and  thoughtfully  on  this. 
Then,  later,  he  again  sought  the  graceless  Tito.  "Amico,"  he 
said  eagerly,  "why  do  not  these  claimants  of  the  true  Apostolic 
virtue  seek  to  prove  their  claims,  instead  of,  like  pouting  chil 
dren,  vainly  spending  themselves  in  denouncing  their  rivals?" 

"Prove  them!"  shouted  Tito.    "And  how,  amico  mio?" 

"Why,"  returned  Jose  earnestly,  "by  doing  the  works  the 
Apostles  did;  by  healing  the  sick,  and  raising  the  dead,  and— 

Tito  answered  with  a  mocking  laugh.  "Perdio,  amico! 
know  you  not  that  if  they  submitted  to  such  proof  not  one  of 
the  various  contestants  could  substantiate  his  claims?" 

42 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Then,  oh,  then  how  could  the  council  declare  the  Pope  to 
be  infallible?" 

Tito  regarded  his  friend  pityingly.  "My  wonder  is,  amico," 
he  replied  seriously,  "that  they  did  not  declare  him  immortal 
as  well.  When  you  read  the  true  history  of  those  exciting 
days  and  learn  something  of  the  political  intrigue  with  which 
the  Church  was  then  connected,  you  will  see  certain  excellent 
reasons  why  the  Holy  Father  should  have  been  declared  infalli 
ble.  But  let  me  ask  you,  amico,  if  you  have  such  doubts,  why  are 
you  here,  of  all  places?  Surely  it  is  not  your  own  life-purpose 
to  become  a  priest!" 

"My  life-purpose,"  answered  Jose  meditatively,  "is  to  find 
my  soul — my  real  self." 

Tito  went  away  shaking  his  head.  He  could  not  under 
stand  such  a  character  as  that  of  Jose.  But,  for  that  matter, 
no  one  ever  fathoms  a  fellow-being.  And  so  we  who  have  at 
tempted  a  sketch  of  the  boy's  mentality  will  not  complain  if 
its  complexity  prevents  us  from  adequately  setting  it  forth. 
Rather  shall  we  feel  that  we  have  accomplished  much  if  we 
have  shown  that  the  lad  had  no  slight  justification  for  the  bud 
ding  seeds  of  religious  doubt  within  his  mind,  and  for  conclud 
ing  that  of  the  constitution  of  God  men  know  nothing,  despite 
their  fantastical  theories  and  their  bold  affirmations,  as  if  He 
were  a  man  in  their  immediate  neighborhood,  with  whom  they 
were  on  the  most  intimate  terms. 

In  the  course  of  time  Jose  found  the  companionship  of  Tito 
increasingly  unendurable,  and  so  he  welcomed  the  formation 
of  another  friendship  among  his  mates,  even  though  it  was 
with  a  lad  much  older  than  himself,  Bernardo  Damiano,  a 
candidate  for  ordination,  and  one  thoroughly  indoctrinated  in 
the  faith  of  Holy  Church.  With  open  and  receptive  heart  our 
young  Levite  eagerly  availed  himself  of  his  new  friend's  volun 
tary  discourses  on  the  mooted  topics  about  which  his  own 
thought  incessantly  revolved. 

"Fear  not,  Jose,  to  accept  all  that  is  taught  you  here,"  said 
Bernardo  in  kindly  admonition;  "for  if  this  be  not  the  very 
doctrine  of  the  Christ  himself,  where  else  will  you  find  it? 
Among  the  Protesters?  Nay,  they  have,  it  is  true,  hundreds  of 
churches;  and  they  call  themselves  Christians.  But  their  reli 
gion  is  as  diverse  as  their  churches  are  numerous,  and  it  is  not 
of  God  or  Jesus  Christ.  They  have  impiously  borrowed  from 
us.  Their  emasculated  creeds  are  only  assumptions  of  human 
belief.  They  recognize  no  law  of  consistency,  and  so  they 
enjoy  unbridled  license.  They  believe  what  they  please,  and 
each  interprets  Holy  Writ  to  suit  his  own  fantastical  whims." 

"But,  the  Popes — "  began  Jose,  returning  again  to  his  trou 
blesome  topic. 

43 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Yes,  and  what  of  them?"  replied  his  friend  calmly.  "Can 
you  not  see  beyond  the  human  man  to  the  Holy  Office?  The 
Holy  Father  is  the  successor  of  the  great  Apostle  Peter,  whom 
our  blessed  Saviour  appointed  his  Vicar  on  earth,  and  con 
stituted  the  supreme  teacher  and  judge  in  matters  of  morals. 
Remember,  Jesus  Christ  founded  the  Catholic  religion!  He 
established  the  Church,  which  he  commanded  all  men  to  sup 
port  and  obey.  That  Church  is  still,  and  always  will  be,  the 
infallible  teacher  of  truth,  for  Jesus  declared  that  it  should 
never  fall.  Let  not  Satan  lead  you  to  the  Protesters,  Jose,  for 
their  creeds  are  but  snares  and  pitfalls." 

"I  know  nothing  of  Protestant  creeds,  nor  want  to,"  an 
swered  Jose.  "If  Jesus  Christ  established  the  Catholic  religion, 
then  I  want  to  accept  it,  and  shall  conclude  that  my  doubts  and 
questionings  are  but  the  \vhisperings  of  Satan.  But — 

"But  what,  my  friend?  The  Popes  again?"  Bernardo  laughed, 
and  put  his  arm  affectionately  about  the  younger  lad.  "The 
Pope,  Jose,  is,  always  has  been,  and  always  will  be,  supreme, 
crowned  with  the  triple  crown  as  king  of  earth,  and  heaven, 
and  hell.  We  mortals  have  not  made  him  so.  Heaven  alone 
did  that.  God  himself  made  our  Pontiff  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church  superior  even  to  the  angels;  and  if  it  were  possible  for 
them  to  believe  contrary  to  the  faith,  he  could  judge  them  and 
lay  the  ban  of  excommunication  upon  them." 

Jose's  eyes  widened  while  his  friend  talked.  Was  he  losing 
his  own  senses?  Or  was  it  true,  as  his  lamented  father  had 
said,  that  he  had  been  cast  under  the  spell  of  the  devil's  wiles? 
Had  he  been  foreordained  to  destruction  by  his  own  heretical 
thought?  For,  if  what  he  heard  in  Rome  was  truth,  then  was 
he  damned,  irrevocably! 

"Come,"  said  his  friend,  taking  his  arm;  "let  us  go  to  the 
library  and  read  the  Credo  of  the  Holy  Father,  Pius  the  Fourth, 
wherein  is  set  forth  in  detail  the  doctrinal  system  of  our  be 
loved  Church.  And  let  me  urge  you,  my  dear  young  friend,  to 
accept  it,  unreservedly,  and  be  at  peace,  else  will  your  life  be  a 
ceaseless  torment." 

Oh,  that  he  could  have  done  so!  That  he  could  have  joined 
those  thousands  of  faithful,  loyal  adherents  to  Holy  Church, 
who  find  in  its  doctrines  naught  that  stimulates  a  doubt,  nor 
urges  against  the  divine  institution  of  its  gorgeous,  material 
fabric ! 

But,  vain  desire!  "I  cannot!  I  cannot!"  he  wailed  in  the 
dark  hours  of  night  upon  his  bed.  "I  cannot  love  a  God  who 
has  to  be  prayed  to  by  Saints  and  Virgin,  and  persuaded  by 
them  not  to  damn  His  own  children !  I  cannot  believe  that  the 
Pope,  a  mere  human  being,  can  canonize  Saints  and  make  spir- 

44 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


itual  beings  who  grant  the  prayers  of  men  and  intercede  with 
God  for  them!  Yes,  I  know  there  are  multitudes  of  good  peo 
ple  who  believe  and  accept  the  doctrines  of  the  Church.  But, 
alas!  I  am  not  one  of  them,  nor  can  be." 

For,  we  repeat,  the  little  Jose  was  morbidly  honest.  And 
this  gave  rise  to  fear,  a  corroding  fear  that  he  might  not  do 
right  by  his  God,  his  mother,  and  himself,  the  three  variants  in 
his  complex  life-equation.  His  self-condemnation  increased; 
yet  his  doubts  kept  pace  with  it.  He  more  than  ever  distrusted 
his  own  powers  after  his  first  four  years  in  the  seminary.  He 
more  than  ever  lacked  self-confidence.  He  was  more  than  ever 
vacillating,  hesitant,  and  infirm  of  purpose.  He  even  at  times, 
when  under  the  pall  of  melancholia,  wondered  if  he  had  really 
loved  his  deceased  father,  and  whether  it  was  real  grief  which 
he  felt  at  his  parent's  demise.  Often,  too,  wThen  fear  and  doubt 
pressed  heavily,  and  his  companions  avoided  him  because  of  the 
aura  of  gloom  in  which  he  dwelt,  he  wondered  if  he  were  be 
coming  insane.  He  seemed  to  become  obsessed  with  the  belief 
that  his  ability  to  think  was  slowly  paralyzing.  And  with  it 
his  will.  And  yet,  proof  that  this  was  not  the  case  was  found 
in  his  stubborn  opposition  to  trite  acquiescence,  and  in  his  in 
frequent  reversals  of  mood,  when  he  would  even  feel  an  intense, 
if  transient,  sense  of  exaltation  in  the  thought  that  he  was 
doing  the  best  that  in  him  lay. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  lighter  moods,  and  at  the  close  of 
a  school  year,  that  a  great  joy  came  to  him  in  an  event  which 
left  a  lasting  impress  upon  his  life.  Following  close  upon  a 
hurried  visit  which  his  uncle  paid  to  Rome,  the  boy  was  in 
formed  that  it  had  been  arranged  for  him  to  accompany  the 
Papal  Legate  on  a  brief  journey  through  Germany  and  Eng 
land,  returning  through  France,  in  order  that  he  might  gain  a 
first-hand  impression  of  the  magnitude  of  the  work  which  the 
Church  was  doing  in  the  field,  and  meet  some  of  her  great  men. 
The  broadening,  quieting,  confidence-inspiring  influence  of  such 
a  journey  would  be,  in  the  opinion  of  Padre  Rafael,  incalcula 
ble.  And  so,  with  eager,  bubbling  hope,  the  lad  set  out. 

Whatever  it  may  have  been  intended  that  the  boy  should 
see  on  this  ecclesiastical  pilgrimage,  he  returned  to  Rome  at  the 
end  of  three  months  with  his  quick,  impressionable  mind  stuf 
fed  with  food  for  reflection.  Though  he  had  seen  the  glories 
of  the  Church,  worshiped  in  her  matchless  temples,  and  sat 
at  the  feet  of  her  great  scholars,  now  in  the  quiet  of  his  little 
room  he  found  himself  dwelling  upon  a  single  thought,  into 
which  all  of  his  collected  impressions  were  gathered:  "The 
Church — Catholic  and  Protestant — is — oh,  God,  the  Church  is — 
not  sick,  not  dying,  but — dead!  Aye,  it  has  served  both  God 

45 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


and  Mammon,  and  paid  the  awful  penalty!  And  what  is  left? 
Caesarism!"  The  great  German  and  British  nations  were  not 
Catholic.  But  worse,  the  Protestant  people  of  the  German  Em 
pire  were  sadly  indifferent  to  religion.  He  had  seen,  in  Berlin, 
men  of  family  trying  to  resell  the  Bibles  which  their  children 
had  used  in  preparation  for  confirmation.  He  had  found  family 
worship  all  but  extinct.  He  had  marked  the  widespread  indif 
ference  among  Protestant  parents  in  regard  to  the  religious 
instruction  of  their  young.  He  had  been  told  there  that  parents 
had  but  a  slight  conception  of  their  duty  as  moral  guides,  and 
that  children  were  growing  up  with  only  sensuous  pleasures 
and  material  gain  as  their  life-aims.  Again  and  again  he  was 
shown  where  in  whole  districts  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  se 
cure  young  men  for  ordination  to  the  Protestant  ministry.  And 
he  was  furnished  with  statistics  setting  forth  the  ominous  fact 
that  within  a  few  years,  were  the  present  decline  unchecked, 
there  would  be  no  students  in  the  Protestant  universities  of  the 
country. 

"Do  you  not  see  in  this,  iny  son,"  said  the  Papal  Legate, 
"the  blight  of  unbelief?  Do  you  not  mark  the  withering  effects 
of  the  modern  so-called  scientific  thought?  What  think  you  of 
a  religion  wherein  the  chief  interest  centers  in  trials  for  heresy; 
whose  ultimate  effect  upon  human  character  is  a  return  to  the 
raw,  primitive,  immature  sense  of  life  that  once  prevailed  among 
this  great  people?  What  think  you  now  of  Luther  and  his 
diabolical  work?" 

The  wondering  boy  hung  his  head  without  reply.  Would 
Germany  at  length  come  to  the  true  fold?  And  was  that  fold 
the  Holy  Catholic  Church? 

And  England — ah!  there  was  the  Anglican  church,  Catholic, 
but  not  Roman,  and  therefore  but  a  counterfeit  of  the  Lord's 
true  Church.  Would  it  endure?  "No,"  the  Legate  had  said; 
"already  defection  has  set  in,  and  the  prodigal's  return  to  the 
loving  parent  in  Rome  is  but  a  matter  of  time." 

Then  came  his  visit  to  the  great  abbey  of  Westminster,  and 
the  impression  which,  to  his  last  earthly  day,  he  bore  as  one  of 
his  most  sacred  treasures.  There  in  the  famous  Jerusalem 
Chamber  he  had  sat,  his  eyes  suffused  with  tears  and  his  throat 
choked  with  emotion.  In  that  room  the  first  Lancastrian  king 
long  years  before  had  closed  his  unhappy  life.  There  the  great 
Westminster  Confession  had  been  framed.  There  William  of 
Orange  had  held  his  weighty  discussion  of  the  Prayer-Book 
revision,  which  was  hoped  to  bring  Churchmen  and  Dissenters 
again  into  harmony.  And  there,  greatest  of  all,  had  gathered, 
day  after  day,  and  year  after  year,  the  patient,  devoted  group 
of  men  who  gave  to  the  world  its  Revised  Edition  of  the  Holy 

46 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Bible,  only  a  few  brief  years  ago.  As  the  rapt  Jose  closed  his 
eyes  and  listened  to  the  whispered  conversation  of  the  scholarly 
men  about  him,  he  seemed  to  see  the  consecrated  Revisers, 
seated  again  at  the  long  table,  deep  in  the  holy  search  of  the 
Scriptures  for  the  profound  secrets  of  life  which  they  hold.  He 
saw  with  what  sedulous  care  they  pursued  their  sacred  work, 
without  trace  of  prejudice  or  religious  bias,  and  with  only  the 
selfless  purpose  always  before  them  to  render  to  mankind  a 
priceless  benefit  in  a  more  perfect  rendition  of  the  Word  of  God. 
Why  could  not  men  come  together  now  in  that  same  generous 
spirit  of  love?  But  no,  Rome  would  never  yield  her  assumptions. 
But  when  the  lad  rose  and  followed  his  guides  from  the  room, 
it  was  with  a  new-born  conviction,  and  a  revival  of  his  erstwhile 
firm  purpose  to  translate  for  himself,  at  the  earliest  opportunity, 
the  Greek  Testament,  if,  perchance,  he  might  find  thereby  what 
his  yearning  soul  so  deeply  craved,  the  truth. 

That  the  boy  was  possessed  of  scholarly  instincts,  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  His  ability  had  immediately  attracted  his 
instructors  on  entering  the  seminary.  And,  but  for  his  stub 
born  opposition  to  dogmatic  acceptance  without  proofs,  he 
might  have  taken  and  maintained  the  position  of  leader  in 
scholarship  in  the  institution.  Literature  and  the  languages, 
particularly  Greek,  were  his  favorite  studies,  and  in  these  he 
excelled.  Even  as  a  child,  long  before  the  eventful  night  when 
his  surreptitious  reading  of  Voltaire  precipitated  events,  he 
had  determined  to  master  Greek,  and  some  day  to  translate  the 
New  Testament  from  the  original  sources  into  his  beloved  Cas- 
tilian  tongue.  Before  setting  out  for  Rome  he  had  so  applied 
himself  to  the  worn  little  grammar  which  the  proprietor  of  the 
bookstall  in  Seville  had  loaned  him,  that  he  was  able  to  make 
translations  with  comparative  fluency.  In  the  seminary  he 
plunged  into  it  with  avidity;  and  when  he  returned  from  his 
journey  with  the  Papal  Legate  he  began  in  earnest  his  transla 
tion  of  the  Testament.  This,  like  so  much  of  the  boy's  work 
and  writing,  was  done  secretly  and  in  spare  moments.  And  his 
zeal  was  such  that  often  in  the  middle  of  the  night  it  would 
compel  him  to  rise  and,  after  drawing  the  shades  carefully  and 
stopping  the  crack  under  the  door  with  his  cassock,  light  his 
candle  and  dig  away  at  his  Testament  until  dawn. 

This  study  of  the  New  Testament  in  the  Greek  resulted  in 
many  translations  differing  essentially  from  the  accepted  ver 
sion,  as  could  not  but  happen  when  a  mind  so  original  as  that 
of  the  boy  Jose  was  concentrated  upon  it.  His  first  stumbling 
block  was  met  in  the  prayer  of  Jesus  in  an  attempt  to  render 
the  petition,  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,"  into  idiomatic 
modern  thought.  The  word  translated  "daily"  was  not  to  be 

47 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


found  elsewhere  in  the  Greek  language.  Evidently  the  Aramaic 
word  which  Jesus  employed,  and  of  which  this  Greek  word  was 
a  translation,  must  have  been  an  unusual  one — a  coined  expres 
sion.  And  what  did  it  mean?  No  one  knows.  Jose  found 
means  to  put  the  question  to  his  tutor.  He  \vas  told  that  it 
doubtless  meant  "super-supernal."  But  what  could  "super- 
supernal"  convey  to  the  world's  multitude  of  hungry  suppliants 
for  the  bread  of  life!  And  so  he  rendered  the  phrase  "Give  us 
each  day  a  better  understanding  of  Thee."  Again,  going  care 
fully  through  his  Testament  the  boy  crossed  out  the  words 
translated  "God,"  and  in  their  places  substituted  "divine  in 
fluence."  Many  of  the  best  known  and  most  frequently  quoted 
passages  suffered  similarly  radical  changes  at  his  hands.  For 
the  translation  "truth,"  the  boy  often  preferred  to  substitute 
"reality";  and  such  passages  as  "speaking  the  truth  in  love" 
were  rendered  by  him,  "lovingly  speaking  of  those  things  which 
are  real."  "Faith"  and  "belief"  were  generally  changed  to 
"understanding"  and  "real  knowing,"  so  that  the  passage,  "O 
ye  of  little  faith,"  became  in  his  translation,  "O  ye  of  slight 
understanding."  The  word  "miracle"  he  consistently  changed 
to  "sign"  throughout.  The  command  to  ask  "in  the  name  of 
Jesus"  caused  him  hours  of  deep  and  perplexing  thought,  until 
he  hit  upon  the,  to  him,  happy  rendering,  "in  his  character." 
Why  not?  In  the  character  of  the  Christ  mankind  might  ask 
anything  and  it  would  be  given  them.  But  to  acquire  that 
character  men  must  repent.  And  the  Greek  word  "metanoia," 
so  generally  rendered  "repentance,"  would  therefore  have  to  be 
translated  "radical  and  complete  change  of  thought."  Again, 
why  not?  Was  not  a  complete  change  of  thought  requisite  if 
one  were  to  become  like  Jesus?  Could  mortals  think  continually 
of  murder,  warfare,  disaster,  failure,  crime,  sickness  and  death, 
and  of  the  acquisition  of  material  riches  and  power,  and  still 
hope  to  acquire  the  character  of  the  meek  but  mighty  Nazarene? 
Decidedly  no!  And  so  he  went  on  delving  and  plodding,  day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  substituting  and  changing,  but 
always,  even  if  unconsciously,  giving  to  the  Scripture  a  more 
metaphysical  and  spiritual  meaning,  which  displaced  in  its 
translation  much  of  the  material  and  earthy. 

Before  the  end  of  his  seminary  training  the  translation  was 
complete.  What  a  new  light  it  seemed  to  throw  upon  the  mis 
sion  of  Jesus !  How  fully  he  realized  now  that  creeds  and  con 
fessions  had  never  even  begun  to  sound  the  profound  depths  of 
the  Bible!  What  a  changed  message  it  seemed  to  carry  for 
mankind!  How  he  longed  to  show  it  to  his  preceptors  and 
discuss  it  with  them !  But  his  courage  failed  when  he  faced  this 
thought.  However,  another  expedient  presented:  he  would 

48 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


write  a  treatise  on  the  New  Testament,  embodying  the  salient 
facts  of  his  translation,  and  send  it  out  into  the  world  for  pub 
lication  in  the  hope  that  it  might  do  much  good.  Again,  night 
after  night  in  holy  zeal  he  toiled  on  the  work,  and  when  com 
pleted,  sent  it,  under  his  name,  to  a  prominent  literary  magazine 
published  in  Paris. 

Its  appearance — for  it  was  accepted  eagerly  by  the  editor, 
who  was  bitterly  hostile  to  the  Church — caused  a  stir  in  eccle 
siastical  circles  and  plunged  the  unwise  lad  into  a  sea  of  trouble. 
The  essay  in  general  might  have  been  excusable  on  its  distinct 
merits  and  the  really  profound  scholarship  exhibited  in  its 
composition.  But  when  the  boy,  a  candidate  for  holy  orders, 
and  almost  on  the  eve  of  his  ordination,  seized  upon  the  famous 
statement  of  Jesus  in  which  he  is  reported  to  have  told  Peter 
that  he  was  the  rock  upon  which  the  Lord's  church  should  be 
eternally  founded,  and  showed  that  Jesus  called  Peter  a  stone, 
"petros,"  a  loose  stone,  and  one  of  many,  whereas  he  then  said 
that  his  church  should  be  founded  upon  "petra,"  the  living, 
immovable  rock  of  truth,  thus  corroborating  Saint  Augustine, 
but  confuting  other  supposedly  impregnable  authority  for  the 
superiority  and  infallibility  of  the  Church,  it  was  going  a  bit 
too  far. 

The  result  was  severe  penance,  coupled  with  soul-searing 
reprimand,  and  absolute  prohibition  of  further  original  writ 
ing.  His  translation  of  the  Testament  was  confiscated,  and  he 
was  commanded  to  destroy  all  notes  referring  to  it,  and  to  re 
frain  from  making  further  translations.  His  little  room  was 
searched,  and  all  references  and  papers  which  might  be  con 
strued  as  unevangelical  were  seized  and  burned.  He  was  then 
transferred  to  another  room  for  the  remainder  of  his  seminary 
course,  and  given  a  roommate,  a  cynical,  sneering  bully  of  Irish 
descent,  steeped  to  the  core  in  churchly  doctrine,  who  did  not 
fail  to  embrace  every  opportunity  to  make  the  suffering  penitent 
realize  that  he  was  in  disgrace  and  under  surveillance.  The 
effect  was  to  drive  the  sensitive  boy  still  further  into  himself, 
and  to  augment  the  sullenness  of  disposition  which  had  earlier 
characterized  him  and  separated  him  from  social  intercourse 
with  the  world  in  which  he  moved  apart  from  his  fellow-men. 

Thus  had  Jose  been  shown  very  clearly  that  implicit  obe 
dience  would  at  all  times  be  exacted  from  him  by  the  Church. 
He  had  been  shown  quite  unmistakably  that  an  inquisitive  and 
determined  spirit  would  not  be  tolerated  if  it  led  to  deductions 
at  variance  with  accepted  tradition.  He  might  starve  mentally, 
if  his  prescribed  food  did  not  satisfy  his  hunger;  but  he  must 
understand,  once  for  all,  that  truth  had  long  since  been  re 
vealed,  and  that  it  was  not  within  his  province  to  attempt  any 
further  additions  to  the  revelation. 

49 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Once  more,  for  the  sake  of  his  mother,  and  that  he  might 
learn  all  that  the  Church  had  to  teach  him,  the  boy  conscien 
tiously  tried  to  obey.  He  was  reminded  again  that,  though 
taught  to  obey,  he  was  being  trained  to  lead.  This  in  a  sense 
pleased  him,  as  offering  surcease  from  an  erking  sense  of  re 
sponsibility.  Nevertheless,  though  he  constantly  wavered  in 
decision;  though  at  times  the  Church  won  him,  and  he  yielded 
temporarily  to  her  abundant  charms;  the  spirit  of  protest  did 
wax  steadily  stronger  within  him  as  the  years  passed.  Back 
and  forth  he  swung,  like  a  pendulum,  now  drawn  by  the  power 
and  influence  of  the  mighty  Church;  now,  as  he  approached  it, 
repelled  by  the  things  which  were  revealed  as  he  drew  near.  In 
the  last  two  years  of  his  course  his  soul-revolt  often  took  the 
form  of  open  protest  to  his  preceptors  against  indulgences  and 
the  sacramental  graces,  against  the  arbitrary  Index  Expurga- 
torius,  and  the  Church's  stubborn  opposition  to  modern  pro 
gression.  Like  Faust,  his  studies  were  convincing  him  more 
and  more  firmly  of  the  emptiness  of  human  hypotheses  and 
undemonstrable  philosophy.  The  growing  conviction  that  the 
Holy  Church  was  more  worldly  than  spiritual  filled  his  shrink 
ing  soul  at  times  with  horror.  The  limiting  thought  of  Rome 
was  often  stifling  to  him.  He  had  begun  to  realize  that  liberty 
of  thought  and  conscience  were  his  only  as  he  received  it  al 
ready  outlined  from  the  Church.  Even  his  interpretation  of 
the  Bible  must  come  from  her.  His  very  ideas  must  first  receive 
the  ecclesiastical  stamp  before  he  might  advance  them.  His 
opinions  must  measure  up — or  down — to  those  of  his  tutors, 
ere  he  might  even  hold  them.  In  terror  he  felt  that  the  Church 
was  absorbing  him,  heart  and  mind.  His  individuality  was 
seeping  away.  In  time  he  would  become  but  a  link  in  the 
great  worldly  system  which  he  was  being  trained  to  serve. 

These  convictions  did  not  come  to  him  all  at  once,  nor  were 
they  as  yet  firmly  fixed.  They  were  rather  suggestions  which 
became  increasingly  insistent  as  the  years  went  on.  He  had 
entered  the  seminary  at  the  tender  age  of  twelve,  his  mind 
wholly  unformed,  but  protesting  even  then.  All  through  his 
course  he  had  sought  what  there  was  in  Christianity  upon  which 
he  could  lay  firm  hold.  In  the  Church  he  had  found  an  ultra- 
conservative  spirit  and  extreme  reverence  for  authority.  Tito 
had  told  him  that  it  was  the  equivalent  of  ancestor-worship.  But 
when  he  one  day  told  his  instructors  that  he  was  not  neces 
sarily  a  disbeliever  in  the  Scriptures  because  he  did  not  accept 
their  interpretation  of  them,  he  could  not  but  realize  that  Tito 
had  come  dangerously  near  the  truth.  His  translation  of  the 
Greek  Testament  had  forced  him  to  the  conclusion  that  much  of 
the  material  contained  in  the  Gospels  was  not  Jesus'  own  words, 

50 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


but  the  commentaries  of  his  reporters;  not  the  Master's  diction, 
but  theological  lecturing  by  the  writers  of  the  Gospels.  More 
over,  in  the  matter  of  prayer,  especially,  he  was  all  at  sea.  As 
a  child  he  had  spent  hours  formulating  humble,  fervent  peti 
tions,  which  did  not  seem  to  draw  replies.  And  so  there  began 
to  form  within  his  mind  a  concept,  faint  and  ill-defined,  of  a 
God  very  different  from  that  canonically  accepted.  He  tried  to 
believe  that  there  was  a  Creator  back  of  all  things,  but  that  He 
was  inexorable  Law.  And  the  lad  was  convinced  that,  some 
how,  he  had  failed  to  get  into  harmony  with  that  infinite  Law. 
But,  in  that  case,  why  pray  to  Law?  And,  most  foolish  of  all, 
why  seek  to  influence  it,  whether  through  Virgin  or  Saint?  And, 
if  God  is  a  good  Father,  why  ask  Him  to  be  good?  Then,  to  his 
insistent  question,  "Unde  Deus?"  he  tried  to  formulate  the  an 
swer  that  God  is  Spirit,  and  omnipresent.  But,  alas!  that  made 
the  good  God  include  evil.  No,  there  was  a  terrible  human 
misunderstanding  of  the  divine  nature,  a  woeful  misinterpre 
tation.  He  must  try  to  ask  for  light  in  the  character  of  the 
Christ.  But  then,  how  to  assume  that  character?  Like  a  gar 
ment?  Impossible!  "Oh,  God  above,"  he  wailed  aloud  again 
and  again,  "I  don't  know  what  to  believe!  I  don't  know  what 
to  think!"  Foolish  lad!  Why  did  he  think  at  all,  when  there 
were  those  at  hand  to  relieve  him  of  that  onerous  task? 

And  so,  at  last,  Jose  sought  to  resign  himself  to  his  fate, 
and,  thrusting  aside  these  mocking  questions,  accept  the  op 
portunities  for  service  which  his  tutors  so  wisely  emphasized 
as  the  Church's  special  offering  to  him.  He  yielded  to  their 
encouragement  to  plunge  heartily  into  his  studies,  for  in  such 
absorption  lay  diversion  from  dangerous  channels  of  thought. 
Slowly,  too,  he  yielded  to  their  careful  insistence  that  he  must 
suffer  many  things  to  be  so  for  the  nonce,  even  as  Jesus  did, 
lest  a  too  radical  resistance  now  should  delay  the  final  glorious 
consummation. 

Was  the  boy  actuated  too  strongly  by  the  determination 
that  his  widowed  mother's  hopes  should  never  be  blasted  by 
any  assertion  of  his  own  will?  Was  he  passively  permitting 
himself  to  be  warped  and  twisted  into  a  minion  of  an  institution 
alien  to  his  soul  in  bigoted  adherence  to  his  morbid  sense  of 
integrity?  Was  he  for  the  present  countenancing  a  lie,  rather 
than  permit  the  bursting  of  a  bomb  which  would  rend  the 
family  and  bring  his  beloved  mother  in  sorrow  to  the  grave? 
Or  was  he  biding  his  time,  an  undeveloped  David,  who  would 
some  day  sally  forth  like  the  lion  of  the  tribe  of  Juda,  to  match 
his  moral  courage  against  the  blustering  son  of  Anak?  Time 
only  would  tell.  The  formative  period  of  his  character  was  not 
yet  ended,  and  the  data  for  prognostication  were  too  complex 

51 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


and  conflicting.  We  can  only  be  sure  that  his  consuming  de 
sire  to  know  had  been  carefully  fostered  in  the  seminary,  but  in 
such  a  manner  as  unwittingly  to  add  to  his  confusion  of  thought 
and  to  increase  his  fear  of  throwing  himself  unreservedly  upon 
his  own  convictions.  That  he  grew  to  perceive  the  childishness 
of  churchly  dogma,  we  know.  That  he  appreciated  the  Church's 
insane  license  of  affirmation,  its  impudent  affirmations  of  God's 
thoughts  and  desires,  its  coarse  assumptions  of  knowledge  of 
the  inner  workings  of  the  mind  of  Omnipotence,  we  likewise 
know.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  know  that  he  feared  to  break 
with  the  accepted  faith.  The  claims  of  Protestantism,  though 
lacking  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  Catholicism  to  give  them  at 
tractiveness,  offered  him  an  interpretation  of  Christ's  mission 
that  was  little  better  than  the  teachings  he  was  receiving.  And 
so  his  hesitant  and  vacillating  nature,  which  hurled  him  into 
the  lists  to-day  as  the  resolute  foe  of  dogma  and  superstition, 
and  to-morrow  would  leave  him  weak  and  doubting  at  the  feet 
of  the  enemy,  kept  him  wavering,  silent  and  unhappy,  on  the 
thin  edge  of  resolution  throughout  the  greater  part  of  his 
course.  His  lack  of  force,  or  the  holding  of  his  force  in  check 
by  his  filial  honesty  and  his  uncertainty  of  conviction,  kept 
him  in  the  seminary  for  eight  years,  during  which  his  being 
was  slowly,  imperceptibly  descending  into  him.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  he  was  still  unsettled,  but  further  than  even  he  himself 
realized  from  Rome.  Who  shall  say  that  he  was  not  at  the 
same  time  nearer  to  God? 

On  the  day  that  he  was  twenty,  three  things  of  the  gravest 
import  happened  to  the  young  Jose.  His  warm  friend,  Ber 
nardo,  died  suddenly,  almost  in  his  arms;  his  uncle,  Rafael  de 
Rincon,  paid  an  unexpected  visit  to  the  Vatican;  and  the  lad 
received  the  startling  announcement  that  he  would  be  ordained 
to  the  priesthood  on  the  following  day. 

The  sudden  demise  of  the  young  Bernardo  plunged  Jose 
into  an  excess  of  grief  and  again  encompassed  him  with  the 
fear  and  horror  of  death.  He  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  and 
toward  the  close  of  the  day  took  his  writing  materials  and 
penned  a  passionate  appeal  to  his  mother,  begging  her  to  absolve 
him  from  his  promises,  and  let  him  go  out  into  the  world,  a 
free  man  in  search  of  truth.  But  scarcely  had  he  finished  his 
letter  when  he  was  summoned  into  the  Rector's  office.  There 
it  was  explained  to  him  that,  in  recognition  of  his  high  scholar 
ship,  of  his  penitence  and  loyal  obedience  since  the  Testament 
episode,  and  of  the  advanced  work  which  he  was  now  doing  in 
the  seminary  and  the  splendid  promise  he  was  giving,  the  Holy 
Father  had  been  asked  to  grant  a  special  indult,  waiving  the 
usual  age  requirement  and  permitting  the  boy  to  be  ordained 

52 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


with  the  class  which  was  to  receive  the  holy  order  of  the  priest 
hood  the  following  day.  It  was  further  announced  that  after 
ordination  he  should  spend  a  year  in  travel  with  the  Papal 
Legate,  and  on  his  return  might  enter  the  office  of  the  Papal 
Secretary  of  State,  as  an  under-secretary,  or  office  assistant. 
While  there,  he  would  be  called  upon  to  teach  in  the  seminary, 
and  later  might  be  sent  to  the  University  to  pursue  higher 
studies  leading  to  the  degree  of  Doctor. 

Before  the  boy  had  awakened  to  his  situation,  the  day  of  his 
ordination  arrived.  The  proud  mother,  learning  from  the  secre 
tary  of  the  precipitation  of  events,  and  doting  on  the  boy  whom 
she  had  never  understood;  in  total  ignorance  of  the  complex 
elements  of  his  soul,  and  little  realizing  that  between  her  and 
her  beloved  son  there  was  now  a  gulf  fixed  which  would  never 
be  bridged,  saw  only  the  happy  fruition  of  a  life  ambition.  For 
tunately  she  had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  dubious  incident 
of  the  Testament  translation  and  its  results  upon  the  boy;  and 
when  the  long  anticipated  day  dawned  her  eyes  swam  in  tears 
of  hallowed  joy.  The  Archbishop  and  his  grim  secretary  each 
congratulated  the  other  heartily,  and  the  latter,  breaking  into 
one  of  his  rare  smiles,  murmured  gratefully,  "At  last !  And  our 
enemies  have  lost  a  champion!" 

The  night  before  the  ordination  Jose  had  begged  to  occupy 
a  room  alone.  The  appeal  which  emanated  from  his  sad  face, 
his  thin  and  stooping  body,  his  whole  drawn  and  tortured  being, 
would  have  melted  flint.  His  request  was  granted.  Throughout 
the  night  the  boy,  on  his  knees  beside  the  little  bed,  wrestled 
with  the  emotions  which  were  tearing  his  soul.  Despondency 
lay  over  him  like  a  pall.  A  vague  presentiment  of  impending 
disaster  pressed  upon  him  like  a  millstone.  Ceaselessly  he 
weighed  and  reviewed  the  forces  which  had  combined  to  drive 
him  into  the  inconsistent  position  which  he  now  occupied.  In 
consistent,  for  his  highest  ideal  had  been  truth.  He  was  by 
nature  consecrated  to  it.  He  had  sought  it  diligently  in  the 
Church,  and  now  that  he  was  about  to  become  her  priest  he 
could  not  make  himself  believe  that  he  had  found  it.  Now, 
when  bound  to  her  altars,  he  faced  a  life  of  deception,  of  false 
hood,  as  the  champion  of  a  faith  which  he  could  not  unre 
servedly  embrace. 

But  he  had  accepted  his  education  from  the  Church;  and 
would  he  shrink  from  making  payment  therefor?  Yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  must  he  sacrifice  honor — yea,  his  whole  future — to 
the  payment  of  a  debt  forced  upon  him  before  he  had  reached 
the  age  of  reason?  The  oath  of  ordination,  the  priest's  oath, 
echoed  in  his  throbbing  ears  like  a  soul-sentence  to  eternal 
doom;  while  spectral  shades  of  moving  priests  and  bishops,  lay- 

53 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ing  cold  and  unfeeling  hands  upon  him,  sealing  him  to  endless 
servitude  to  superstition  and  deception,  glided  to  and  fro 
through  the  darkness  before  his  straining  eyes.  Could  he  re 
ceive  the  ordination  to-morrow?  He  had  promised — but  the 
assumption  of  its  obligations  would  brand  his  shrinking  soul 
with  torturing  falsehood!  If  he  sank  under  doubt  and  fear, 
could  he  still  retract?  What  then  of  his  mother  and  his  prom 
ise  to  her?  What  of  the  Rincon  honor  and  pride?  Living  dis 
grace,  or  a  living  lie — which?  Sacrifice  of  self — or  mother? 
God  knew,  he  had  never  deliberately  countenanced  a  falsehood 
— yet,  through  circumstances  which  he  did  not  have  the  will 
to  control,  he  was  a  living  one! 

Fair  visions  of  a  life  untrammeled  by  creed  or  religious  con 
vention  hovered  at  times  that  night  before  his  mental  gaze.  He 
saw  a  cottage,  rose-bowered,  glowing  in  the  haze  of  the  summer 
sun.  He  saw  before  its  door  a  woman,  fresh  and  fair — his  wife 
— and  children— his — shouting  their  joyous  greetings  as  they 
trooped  out  to  welcome  him  returning  from  his  day's  labors. 
How  he  clung  to  this  picture  when  it  faded  and  left  him,  an 
oath-bound  celibate,  facing  his  lonely  and  cheerless  destiny! 
God!  what  has  the  Church  to  offer  for  such  sacrifice  as  this! 
An  education?  Yea,  an  induction  into  relative  truths  and  mor 
tal  opinions,  and  the  sad  record  of  the  devious  wanderings  of 
the  human  mind!  An  opportunity  for  service?  God  knows, 
the  free,  unhampered  mind,  open  to  truth  and  progress,  loosed 
from  mediaeval  dogma  and  ignorant  convention,  seeing  its 
brothers'  needs  and  meeting  in  them  its  own,  has  opportunities 
for  rich  service  to-day  outside  the  Church  the  like  of -which 
have  never  before  been  offered! 

To  and  fro  his  heaving  thought  ebbed  and  flowed.  Back  and 
forth  the  arguments,  pro  and  con,  surged  through  the  still  hours 
of  the  night.  After  all,  had  he  definite  proof  that  the  tenets  of 
Holy  Church  were  false?  No,  he  could  not  honestly  say  that  he 
had.  The  question  still  stood  in  abeyance.  Even  his  conviction 
of  their  falsity  at  times  had  sorely  wavered.  And  if  his  heart 
cried  out  against  their  acceptance,  it  nevertheless  had  nothing 
tangibly  definite  to  offer  in  substitution.  But — the  end  had 
come  so  suddenly!  With  his  life  free  and  untrammeled  he  might 
yet  find  the  truth.  Oath-bound  and  limited  to  the  strictures  of 
the  Church,  what  hope  was  there  but  the  acceptance  of  pre 
scribed  canons  of  human  belief?  Still,  the  falsities  which  he 
believed  he  had  found  within  the  Church  were  not  greater  than 
those  against  which  she  herself  fought  in  the  world.  And  if 
she  accepted  him,  did  it  not  indicate  on  her  part  a  tacit  recogni 
tion  of  the  need  of  just  what  he  had  to  offer,  a  searching  spirit 
of  inquiry  and  consecration  to  the  unfoldment  of  truth?  Alas! 

54 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  incident  of  the  Greek  translation  threw  its  shadow  of  doubt 
upon  that  hope. 

But  if  the  Church  accepted  him,  she  must  accept  his  stand! 
He  would  raise  his  voice  in  protest,  and  would  continually  point 
to  the  truth  as  he  discerned  it!  If  he  received  the  order  of 
priesthood  from  her  it  was  wTith  the  understanding  that  his  ac 
ceptance  of  her  tenets  was  tentative!  But — forlorn  expedient! 
He  knew  something  of  ecclesiastical  history.  He  thought  he 
knew — young  as  he  was — that  the  Church  stood  not  for  prog 
ress,  not  for  conformity  to  changing  ideals,  not  for  alignment 
with  the  world's  great  reforms,  but  for  herself,  first,  midst,  and 
last! 

Thus  the  conflict  raged,  while  thoughts,  momentous  for 
even  a  mature  thinker,  tore  through  the  mind  of  this  lad  of 
twenty.  Prayers  for  light — prayers  which  would  have  rent  the 
heart  of  an  Ivan— burst  at  times  from  the  feverish  lips  of  this 
child  of  circumstance.  Infinite  Father — Divine  Influence — 
Spirit  of  Love — whatever  Thou  art — wilt  Thou  not  illumine  the 
thought-processes  of  this  distracted  youth  and  thus  provide  the 
way  of  escape  from  impending  destruction?  Can  it  be  Thy 
will  that  this  fair  mind  shall  be  utterly  crushed?  Do  the  agon 
ized  words  of  appeal  wThich  rise  to  Thee  from  his  riven  soul  fall 
broken  against  ears  of  stone? 

"Occupy  till  I  come!"  Yea,  beloved  Master,  he  hears  thy 
voice  and  strives  to  obey — but  the  night  is  filled  with  terror — 
the  clouds  of  error  lower  about  him — the  storm  bursts — and 
thou  art  not  there! 

Day  dawned.  A  classmate,  sent  to  summon  the  lad,  roused 
him  from  the  fitful  sleep  into  which  he  had  sunk  on  the  cold 
floor.  His  mind  was  no  longer  active.  Dumbly  following  his 
preceptors  at  the  appointed  hour,  he  proceeded  with  the  class 
to  the  chapel.  Dimly  conscious  of  his  surroundings,  his  thought 
befogged  as  if  in  a  dream,  his  eyes  half-blinded  by  the  gray 
haze  which  seemed  to  hang  before  them,  he  celebrated  the  Mass, 
like  one  under  hypnosis,  received  the  holy  orders,  and  assumed 
the  obligations  which  constituted  him  a  priest  of  Holy  Church. 


CHAPTER  8 

ON   a   sweltering   midsummer   afternoon,   a  year   after  the 
events   just  related,    Rome   lay   panting   for   breath   and 
counting  the  interminable  hours  which  must  elapse  before 
the  unpitying  sun  would  grant  her  a  short  night's  respite  from 
her  discomfort.     Her  streets  were  deserted  by  all  except  those 

55 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


whose  affairs  necessitated  their  presence  in  them.  Her  palaces 
and  villas  had  been  abandoned  for  weeks  by  their  fortunate 
owners,  who  had  betaken  themselves  to  the  seashore  or  to  the 
more  distance  resorts  of  the  North.  The  few  inexperienced 
tourists  whose  lack  of  practical  knowledge  in  the  matter  of 
globe-trotting  had  brought  them  into  the  city  so  unseasonably 
were  hastily  and  indignantly  assembling  their  luggage  and 
completing  arrangements  to  flee  from  their  over-warm  recep 
tion. 

In  a  richly  appointed  suite  of  the  city's  most  modern  and 
ultra-fashionable  hotel  two  maids,  a  butler,  and  the  head  porter 
were  packing  and  removing  a  formidable  array  of  trunks  and 
suit  cases,  while  a  woman  of  considerably  less  than  middle  age, 
comely  in  person  and  tastefully  attired  in  a  loose  dressing 
gown  of  flowered  silk,  alternated  between  giving  sharp  direc 
tions  to  the  perspiring  workers  and  venting  her  abundant  wrath 
and  disappointment  upon  the  chief  clerk,  as  with  evident  re 
luctance  she  filled  one  of  a  number  of  signed  checks  to  cover 
the  hotel  expenses  of  herself  and  servants  for  a  period  of  three 
weeks,  although  they  had  arrived  only  the  day  before  and,  on 
account  of  the  stifling  heat,  were  leaving  on  the  night  express 
for  Lucerne.  The  clerk  regretted  exceedingly,  but  on  Madam 
Ames'  order  the  suite  had  been  held  vacant  for  that  length  of 
time,  during  which  the  management  had  daily  looked  for  her 
arrival,  and  had  received  no  word  of  her  delay.  Had  Madam 
herself  not  just  admitted  that  she  had  altered  her  plans  en 
route,  without  notifying  the  hotel,  and  had  gone  first  to  the 
Italian  lakes,  without  cancelling  her  order  for  the  suite?  And 
so  her  sense  of  justice  must  convince  her  that  the  management 
was  acting  wTholly  within  its  rights  in  making  this  demand. 

While  the  preparations  for  departure  were  in  progress  the 
woman's  two  children  played  about  the  trunks  and  raced 
through  the  rooms  and  adjoining  corridor  with  a  child's  indif 
ference  to  climatal  conditions. 

"Let's  ring  for  the  elevator  and  then  hide,  Sidney!"  sug 
gested  the  girl,  as  she  panted  after  her  brother,  who  had  run  to 
the  far  end  of  the  long  hall. 

"No,  Kathleen,  it  wouldn't  be  right,"  objected  the  boy. 

"Right!  Ho!  ho!  What's  the  harm,  goody-goody?  Go  tell 
mother,  if  you  want  to!"  she  called  after  him,  as  he  started  back 
to  their  rooms.  Refusing  to  accompany  him,  the  girl  leaned 
against  the  balustrade  of  a  stairway  which  led  to  the  floor  below 
and  watched  her  brother  until  he  disappeared  around  a  turn  of 
the  corridor. 

"Baby !"  burst  from  her  pouting  lips.  "  'Fraid  of  everything ! 
It's  no  fun  playing  with  him!"  Then,  casting  a  glance  of  inquiry 

56 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


about  her,  "I'd  just  like  to  hide  down  these  stairs.  Mother  and 
nurse  never  let  me  go  where  I  want  to." 

Obeying  the  impulse  stimulated  by  her  freedom  for  the 
moment,  the  child  suddenly  turned  and  darted  down  the  stair 
way.  On  the  floor  beneath  she  found  herself  at  the  head  of  a 
similar  stairway,  down  which  she  likewise  hurried,  with  no 
other  thought  than  to  annoy  her  brother,  who  was  sure  to  be 
sent  in  search  of  her  when  her  mother  discovered  her  absence. 
Opening  the  door  below,  the  child  unexpectedly  found  herself 
in  an  alley  back  of  the  hotel. 

Her  sense  of  freedom  was  exhilarating.  The  sunlit  alley 
beckoned  to  a  delightful  journey  of  discovery.  With  a  happy 
laugh  and  a  toss  of  her  yellow  curls  she  hurried  along  the  nar 
row  way  and  into  the  street  which  crossed  it  a  short  distance 
beyond.  Here  she  paused  and  looked  in  each  direction,  uncer 
tain  which  way  to  continue.  In  one  direction,  far  in  the  dis 
tance,  she  saw  trees.  They  looked  promising;  she  would  go 
that  way.  And  trotting  along  the  blazing,  deserted  street,  she 
at  length  reached  the  grateful  shade  and  "threw  herself  on  the 
soft  grass  beneath,  tired  and  panting,  but  happy  in  the  excite 
ment  of  her  little  adventure. 

Recovering  quickly,  the  child  rose  to  explore  her  environ 
ment.  She  was  in  one  of  those  numerous  public  parks  lining 
the  Tiber  and  forming  the  city's  playground  for  her  less  for 
tunate  wards.  Here  and  there  were  scattered  a  few  people, 
mostly  men,  who  had  braved  the  heat  of  the  streets  in  the  hope 
of  obtaining  a  breath  of  cool  air  near  the  water.  At  the  river's 
edge  a  group  of  ragged  urchins  were  romping  noisily;  and  on 
a  bench  near  them  a  young  priest  sat,  writing  in  a  notebook. 
As  she  walked  toward  them  a  beggar  roused  himself  from  the 
grass  and  looked  covetously  through  his  evil  eyes  at  the  child's 
rich  clothes. 

The  gamins  stopped  their  play  as  the  girl  approached,  and 
stared  at  her  in  expectant  curiosity.  One  of  them,  a  girl  of 
apparently  her  own  age,  spoke  to  her,  but  in  a  language  which 
she  did  not  understand.  Receiving  no  reply,  the  urchins  sud 
denly  closed  together,  and  holding  hands,  began  to  circle  around 
her,  shouting  like  little  Indians. 

The  child  stood  for  a  moment  perplexed.  Then  terror  seized 
her.  Hurling  herself  through  the  circle,  she  fled  blindly,  with 
the  gamins  in  pursuit.  With  no  sense  of  direction,  her  only 
thought  to  escape  from  the  dirty  band  at  her  heels,  she  rushed 
straight  to  the  river  and  over  the  low  bank  into  the  sluggish, 
yellow  water.  A  moment  later  the  priest  who  had  been  sitting 
on  the  bench  near  the  river,  startled  by  the  frenzied  cries  of  the 
now  frightened  children,  rushed  into  the  shallow  water  and 
brought  the  girl  in  safety  to  the  bank. 

57 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Speaking  to  her  in  her  own  language,  the  priest  sought  to 
soothe  the  child  and  learn  her  identity  as  he  carried  her  to  the 
edge  of  the  park  and  out  into  the  street.  But  his  efforts  were 
unavailing.  She  could  only  sob  hysterically  and  call  piteously 
for  her  mother.  A  civil  guard  appeared  at  the  street  corner, 
and  the  priest  summoned  him.  But  scarcely  had  he  reported 
the  details  of  the  accident  when,  suddenly  uttering  a  cry,  the 
priest  thrust  the  girl  into  the  arms  of  the  astonished  officer  and 
fled  back  to  the  bench  where  he  had  been  sitting.  Another  cry 
escaped  him  when  he  reached  it.  Throwing  himself  upon  the 
grass,  he  searched  beneath  the  bench  and  explored  the 
ground  about  it.  Then,  his  face  blanched  with  fear,  he  rose 
and  traversed  the  entire  park,  questioning  every  occupant.  The 
gamins  who  had  caused  the  accident  had  fled.  The  beggar,  loo, 
had  disappeared.  The  park  was  all  but  deserted.  Returning 
again  to  the  bench,  the  priest  sank  upon  it  and  buried  his  head 
in  his  hands,  groaning  aloud.  A  few  minutes  later  he  abruptly 
rose  and,  glancing  furtively  around  as  if  he  feared  to  be  seen, 
hastened  out  to  the  street.  Then,  darting  into  a  narrow  cross 
road,  he  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  Vatican. 

At  midnight,  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon  was  still  pacing  the  floor 
of  his  room,  frantic  with  apprehension.  At  the  same  hour,  the 
small  girl  who  had  so  unwittingly  plunged  him  into  the  gravest 
danger  was  safely  asleep  in  her  mother's  arms  on  the  night 
express,  which  shrieked  and  thundered  on  its  way  to  Lucerne. 


CHAPTER  9 

ALWAYS  as  a  child  Jose  had  been  the  tortured  victim  of  a 
vague,  unformed  apprehension  of  impending  disaster,  a 
presentiment  that  some  day  a  great  evil  would  befall  him. 
The  danger  before  which  he  now  grew  white  with  fear  seemed  to 
realize  that  fatidic  thought,  and  hang  suspended  above  him  on 
a  filament  more  tenuous  than  the  hair  which  held  aloft  the 
fabled  sword  of  Damocles.  That  filament  was  the  slender 
chance  that  the  notebook  with  which  he  was  occupied  when  the 
terrified  child  precipitated  herself  into  the  river,  and  which 
he  had  hastily  dropped  on  seeing  her  plight  and  rushing  to  the 
rescue,  had  been  picked  up  by  those  who  would  consider  its 
value  nil  as  an  instrument  of  either  good  or  evil.  Before  the 
accident  occurred  he  had  been  absorbed  in  his  writing  and  was 
unaware  of  other  occupants  of  the  park  than  himself  and  the 
children,  whose  boisterous  romping  in  such  close  proximity  had 
scarce  interrupted  his  occupation.  Then  their  frightened  cries 

58 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


roused  him  to  an  absorbing  sense  of  the  girl's  danger.  Nor 
did  he  think  again  of  the  notebook  until  he  was  relating  the 
details  of  the  accident  to  the  guard  at  the  edge  of  the  park, 
when,  like  a  blow  from  above,  the  thought  of  it  struck  him. 

Trembling  with  dread  anticipation,  he  had  hurried  back  to 
the  bench,  only  to  find  his  fears  realized.  The  book  had  dis 
appeared!  His  frenzied  search  yielded  no  hint  of  its  probable 
mode  of  removal.  Overcome  by  a  sickening  sense  of  misfor 
tune,  he  had  sunk  upon  the  bench  in  despair.  But  fear  again 
roused  him  and  drove  him,  slinking  like  a  hunted  beast,  from 
the  park — fear  that  the  possessor  of  the  book,  appreciating  its 
contents,  but  with  no  thought  of  returning  it,  might  be  hovering 
near,  with  the  view  of  seeing  what  manner  of  priest  it  could 
be  who  would  thus  carelessly  leave  such  writings  as  these  in 
the  public  parks  and  within  the  very  shadow  of  St.  Peter's. 

But  to  escape  immediate  identification  as  their  author  did 
not  remove  his  danger.  Their  character  was  such  that,  should 
they  fall  into  certain  hands,  his  identity  must  surely  be  estab 
lished.  Even  though  his  name  did  not  appear,  they  abounded 
in  references  which  could  hardly  fail  to  point  to  him.  But,  far 
worse,  they  cited  names  of  personages  high  in  political  and 
ecclesiastical  circles  in  references  which,  should  they  become 
public,  must  inevitably  set  in  motion  forces  whose  far-reaching 
and  disastrous  effects  he  dared  not  even  imagine. 

For  the  notebook  contained  the  soul-history  of  the  man.  It 
was  the  journal  intime  which  he  had  begun  as  a  youth,  and  con 
tinued  and  amplified  through  succeeding  years.  It  was  the 
repository  of  his  inmost  thoughts,  the  receptacle  of  his  secret 
convictions.  It  held,  crystallized  in  writing,  his  earliest  pro 
tests  against  the  circumstances  which  were  molding  his  life. 
It  voiced  the  subsequent  agonized  outpourings  of  his  soul  when 
the  holy  order  of  priesthood  was  conferred  upon  him.  It  re 
corded  his  views  of  life,  of  religion,  of  the  cosmos.  It  held  in 
burning  words  his  thoughts  anent  the  Holy  Catholic  faith — his 
sense  of  its  virtues,  its  weaknesses,  its  assumptions,  its  fallacies. 
It  set  forth  his  confession  of  helplessness  before  circumstances 
too  strong  for  his  feeble  will,  and  it  cited  therewith,  as  partial 
justification  for  his  conduct,  his  tender  love  for  his  mother  and 
his  firm  intention  of  keeping  forever  inviolable  his  promises 
to  her.  It  voiced  his  passionate  prayers  for  light,  and  his  dim 
hopes  for  the  future,  while  portraying  the  wreck  of  a  life  whose 
elements  had  been  too  complex  for  him  to  sift  and  classify  and 
combine  in  their  normal  proportions. 

A  year  had  passed  since  the  unhappy  lad  had  opened  his 
mouth  to  receive  the  iron  bit  which  Destiny  had  pressed  so 
mercilessly  against  it.  During  that  time  the  Church  had  con- 

59 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


scientiously  carried  out  her  program  as  announced  to  him  just 
prior  to  his  ordination.  Associated  with  the  Papal  Legate,  he 
had  traveled  extensively  through  Europe,  his  impressionable 
mind  avidly  absorbing  the  customs,  languages,  and  thought- 
processes  of  many  lands.  At  Lourdes  he  had  stood  in  deep 
meditation  before  the  miraculous  shrine,  surrounded  with  its 
piles  of  discarded  canes  and  crutches,  and  wondered  what 
could  be  the  principle,  human  or  divine,  that  had  effected  such 
cures.  In  Naples  he  had  witnessed  the  miraculous  liquefaction 
of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius.  He  had  seen  the  priests  pass 
through  the  great  assemblage  with  the  little  vial  in  which  the 
red  clot  slowly  dissolved  into  liquid  before  their  credulous 
eyes;  and  he  had  turned  away  that  they  might  not  mark  his 
flush  of  shame.  In  the  Cathedral  at  Cologne  he  had  gazed  long 
at  the  supposed  skulls  of  the  three  Magi  who  had  worshiped 
at  the  rude  cradle  of  the  Christ.  Set  in  brilliant  jewels,  in  a 
resplendent  gilded  shrine,  these  whitened  relics,  which  Bishop 
Reinald  is  believed  to  have  discovered  in  the  twelfth  century, 
seemed  to  mock  him  in  the  very  boldness  of  the  pious  fraud 
which  they  externalized.  Was  the  mystery  of  the  Christ  in 
volved  in  such  deceit  as  this?  And  perpetrated  by  his  Church? 
In  unhappy  Ireland  he  had  been  forced  to  the  conviction  that 
misdirected  religious  zeal  must  some  day  urge  the  sturdy  Pro 
testers  of  the  North  into  armed  conflict  with  their  Catholic 
brothers  of  the  South  in  another  of  those  deplorable  religious 
— nay,  rather,  theological — conflicts  wThich  have  stained  the 
earth  with  human  blood  in  the  name  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
It  was  all  incomprehensible  to  him,  incongruous,  and  damnably 
wicked.  Why  could  not  they  come  together  to  submit  their 
creeds,  their  religious  beliefs  and  tenets,  to  the  test  of  practical 
demonstration,  and  then  discard  those  which  wrorld-history  has 
long  since  shown  inimical  to  progress  and  happiness?  Paul 
urged  this  very  thing  when  he  wTrote,  "Prove  all  things;  hold 
fast  to  that  which  is  good."  But,  alas!  the  human  doctrine  of 
infallibility  now  stood  squarely  in  the  way. 

From  his  travels  with  the  Legate,  Jose  returned  to  Rome, 
burning  with  the  holy  desire  to  lend  his  influence  to  the  institu 
tion  of  those  reforms  within  the  Church  of  which  now  he  so 
clearly  saw  the  need.  Savonarola  had  burned  \vith  this  same 
selfless  desire  to  reform  the  Church  from  within.  And  his  life 
became  the  forfeit.  But  the  present  age  was  perforce  more 
tolerant;  and  was  likewise  wanting  in  those  peculiar  political 
conditions  which  had  combined  with  the  religious  issue  to 
send  the  great  reformer  to  a  martyr's  death. 

As  Jose  entered  Rome  he  found  the  city  in  a  state  of  tur 
moil.  The  occasion  was  the  march  of  the  Catholic  gymnastic 

60 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


associations  from  the  church  where  they  had  heard  the  Mass 
to  St.  Peter's,  where  they  were  to  be  received  by  the  Holy 
Father.  Cries  of  "Long  live  free-thinking!"  were  issuing  from 
the  rabble  which  followed  hooting  in  the  wake  of  the  pro 
cession.  To  these  were  retorted,  "Viva  il  Papa  Re!"  Jose  had 
been  caught  in  the  melee,  and,  but  for  the  interference  of  the 
civil  authorities,  might  have  suffered  bodily  injury.  With  his 
corporeal  bruises  he  now  bore  away  another  ineffaceable  mental 
impression.  Were  the  Italian  patriots  justified  in  their  hostil 
ity  toward  the  Vatican?  Had  United  Italy  come  into  existence 
with  the  support  of  the  Papacy,  or  in  despite  of  it?  Would 
the  Church  forever  set  herself  against  freedom  of  thought? 
Always  seek  to  imprison  the  human  mind?  Was  her  unreason 
ably  stubborn  attitude  directly  accountable  for  the  presence  of 
atheism  in  the  place,  of  all  places,  where  her  own  influence 
ought  to  be  most  potent,  the  city  of  St.  Peter? 

For  reasons  which  he  could  only  surmise — perhaps  because 
of  his  high  scholarship — perhaps  because  of  his  remarkable 
memory,  which  constituted  him  a  living  encyclopedia  in  re 
spect  of  all  that  entered  it — Jose  was  now  installed  in  the  office 
of  the  Papal  Secretary  of  State  as  an  office  assistant.  He  had 
received  the  appointment  with  indifference,  for  he  was  wholly 
devoid  of  ecclesiastical  ambition.  And  yet  it  was  with  a  sense 
of  relief  that  he  now  felt  assured  of  a  career  in  the  service  of 
the  Administrative  Congregation  of  the  Church,  and  for  all 
time  removed  from  the  likelihood  of  being  relegated  to  the 
performance  of  merely  priestly  functions.  He  therefore  pre 
pared  to  bide  his  time,  and  patiently  to  await  opportunities  to 
lend  his  willing  support  to  the  uplift  of  the  Church  and  his 
fellow-men. 

The  limitations  with  which  he  had  always  been  hedged 
about  had  not  permitted  the  lad  to  know  much,  if  anything,  of 
the  multitude  of  books  on  religious  and  philosophical  subjects 
annually  published  throughout  the  world;  and  his  oath  of 
obedience  would  have  prevented  him  from  reading  them  if  he 
had.  But  he  saw  no  reason  why,  as  part  preparation  for  his 
work  of  moral  uplift,  he  should  not  continue  to  seek,  at  first 
hand,  the  answer  to  the  world-stirring  query,  What  does  the 
Bible  mean?  If  God  gave  it,  if  the  theory  of  verbal  inspiration 
is  correct,  and  if  it  is  infallible,  why  then  was  it  necessary  to 
revise  it,  as  had  been  done  in  the  wonderful  Jerusalem  Chamber 
which  he  had  once  visited?  Were  those  of  his  associates  justi 
fied  who  had  scoffed  at  that  work,  and,  with  a  sneer  on  their 
lips,  voiced  the  caustic  query,  "Fools!  Why  don't  they  let  the 
Bible  alone?"  If  the  world  is  to  be  instructed  out  of  the  old 
sensual  theology,  does  the  Bible  contain  the  truth  with  which  to 

61 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


replace  it?  For  to  tear  down  an  ideal  without  substituting  for 
it  a  better  one  is  nothing  short  of  criminal.  And  so  Jose 
plunged  deeply  into  the  study  of  Scriptural  sources. 

He  had  thought  the  rich  treasures  of  the  Vatican  library 
unrestrictedly  open  to  him,  and  he  therefore  brought  his  fine 
Latin  and  Greek  scholarship  to  bear  on  its  oldest  uncial  manu 
scripts.  He  began  the  study  of  Hebrew,  that  he  might  later 
read  the  Talmud  and  the  ancient  Jewish  rabbinical  lore.  He 
pursued  unflaggingly  his  studies  of  the  English,  French,  and 
German  languages,  that  he  might  search  for  the  truth  crystal 
lized  in  those  tongues.  As  his  work  progressed,  the  flush  of 
health  came  to  his  cheeks.  His  eyes  reflected  the  consuming 
fire  which  glowed  in  his  eager  soul.  As  he  labored,  he  wrote; 
and  his  discoveries  and  meditations  all  found  lodgment  in  his 
sole  confidant,  his  journal. 

If  the  Church  knew  what  Christianity  was,  then  Jose  was 
forced  to  admit  that  he  did  not.  He,  weak,  frail,  fallible,  remit 
sins?  Preposterous!  What  was  the  true  remission  of  sins 
but  their  utter  destruction?  He  change  the  wafer  and  wine 
into  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Jesus?  Nay,  he  was  no  spiritual 
thaumaturgus!  He  could  not  do  even  the  least  of  the  works  of 
the  Master,  despite  his  priestly  character!  Yet,  it  was  not  he, 
but  the  Christ,  operating  through  him  as  a  channel,  who  per 
formed  the  work.  Then  why  did  not  the  Christ  through  him 
heal  the  sick  and  raise  the  dead?  "Nay,"  he  deplored,  as  he 
bent  over  his  task,  "the  Church  may  teach  that  the  bones,  the 
teeth,  the  hair,  and  other  human  relics  of  canonized  Saints  can 
heal  the  sick — but  even  the  Cardinals  and  the  Holy  Father 
when  they  fall  ill  demand  the  services,  not  of  these,  but  of 
earthly  physicians.  They  seek  not  the  Christ-healing  then; 
nor  can  they  by  their  boasted  powers  heal  themselves." 

Israel's  theme  was:  Righteousness  is  salvation.  But  Jose 
knew  not  how  to  define  righteousness.  Surely  it  did  not  mean 
adherence  to  human  creeds!  It  was  vastly  more  than  observ 
ance  of  forms!  "God  is  a  spirit,"  he  read;  "and  they  that 
worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth."  Then, 
voicing  his  own  comments,  "Why,  then,  this  crass  materializing 
of  worship?  Are  images  of  Saviour,  Virgin,  and  Saint  necessary 
to  excite  the  people  to  devotion?  Nay,  would  not  the  healing 
of  the  sick,  the  restoration  of  sight  to  the  blind,  and  the  per 
formance  of  the  works  of  the  Master  by  us  priests  do  more 
than  wooden  or  marble  images  to  lead  men  to  worship?  Proof! 
proof!  proof!  'Show  us  your  works,  and  we  will  show  you  our 
faith,'  cry  the  people.  'Then  will  we  no  longer  sacrifice  our 
independence  of  thought  to  the  merciless  tyranny  of  human 
tradition.'  "  And  he  knew  that  this  related  to  Catholic  and 
Protestant,  Jew  and  Mohammedan  alike. 

62 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


One  day  a  Cardinal,  passing  through  the  library,  saw  the 
diligent  student  at  work,  and  paused  to  inquire  into  his  labors. 
"And  what  do  you  seek,  my  son?"  was  the  kindly  query  of  the 
aged  churchman. 

"Scriptural  justification  for  the  fundamental  tenets  of  our 
faith,"  Jose  replied  quickly,  carried  away  by  his  soul's  anima 
tion. 

"And  you  find  it,  without  doubt?" 

"Nay,  Father,  except  through  what  is,  to  me,  unwarranted 
license  and  assumption." 

The  Cardinal  silently  continued  his  way.  But  permission 
to  translate  further  from  the  Vatican  manuscripts  was  that 
day  withdrawn  from  Jose. 

Again  the  youth  lapsed  into  his  former  habit  of  moody  revery. 
Shackled  and  restless,  driven  anew  into  himself,  he  increasingly 
poured  his  turbulent  thought  into  his  journal,  not  for  other 
and  profane  eyes  to  read — hardly,  either,  for  his  own  reference 
— but  simply  because  he  must  have  some  outlet  for  the  ex 
pression  of  his  heaving  mind.  He  turned  to  it,  as  he  had  in 
other  crises  in  his  life,  when  his  pent  soul  cried  out  for  some 
form  of  relief.  He  began  to  revise  the  record  of  the  impressions 
received  on  his  travels  with  the  Papal  Legate.  He  recorded 
conversations  and  impressions  of  scenes  and  people  which  his 
abnormally  developed  reticence  would  not  permit  him  to  dis 
cuss  verbally  with  his  associates.  He  embodied  his  protests 
against  the  restrictions  of  ecclesiastical  authority.  And  he 
noted,  too,  many  a  protest  against  the  political,  rather  than 
religious,  character  of  much  of  the  business  transacted  in  the 
office  to  which  he  was  attached.  In  the  discharge  of  his  ordi 
nary  duties  he  necessarily  became  acquainted  with  much  of 
the  inner  administrative  polity  of  the  Vatican,  and  thus  at 
times  he  learned  of  policies  which  stirred  his  alien  soul  to 
revolt.  In  his  inferior  position  he  could  not  hope  to  raise  his 
voice  in  protest  against  these  measures  which  excited  his  in 
dignation;  but  in  the  loneliness  of  his  room,  or  on  his  frequent 
long  walks  after  office  hours,  he  was  wont  to  brood  over  them 
until  his  mind  became  surcharged  and  found  relief  only  in 
emptying  itself  into  this  journal.  And  often  on  summer  days, 
when  the  intense  heat  rendered  his  little  room  in  the  dormitory 
uninhabitable,  he  would  take  his  books  and  papers  to  some  one 
of  the  smaller  parks  lining  the  Tiber,  and  there  would  lose 
himself  in  study  and  meditation  and  the  recording  of  the 
ceaseless  voicing  of  his  lonely  soul. 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  however,  his  mind  had  been 
occupied  with  matters  of  more  than  ordinary  import.  It  hap 
pened  that  a  Bishop  from  the  United  States  had  arrived  in 

63 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rome  the  preceding  day  to  pay  his  decennial  visit  to  the  Vatican 
and  report  on  the  spiritual  condition  of  his  diocese.  While 
awaiting  the  return  of  the  Papal  Secretary,  he  had  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  with  a  Cardinal-Bishop  of  the  Adminis 
trative  Congregation,  in  a  small  room  adjoining  the  one  where 
Jose  was  occupied  with  his  clerical  duties.  The  talk  had  been 
animated,  and  the  heavy  tapestry  at  the  door  had  not  prevented 
much  of  it  from  reaching  the  ears  of  the  young  priest  and 
becoming  fixed  in  his  retentive  memory. 

"While  I  feel  most  keenly  the  persecution  to  which  the 
Church  must  submit  in  the  United  States,"  the  Bishop  had 
said,  "nevertheless  Your  Eminence  will  admit  that  there  is 
some  ground  for  complaint  in  the  conduct  of  certain  of  her 
clergy.  It  is  for  the  purpose  of  removing  such  vantage  ground 
from  our  critics  that  I  again  urge  an  investigation  of  American 
priests,  with  the  view  of  improving  their  moral  status." 

"You  say,  'persecution  to  which  the  Church  must  submit.' 
Is  that  quite  true?"  returned  the  Cardinal-Bishop.  "That  is, 
in  the  face  of  your  own  gratifying  reports?  Newrs  from  the 
American  field  is  not  only  encouraging,  but  highly  stimulating. 
The  statistics  which  are  just  at  hand  from  Monsignor,  our 
Delegate  in  Washington,  reveal  the  truly  astonishing  growth 
of  our  beloved  cause  for  the  restoration  of  all  things  in  Christ. 
Has  not  God  shown  even  in  our  beloved  America  that  our  way 
of  worshiping  Him  is  the  way  He  approves?" 

"But,  Your  Eminence,  the  constant  defections!  It  was  only 
last  week  that  a  priest  and  his  entire  congregation  went  over 
to  the  Episcopal  faith.  And — " 

"What  of  that?  'It  must  needs  be  that  offenses  come.' 
Where  one  drops  out,  ten  take  his  place." 

"True,  while  we  recruit  our  depleted  ranks  from  the  Old 
World.  But,  with  restricted  immigration — " 

"Which  is  not  restricted,  as  yet,"  replied  the  Cardinal- 
Bishop  with  a  sapient  smile.  "Nor  is  there  any  restriction  upon 
the  inspiration,  political  as  well  as  spiritual,  which  the  Ameri 
can  Government  draws  from  Rome — an  inspiration  much  more 
potent,  I  think,  than  our  Protestant  brethren  would  care  to 
admit." 

"Is  that  inspiration  such,  think  you,  as  to  draw  the  Ameri 
can  Government  more  and  more  into  the  hands  of  the  Church?" 

"Its  effect  in  the  past  unquestionably  has  been  such,"  said 
the  Cardinal-Bishop  meditatively. 

"And  shall  our  dreams  of  an  age  be  fulfilled — that  the  Holy 
Father  will  throw  off  the  shackles  which  now  hold  him  a 
prisoner  within  the  Vatican,  and  that  he  will  then  personally 
direct  the  carrying  out  of  those  policies  of  world  expansion 
which  shall  gather  all  mankind  into  the  fold  of  Holy  Church?" 

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"There  is  a  lessening  doubt  of  it,"  was  the  tentative  reply. 

"And — "  the  Bishop  hesitated.  "And — shall  we  say  that 
those  all-embracing  policies  ultimately  will  be  directed  by  the 
Holy  Father  from  Washington  itself?" 

A  long  pause  ensued,  during  which  Jose  was  all  ears. 

"Why  not?"  finally  returned  the  Cardinal-Bishop  slowly. 
"Why  not,  if  it  should  better  suit  our  purposes?  It  may  be 
come  advisable  to  remove  the  Holy  See  from  Rome." 

"But— impossible!" 

"Not  at  all — quite  possible,  though  I  will  not  say  probable. 
But  let  us  see,  can  we  not  say  that  the  time  has  arrived  when 
no  President  of  the  United  States  can  be  elected  without  the 
Catholic  vote?  Having  our  vote,  we  have  his  pledges  to  support 
our  policies.  These  statistics  before  us  show  that  already 
seventy-five  per  cent  of  all  Government  employes  in  Washing 
ton  are  of  our  faith.  We  control  Federal,  State,  County  and 
City  offices  without  number.  I  think — I  think  the  time  is  not 
distant  when  we  shall  be  able  to  set  up  a  candidate  of  our 
faith  for  the  Presidency,  if  we  care  to.  And,"  he  mused,  "we 
shall  elect  him.  But,  all  in  good  time,  all  in  good  time." 

"And  is  that,"  the  Bishop  interrogated  eagerly,  "what  the 
Holy  Father  is  now  contemplating?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  it  is,"  answered  the  noncommittal  Cardi 
nal-Bishop.  "But  the  Holy  Father  loves  America.  He  rejoices 
in  your  report  of  progress  in  your  diocese.  The  successes  at 
tained  by  Catholic  candidates  in  the  recent  elections  are  most 
gratifying  to  him.  This  not  only  testifies  to  the  progress  of 
Catholicism  in  America,  but  is  tangible  proof  of  the  growth  of 
tolerance  and  liberal-mindedness  in  that  great  nation.  The 
fact  that  the  Catholic  Mass  is  now  being  said  in  the  American 
army  affords  further  proof." 

"Yes,"  meditated  the  Bishop.  "Our  candidates  who  receive 
election  are  quite  generally  loyal  to  the  Church." 

"And  should  constitute  a  most  potent  factor  in  the  holy 
work  of  making  America  dominantly  Catholic,"  added  the  older 
man. 

"True,  Your  Eminence.  And  yet,  this  great  desideratum 
can  never  come  about  until  the  youth  are  brought  into  the  true 
fold.  And  that  means,  as  you  well  know,  the  abolishing  of  the 
public  school  system." 

"What  think  you  of  that?"  asked  the  Cardinal-Bishop  off 
handedly. 

The  Bishop  waxed  suddenly  animated.  A  subject  had  been 
broached  which  lay  close  to  his  heart.  "The  public  schools 
constitute  a  godless  sink  of  pollution!"  he  replied  heatedly. 
"They  are  nurseries  of  vice !  They  are  part  of  an  immoral  and 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


vicious  system  of  education  which  is  undermining  the  religion 
of  American  children!  I  have  always  contended  that  we,  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church,  must  control  education!  I  hold  that 
education  outside  of  the  Church  is  heresy  of  the  most  dam 
nable  kind !  We  have  heretofore  weakly  protested  against  this 
pernicious  system,  but  without  success,  excepting" — and  here 
he  smiled  cynically — "that  \ve  have  very  generally  succeeded 
in  forcing  the  discontinuance  of  Bible  reading  in  the  public 
schools.  And  in  certain  towns  where  our  parochial  schools  do 
not  instruct  beyond  the  eighth  grade,  it  looks  as  if  we  might 
force  the  introduction  of  a  form  of  the  Catholic  Mass  to  be 
read  each  morning  in  the  High  School." 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  the  Cardinal-Bishop.  "Your  voice 
thrills  me  like  a  trumpet  call." 

"I  would  it  were  such,"  cried  the  Bishop  excitedly,  "sum 
moning  the  faithful  to  strike  a  blow  which  shall  be  felt!  What 
right  have  the  United  States,  or  any  nation,  to  educate  the 
young?  None  whatever!  Education  belongs  to  the  Church! 
Our  rights  in  this  respect  have  been  usurped!  But  they  shall 
be  restored — if  need  be,  at  the  point  of  the — 

"You  positively  make  my  old  heart  leap  to  the  fray,"  in 
terrupted  the  smiling,  white-haired  churchman.  "But  I  feel 
assured  that  we  shall  accomplish  just  that  without  violence  or 
bloodshed,  my  son.  You  echo  my  sentiments  exactly  on  the 
pregnant  question.  And  yet,  by  getting  Catholics  employed  in 
the  public  schools  as  teachers,  and  by  electing  our  candidates 
to  public  offices,  we  quietly  accomplish  our  ends,  do  we  not?" 

"But  when  will  the  Holy  Father  recognize  the  time  as  pro 
pitious  for  a  more  decisive  step  in  that  respect?" 

"Why,  my  son,  I  think  you  fail  to  see  that  we  keep  con 
tinually  stepping.  We  are  growing  by  leaps  and  bounds  in 
America.  At  the  close  of  the  War  of  Independence  the  United 
States  numbered  some  forty-five  thousand  adherents  to  the 
Catholic  faith.  Now  the  number  has  increased  to  twelve  or 
fifteen  millions.  Of  these,  some  four  millions  are  voters.  A 
goodly  number,  is  it  not?" 

"Then,"  cried  the  Bishop,  "let  the  Holy  Father  boldly  make 
the  demand  that  the  States  appropriate  money  for  the  support 
of  our  parochial  schools!" 

Jose's  ears  throbbed.  Before  his  ordination  he  had  heard 
the  Liturgy  for  the  conversion  of  America  recited  in  the  chapel 
of  the  seminary.  And  as  often  he  had  sought  to  picture  the 
condition  of  the  New  World  under  the  religio-political  influence 
which  has  for  centuries  dominated  the  Old.  But  he  had  always 
dismissed  the  idea  of  such  domination  as  wholly  improbable, 
if  not  quite  impossible  in  America.  Yet,  since  coming  into 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  Papal  Secretary's  office,  his  views  were  slowly  undergoing 
revision.  The  Church  was  concentrating  on  America.  Of  that 
there  could  be  no  doubt.  Indeed,  he  had  come  to  believe  its 
success  as  a  future  world-power  to  be  a  function  of  the  stand 
which  it  could  secure  and  maintain  in  the  United  States.  Now, 
as  he  strained  his  ears,  he  could  hear  the  aged  Cardinal-Bishop's 
low,  tense  words — 

"There  can  be  no  real  separation  of  Church  and  State.  The 
Church  is  not  inferior  to  the  civil  power,  nor  is  it  in  any  way 
dependent  upon  it.  And  the  Church  can  never  be  excluded 
from  educating  and  training  the  young,  from  molding  society, 
from  making  laws,  and  governing,  temporally  and  spiritually. 
From  this  attitude  we  shall  never  depart!  Ours  is  the  only 
true  religion.  England  and  Germany  have  been  spiritually 
dead.  But,  praise  to  the  blessed  Virgin  who  has  heard  our 
prayers  and  made  intercession  for  us,  England,  after  long 
centuries  of  struggle  with  man-made  sects  and  indefinite  dogma, 
its  spiritually-starving  people  fast  drifting  into  atheism  and  in 
fidelity  because  of  nothing  to  hold  to,  has  awakened,  and  in 
these  first  hours  of  her  resurrection  is  fast  returning  to  the 
Holy  Church  of  Rome.  America,  in  these  latter  days,  is  rousing 
from  the  blight  of  Puritanism,  Protestantism,  and  their  inevita 
ble  result,  free-thinking  and  anarchy,  and  is  becoming  the 
brightest  jewel  in  the  Papal  crown." 

The  Bishop  smiled  dubiously.  "And  yet,  Your  Eminence," 
he  replied,  "we  are  heralded  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the 
other  as  a  menace  to  Republican  institutions." 

"Ah,  true.  And  you  must  agree  that  Romanism  is  a  distinct 
menace  to  the  insane  license  of  speech  and  press.  It  is  a 
decided  menace  to  the  insanity  of  Protestantism.  But,"  he 
added  archly,  while  his  eyes  twinkled,  "I  have  no  doubt  that 
when  Catholic  education  has  advanced  a  little  further  many 
of  your  American  preachers,  editors,  and  Chautauqua  dema 
gogues  will  find  themselves  behind  the  bars  of  madhouses. 
Fortunately,  that  editor  of  the  prominent  American  magazine 
of  which  you  were  speaking  switched  from  his  heretic  Episcopal 
faith  in  time  to  avoid  this  unpleasant  consequence." 

The  Bishop  reflected  for  a  moment.  Then,  deliberately,  as 
if  meditating  the  great  import  of  his  words,  "Your  Eminence, 
in  view  of  our  strength,  and  our  impregnable  position  as  God's 
chosen,  cannot  the  Holy  Father  insist  that  the  United  States 
mails  be  barred  against  the  infamous  publications  that  so  basely 
vilify  our  Church?" 

"And  thereby  precipitate  a  revolution?"  It  was  the  firm 
voice  of  the  Papal  Secretary  himself,  who  at  that  moment 
entered  the  room. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  Monsignor,"  said  the  Bishop,  as  he  rose  and  saluted 
the  newcomer,  "how  much  longer  must  we  submit  to  the  gross 
injustice  and  indignities  practiced  upon  us  by  non-believers?" 

"As  long  as  the  infallible  Holy  Father  directs,"  replied  that 
eminent  personage.  "Obey  him,  as  you  would  God  himself," 
the  Secretary  continued.  "And  teach  your  flock  to  do  likewise. 
The  ballot  wall  do  for  us  in  America  what  armed  resistance 
never  could.  Listen,  friend,  my  finger  is  on  the  religious  pulse 
of  the  world.  Nowhere  does  this  pulse  beat  as  strongly  as  in 
that  part  which  we  call  the  United  States.  For  years  I  have 
been  watching  the  various  contending  forces  in  that  country, 
diligently  and  earnestly  studying  the  elements  acting  and  re 
acting  upon  our  Church  there.  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  success  of  Holy  Church  throughout  the  world  depends 
upon  its  advance  in  the  United  States  during  the  next  few 
years.  I  have  become  an  American  enthusiast!  The  glorious 
work  of  making  America  Catholic  is  so  fraught  with  conse 
quences  of  vastest  import  that  my  blood  surges  with  the  enthu 
siasm  of  an  old  Crusader!  But  there  is  much  still  to  be  done. 
America  is  a  field  white  for  the  harvest,  almost  unobstructed." 

"Then,"  queried  the  Bishop,  "you  do  not  reckon  Protestant 
ism  an  obstruction?" 

"Protestantism!"  the  Secretary  rejoined  with  a  cynical 
laugh.  "No,  I  reckon  it  as  nothing.  Protestantism  in  America 
is  decadent.  It  has  split,  divided,  and  disintegrated,  until  it  is 
scarcely  recognizable.  Its  adherents  are  falling  away  in  great 
numbers.  Its  weak  tenets  and  senile  faith  hold  but  compara 
tively  few  and  lukewarm  supporters.  It  has  degenerated  into 
a  sort  of  social  organization,  with  musicals,  pink  teas,  and 
church  suppers  as  attractions.  No,  America  is  bound  to  be 
classed  as  a  Catholic  nation — and  I  expect  to  live  to  see  it  thus. 
Our  material  and  spiritual  progress  in  the  United  States  is 
amazing,  showing  how  nobly  American  Catholics  have  re 
sponded  to  the  Holy  Father's  appeal.  New  dioceses  are  spring 
ing  up  everywhere.  Churches  are  multiplying  with  astonishing 
rapidity.  The  discouraging  outlook  in  Europe  is  more,  far 
more,  than  counterbalanced  by  our  wonderful  progress  in  the 
United  States.  We  might  say  that  the  Vatican  now  rests  upon 
American  backs,  for  the  United  States  send  more  Peter's  Pence 
to  Rome  than  all  other  Catholic  countries  together.  We  prac 
tically  control  her  polls  and  her  press.  America  was  discovered 
by  Christopher  Columbus,  a  Catholic  in  the  service  of  a  Catholic 
ruler.  It  is  Catholic  in  essence,  and  it  shall  so  be  recognized! 
The  Holy  Catholic  Church  always  has  been  and  always  will  be 
the  sole  and  only  Christian  authority.  The  Catholic  religion 
by  rights  ought  to  be,  and  ultimately  shall  be,  the  exclusively 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


dominant  religion  of  the  world,  and  every  other  sort  of  worship 
shall  be  banished — interdicted — destroyed!" 

For  a  while  Jose  heard  no  more.  His  ears  burned  and  his 
brain  throbbed.  He  had  become  conscious  of  but  one  all- 
absorbing  thought,  the  fact  of  his  vassalage  to  a  world-embrac 
ing  political  system,  working  in  the  name  of  the  Christ.  Not 
a  new  thought,  by  any  means — indeed  an  old  one,  often  held— 
but  now  driven  home  to  him  most  emphatically.  He  forgot  his 
clerical  duties  and  sank  into  profound  revery  on  his  incon 
sistent  position  in  the  office  of  the  highest  functionary  of  Holy 
Church  aside  from  the  Supreme  Pontiff  himself. 

He  was  aroused  at  length  from  his  meditations  by  the  de 
parture  of  the  American  Bishop.  "It  is  true,  as  you  report," 
the  Papal  Secretary  \vas  saying  earnestly.  "America  seems 
rife  with  modernism.  Free-masonry,  socialism,  and  countless 
other  fads  and  religious  superstitions  are  widely  prevalent 
there.  Nor  do  I  underestimate  their  strength  and  influence. 
And  yet,  I  fear  them  not.  There  are  also  certain  freak  re 
ligions,  philosophical  beliefs,  wrung  from  the  simple  teachings 
of  our  blessed  Saviour,  the  rapid  spread  of  which  at  one  time 
did  give  me  some  concern.  The  Holy  Father  mentioned  one 
or  two  of  them  to-day,  in  reference  to  his  contemplated  ency 
clical  on  modernism.  But  I  now  see  that  they  are  cults  based 
upon  human  personality;  and  with  their  leaders  removed,  the 
fabrics  will  of  themselves  crumble." 

He  took  leave  of  the  Bishop,  and  turned  again  to  address  the 
Cardinal-Bishop  within.  "A  matter  of  the  gravest  import  has 
arisen,"  he  began  in  a  low  voice;  "and  one  that  may  directly 
affect  our  negotiations  in  regard  to  the  support  which  the  Holy 
Father  will  need  in  case  he  issues  a  pronunciamento  that 
France,  Spain,  and  Austria  shall  no  longer  exercise  the  right  of 
veto  in  papal  elections.  That  rumor  regarding  Isabella's 
daughter  is  again  afloat.  I  have  summoned  Father  Rafael  de 
Rincon  to  Rome  to  state  what  he  knows.  But —  He  rose  and 
looked  out  through  the  door  at  Jose,  bending  over  his  littered 
desk.  Then  he  went  back,  and  resumed  his  conversation  with 
the  Cardinal-Bishop,  but  in  a  tone  so  low  that  Jose  could  catch 
only  disconnected  scraps. 

"What,  Colombia?"  he  at  length  heard  the  Cardinal-Bishop 
exclaim. 

"Yes,"  was  the  Secretary's  reply.  "And  presumably  at  the 
instigation  of  that  busybody,  Wenceslas  Ortiz.  Though  what 
concern  he  might  have  in  the  Infanta  is  to  me  incomprehensible 
— assuming,  of  course,  that  there  is  such  a  royal  daughter." 

"But — Colombia  elects  a  President  soon,  is  it  not  so?" 

"On  the  eve  of  election  now,"  replied  the  Secretary.     "And 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


if  the  influence  of  Wenceslas  with  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena  is 
what  I  am  almost  forced  to  admit  that  it  is,  then  the  election 
is  in  his  hands.  But,  the  Infanta —  The  sound  of  his  voice 
did  not  carry  the  rest  of  his  words  to  Jose's  itching  ears. 

An  hour  later  the  Secretary  and  the  Cardinal-Bishop  came 
out  of  the  room  and  left  the  office  together.  "Yes,"  the  Secre 
tary  was  saying,  "in  the  case  of  Wenceslas  it  was  'pull  and 
percuniam'  that  secured  him  his  place.  The  Church  did  not 
put  him  there." 

The  Cardinal-Bishop  laughed  genially.  "Then  the  Holy 
Ghost  was  not  consulted,  I  take  it,"  he  said. 

"No,"  replied  the  Secretary  grimly.  "And  he  has  so  com 
plicated  the  already  delicate  situation  in  Colombia  that  I  fear 
Congress  will  table  the  bill  prohibiting  Free-masonry.  It  is  to 
be  deplored.  Among  all  the  Latin  Republics  none  has  been 
more  thoroughly  Catholic  than  Colombia." 

"Is  the  Holy  Father's  unpublished  order  regarding  the  sale 
and  distribution  of  Bibles  loyally  observed  there?"  queried  the 
Cardinal-Bishop. 

The  door  closed  upon  them  and  Jose  heard  no  more.  His 
day's  duties  ended,  he  went  to  his  room  to  write  and  reflect. 
But  the  intense  afternoon  heat  again  drove  him  forth  to  seek 
what  comfort  he  might  near  the  river.  With  his  notebook  in 
hand  he  went  to  the  little  park,  as  \vas  his  frequent  wont.  An 
hour  or  so  later,  while  he  was  jotting  down  his  remembrance  of 
the  conversation  just  overheard,  together  with  his  own  caustic 
and  protesting  opinions,  his  absorption  was  broken  by  the 
strange  child's  accident.  A  few  minutes  later  the  notebook  had 
disappeared. 

And  now  the  thought  of  all  this  medley  of  personal  material 
and  secret  matters  of  Church  polity  falling  into  the  hands  of 
those  who  might  make  capital  of  it,  and  thereby  drag  the 
Rincon  honor  through  the  mire,  cast  the  man  prostrate  in 
the  dust. 


CHAPTER  10 

DAYS  passed — days   whose   every   dawn   found   the   priest 
staring  in  sleepless,  wide-eyed  terror  at  the  ceiling  above 
— days  crowded  with  torturing  apprehension  and  sicken 
ing  suggestion — days  when  his  knees  quaked  and  his  hands 
shook  when  his  superiors  addressed  him  in  the  performance 
of  his  customary  duties.     No  mental  picture  was  too  frightful 
or  abhorrent  for  him  to  entertain  as  portraying  a  possible  con 
sequence  of  the  loss  of  his  journal.     He  cowered  in  agony  be- 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


fore  these  visions.  He  dared  not  seek  the  little  park  again. 
He  feared  to  show  himself  in  the  streets.  He  dreaded  the  short 
walk  from  his  dormitory  to  the  Vatican.  His  life  became  a 
sustained  torture — a  consuming  agony  of  uncertainty,  intermi 
nable  suspense,  fearful  foreboding.  The  cruelty  of  his  position 
corroded  him.  His  health  suffered,  and  his  cassock  hung  like  a 
bag  about  his  emaciated  form. 

Then  the  filament  snapped  and  the  sword  fell.  On  a  dismal, 
rainy  morning,  some  two  months  after  the  incident  in  the 
park,  Jose  was  summoned  into  the  private  office  of  the  Papal 
Secretary  of  State.  As  the  priest  entered  the  small  room  the 
Secretary,  sitting  alone  at  his  desk,  turned  and  looked  at  him 
long  and  fixedly. 

"So,  my  son,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  froze  the  priest's  blood, 
"you  are  still  alive?"  Then,  taking  up  a  paper-covered  book 
of  medium  size  which  apparently  he  had  been  reading,  he  held 
it  out  without  comment. 

Jose  took  it  mechanically.  The  book  was  crudely  printed 
and  showed  evidence  of  having  been  hastily  issued.  It  came 
from  the  press  of  a  Viennese  publisher,  and  bore  the  startling 
title,  "Confessions  of  a  Roman  Catholic  Priest."  As  in  a  dream 
Jose  opened  it.  A  cry  escaped  him,  and  the  book  fell  from  his 
hands.  It  was  his  journal! 

There  are  sometimes  crises  in  human  lives  when  the  storm- 
spent  mind,  tossing  on  the  waves  of  heaving  emotion,  tugs  and 
strains  at  the  ties  which  moor  it  to  reason,  until  they  snap, 
and  it  sweeps  out  into  the  unknown,  where  blackness  and 
terror  rage  above  the  fathomless  deep.  Such  a  crisis  had 
entered  the  life  of  the  unhappy  priest,  who  now  held  in  his 
shaking  hand  the  garbled  publication  of  his  life's  most  sacred 
thoughts.  Into  whose  hands  his  notes  had  fallen  on  that  black 
day  when  he  had  sacrificed  everything  for  an  unknown  child, 
he  knew  not.  How  they  had  made  their  way  into  Austria,  and 
into  the  pressroom  of  the  heretical  modernist  who  had  gleefully 
issued  them,  twisted,  exaggerated,  but  unabridged,  he  might 
not  even  imagine.  The  terrible  fact  remained  that  there  in  his 
hands  they  stared  up  at  him  in  hideous  mockery,  his  soul-con 
victions,  his  heart's  deepest  and  most  inviolable  thoughts,  de 
tails  of  his  own  personal  history,  secrets  of  state — all  ruth 
lessly  exposed  to  the  world's  vulgar  curiosity  and  the  rapacity 
of  those  who  would  not  fail  to  play  them  up  to  the  certain 
advantages  to  which  they  lent  themselves  all  too  well. 

And  there  before  him,  too,  were  the  Secretary's  sharp  eyes, 
burning  into  his  very  soul.  He  essayed  to  speak,  to  rise  to  his 
own  defense.  But  his  throat  filled,  and  the  words  which  he 
would  utter  died  on  his  trembling  lips.  The  room  whirled  about 

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him.  Floods  of  memory  began  to  sweep  over  him  in  huge 
billows.  The  conflicting  forces  which  had  culminated  in  plac 
ing  him  in  the  paradoxical  position  in  which  he  now  stood 
raced  before  him  in  confused  review.  Objects  lost  their  definite 
outlines  and  melted  into  the  haze  which  rose  before  his  strain 
ing  eyes.  All  things  at  last  merged  into  the  terrible  presence 
of  the  Papal  Secretary,  as  he  slowly  rose,  tall  and  gaunt,  and 
with  arm  extended  and  long,  bony  finger  pointing  to  the  yellow 
river  in  the  distance,  said  in  words  whose  cruel  suggestion 
scorched  the  raw  soul  of  the  suffering  priest: 

"My  son,  be  advised:  the  Tiber  covers  many  sins." 
Then  pitying  oblivion  opened  wide  her  arms,  and  the  tired 
priest  sank  gently  into  them. 


CHAPTER  11 

ROME  again  lay  scorching  beneath  a  merciless  summer  sun. 
But  the  energetic  uncle  of  Jose  was  not  thereby  restrained 
from  making  another  hurried  visit  to  the  Vatican.  What 
his  mission  was  does  not  appear  in  papal  records;  but,  like  the 
one  which  he  found  occasion  to  make  just  prior  to  the  ordina 
tion  of  his  nephew,  this  visit  was  not  extended  to  include  Jose, 
who  throughout  that  enervating  summer  lay  tossing  in  de 
lirium  in  the  great  hospital  of  the  Santo  Spirito.  We  may  be 
sure,  however,  that  its  influence  upon  the  disposition  of  the 
priest's  case  after  the  recent  denoument  was  not  inconsiderable, 
and  that  it  was  largely  responsible  for  his  presence  before  the 
Holy  Father  himself  when,  after  weeks  of  racking  fever,  wan 
and  emaciated,  and  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  confidential 
valet  of  His  Holiness,  the  young  priest  faced  that  august  per 
sonage  and  heard  the  infallible  judgment  of  the  Holy  See  upon 
his  unfortunate  conduct. 

On  the  throne  of  St.  Peter,  in  the  heavily  tapestried  private 
audience  room  of  the  great  Vatican  prison-palace,  and  guarded 
from  intrusion  by  armed  soldiery  and  hosts  of  watchful  eccle 
siastics  of  all  grades,  sat  the  Infallible  Council,  the  Vicar- 
General  of  the  humble  Nazarene,  the  aged  leader  at  whose  beck 
a  hundred  million  faithful  followers  bent  in  lowly  genuflection. 
Near  him  stood  the  Papal  Secretary  of  State  and  two  Cardinal- 
Bishops  of  the  Administrative  Congregation. 

Jose  dragged  himself  wearily  before  the  Supreme  Pontiff 
and  bent  low. 

"Bcnedicite,  my  erring  son."  The  soft  voice  of  His  Holiness 
floated  not  unmusically  through  the  tense  silence  of  the  room. 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Arise.  The  hand  of  the  Lord  already  has  been  laid  heavily 
upon  you  in  wholesome  chastening  for  your  part  in  this  de 
plorable  affair.  And  the  same  omnipotent  hand  has  been 
stretched  forth  to  prevent  the  baneful  effects  of  your  thought 
less  conduct.  We  do  not  condemn  you,  my  son.  It  was  the 
work  of  the  Evil  One,  who  has  ever  found  through  your  weak 
nesses  easy  access  to  your  soul." 

Jose  raised  his  blurred  eyes  and  gazed  at  the  Holy  Father 
in  perplexed  astonishment.  But  the  genial  countenance  of  the 
patriarch  seemed  to  confirm  his  mild  words.  A  smile,  tender 
and  patronizing,  in  which  Jose  read  forgiveness — and  yet  with 
it  a  certain  undefined  something  which  augured  conditions 
upon  \vhich  alone  penalty  for  his  culpability  would  be  remitted 
—lighted  up  the  pale  features  of  the  Holy  Father  and  warmed 
the  frozen  life-currents  of  the  shrinking  priest. 

"My  son,"  the  Pontiff  continued  tenderly,  "our  love  for  our 
wandering  children  is  but  stimulated  by  their  need  of  our  pro 
tecting  care.  Fear  not;  the  guilty  publisher  of  your  notes  has 
been  awakened  to  his  fault,  and  the  book  which  he  so  thought 
lessly  issued  has  been  quite  suppressed." 

Jose  bent  his  head  and  patiently  awaited  the  conclusion. 

"You  have  lain  for  weeks  at  death's  door,  my  son.  The 
words  which  you  uttered  in  your  delirium  corroborated  our 
own  thought  of  your  innocence  of  intentional  wrong.  And 
now  that  you  have  regained  your  reason,  you  will  confess  to  us 
that  your  reports,  and  especially  your  account  of  the  recent 
conversation  between  the  Cardinal-Secretary  of  State  and  the 
Cardinal-Bishop,  were  written  under  that  depression  of  mind 
which  has  long  afflicted  you,  producing  a  form  of  mental  de 
rangement,  and  giving  rise  to  frequent  hallucination.  It  is  this 
which  has  caused  us  to  extend  to  you  our  sympathy  and  pro 
tection.  Long  and  intense  study,  family  sorrow,  and  certain 
inherited  traits  of  disposition,  whose  rapid  development  have 
tended  to  lack  of  normal  mental  balance,  account  to  us  for 
those  deeds  of  eccentricity  on  your  part  which  have  plunged 
us  into  extreme  embarrassment  and  yourself  into  the  illness 
which  threatened  your  young  life.  Is  it  not  so,*  my  son?" 

The  priest  stared  up  at  the  speaker  in  bewilderment.  This 
unexpected  turn  of  affairs  had  swept  his  defense  from  his  mind*. 

"The  Holy  Father  awaits  your  reply,"  the  Papal  Secretary 
spoke  with  severity.  His  own  thought  had  been  greatly  ruffled 
that  morning,  and  his  patience  severely  taxed  by  a  threatened 
mutiny  among  the  Swiss  guards,  whose  demands  in  regard  to 
the  quantity  of  wine  allowed  them  and  whose  memorial  re 
counting  other  alleged  grievances  he  had  just  flatly  rejected. 
The  muffled  cries  of  "Viva  Garibaldi!"  as  the  petitioners  left 

73 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


his  presence  were  still  echoing  in  the  Secretary's  ears,  and  his 
anger  had  scarce  begun  to  cool. 

"We  are  patient,  my  Cardinal-Nephew,"  the  Pontiff  resumed 
mildly.  "Our  love  for  this  erring  son  enfolds  him."  Then, 
turning  again  to  Jose,  "We  have  correctly  summarized  the 
causes  of  your  recent  conduct,  have  we  not?" 

The  priest  made  as  if  to  reply,  but  hesitated,  with  the  words 
fluttering  on  his  lips. 

"My  dear  son" — the  Holy  Father  bent  toward  the  wondering 
priest  in  an  attitude  of  loving  solicitation— "our  blessed  Saviour 
was  ofttimes  confronted  with  those  possessed  of  demons.  Did 
he  reject  them?  No;  and,  despite  the  accusations  against  us 
in  your  writings,  for  which  we  know  you  were  not  morally 
responsible,  we,  Christ's  representative  on  earth,  are  still 
touched  with  his  love  and  pity  for  one  so  unfortunate  as  you. 
With  your  help  we  shall  stop  the  mouths  of  calumny,  and  set 
you  right  before  the  world.  We  shall  use  our  great  resources 
to  save  the  Rincon  honor  which,  through  the  working  of  Satan 
within  you,  is  now  unjustly  besmirched.  We  shall  labor  to 
restore  you  to  your  right  mind,  and  to  the  usefulness  which 
your  scholarly  gifts  make  possible  to  you.  We  indeed  rejoice 
that  your  piteous  appeal  has  reached  our  ears.  We  rejoice 
to  correct  those  erroneous  views  which  you,  in  the  temporary 
aberration  of  reason,  were  driven  to  commit  to  writing,  and 
which  so  unfortunately  fell  into  the  hands  of  Satan's  alert 
emissaries.  Your  ravings  during  these  weeks  of  delirium  shed 
much  light  upon  the  obsessing  thoughts  which  plunged  you  into 
mild  insanity.  And  they  have  stirred  the  immeasurable  depths 
of  pity  within  us." 

The  Holy  Father  paused  after  this  unwontedly  long  speech. 
A  dumb  sense  of  stupefaction  seemed  to  possess  the  priest,  and 
he  passed  his  shrunken  hands  before  his  eyes  as  if  he  would 
brush  away  a  mist. 

"That  this  unfortunate  book  is  but  the  uttering  of  delirium, 
we  have  already  announced  to  the  \vorld,"  His  Holiness  gently 
continued.  "But  out  of  our  deep  love  for  a  family  which  has 
supplied  so  many  illustrious  sons  to  our  beloved  Church  \ve 
have  suppressed  mention  of  your  name  in  connection  there 
with." 

The  priest  started,  as  he  vaguely  sensed  the  impending 
issue.  What  was  it  that  His  Holiness  was  about  to  demand? 
That  he  denounce  his  journal,  over  his  own  signature,  as  the 
ravings  of  a  man  temporarily  insane?  He  was  well  aware 
that  the  Vatican's  mere  denial  of  the  allegations  therein  con 
tained,  and  its  attributing  of  them  to  a  mad  priest,  would 
scarcely  carry  conviction  to  the  Courts  of  Spain  and  Austria, 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


or  to  an  astonished  world.  But,  for  him  to  declare  them  the 
garbled  and  unauthentic  utterances  of  an  aberrant  mind,  and 
to  make  public  such  statement  in  his  own  name,  would  save 
the  situation,  possibly  the  Rincon  honor,  even  though  it  stultify 
his  own. 

His  Holiness  waited  a  few  moments  for  the  priest's  reply; 
but  receiving  none,  he  continued  with  deep  significance: 

"You  will  not  make  it  necessary,  we  know,  for  us  to  an 
nounce  that  a  mad  priest,  a  son  of  the  house  of  Rincon,  now 
confined  in  an  asylum,  voiced  these  heretical  and  treasonable 
utterances." 

The  voice  of  His  Holiness  flowed  like  cadences  of  softest 
music,  charming  in  its  tenderness,  winning  in  its  appeal,  but 
momentous  in  its  certain  implication. 

"In  our  solicitude  for  your  recovery  we  commanded  our 
own  physicians  to  attend  you.  To  them  you  owe  your  life. 
To  them,  too,  we  owe  our  gratitude  for  that  report  on  your  case 
which  reveals  the  true  nature  of  the  malady  afflicting  you." 

The  low  voice  vibrated  in  rhythmic  waves  through  the  dead 
silence  of  the  room. 

"To  them  also  you  now  owe  this  opportunity  to  abjure  the 
writings  which  have  caused  us  and  yourself  such  great  sorrow; 
to  them  you  owe  this  privilege  of  confessing  before  us,  who  will 
receive  your  recantation,  remit  your  unintentional  sins,  and 
restore  you  to  honor  and  service  in  our  beloved  Church." 

Jose  suddenly  came  to  himself.  Recant!  Confess!  In 
God's  name,  what?  Abjure  his  writings,  the  convictions  of  a 
lifetime ! 

"These  \vritings,  my  son,  are  not  your  sane  and  rational 
convictions,"  the  Pontiff  suggested. 

Jose  still  stood  mute  before  him. 

"You  renounce  them  now,  in  the  clear  light  of  restored 
reason;  and  you  swear  future  lealty  to  us  and  to  Holy  Church," 
the  aged  Father  continued. 

"Make  answer!"  commanded  one  of  the  Cardinal-Bishops, 
starting  toward  the  wavering  priest.  "Down  on  your  knees 
before  the  Holy  Father,  who  waits  to  forgive  your  venial  sin!" 

Jose  turned  swiftly  to  the  approaching  Cardinal  and  held  up 
a  hand.  The  man  stopped  short.  The  Pontiff  and  his  asso 
ciates  bent  forward  in  eager  anticipation.  The  valet  fell  back, 
and  Jose  stood  alone.  In  that  tense  mental  atmosphere  the 
shrinking  priest  seemed  to  be  transformed  into  a  Daniel. 

"No,  Holy  Father,  you  mistake!"  His  voice  rang  through 
the  room  like  a  clarion.  "I  do  not  recant!  My  writings  do 
express  my  deepest  and  sanest  convictions!" 

The  Pontiff's  pallid  face  went  dark.    The  eyes  of  the  other 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


auditors  bulged  with  astonishment.  A  dumb  spell  settled  over 
the  room. 

"Father,  my  guilt  lies  not  in  having  recorded  my  honest 
convictions,  nor  in  the  fact  that  these  records  fell  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  eagerly  grasp  every  opportunity  to  attack 
their  common  enemy,  the  Church.  It  lies  rather  in  my  weak 
resistance  to  those  influences  which  in  early  life  combined  to 
force  upon  me  a  career  to  which  I  was  by  temperament  and 
instinct  utterly  disinclined.  It  lies  in  my  having  sacrificed 
myself  to  the  selfish  love  of  my  mother  and  my  own  exaggerated 
sense  of  family  pride.  It  lies  in  my  still  remaining  outwardly 
a  priest  of  the  Catholic  faith,  when  every  fiber  of  my  soul 
revolts  against  the  hypocrisy!" 

"You  are  a  subject  of  the  Church!"  the  Papal  Secretary  in 
terrupted.  "You  have  sworn  to  her  and  to  the  Sovereign  Pontiff 
as  loyal  and  unquestioning  obedience  as  to  the  will  of  God 
himself!" 

Jose  turned  upon  him.  "Before  my  ordination,"  he  cried, 
"I  was  a  voluntary  subject  of  the  Sovereign  of  Spain.  Did  that 
ceremony  render  me  an  unwilling  subject  of  the  Holy  Father? 
Does  the  ceremony  of  ordination  constitute  the  Romanizing  of 
Spain?  No,  I  am  not  a  subject  of  Rome,  but  of  my  conscience!" 

Another  dead  pause  followed,  in  which  for  some  moments 
nothing  disturbed  the  oppressive  silence.  Jose  looked  eagerly 
into  the  delicate  features  of  the  living  Head  of  the  Church. 
Then,  with  decreased  ardor,  and  in  a  voice  tinged  with  pathos, 
he  continued: 

"Father,  my  mistakes  have  been  only  such  as  are  natural 
to  one  of  my  peculiar  character.  I  came  to  know,  but  too  late, 
that  my  life-motives,  though  pure,  found  not  in  me  the  will 
for  their  direction.  I  became  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  those 
stronger  than  myself.  For  what  ultimate  purpose,  I  know  not. 
Of  this  only  am  I  certain,  that  my  mother's  ambitions,  though 
selfish,  were  the  only  pure  motives  among  those  which  united 
to  force  the  order  of  priesthood  upon  me." 

"Force!"  burst  in  one  of  the  Cardinal-Bishops.  "Do  you 
assume  to  make  the  Holy  Father  believe  that  the  priesthood 
can  be  forced  upon  a  man?  You  assumed  it  willingly,  gladly, 
as  was  your  proper  return  for  the  benefits  which  the  Mother 
Church  had  bestowed  upon  you!" 

"In  a  state  of  utmost  confusion,  bordering  a  mental  break 
down,  I  assumed  it — outwardly,"  returned  the  priest  sadly, 
"but  my  heart  never  ceased  to  reject  it.  Once  ordained,  how 
ever,  I  sought  in  my  feeble  way  to  study  the  needs  of  the 
Church,  and  prepare  myself  to  assist  in  the  inauguration  of 
reforms  which  I  felt  she  must  some  day  undertake." 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  Pontiff's  features  twitched  with  ill-concealed  irritation 
at  this  confession;  but  before  he  could  speak  Jose  continued: 

"Oh,  Father,  and  Cardinal-Princes  of  the  Church,  does  not 
the  need  of  your  people  for  truth  wring  your  hearts?  Turn 
from  your  zealous  dreams  of  world-conquest  and  see  them, 
steeped  in  ignorance  and  superstition,  wretched  with  poverty, 
war,  and  crime,  extending  their  hands  to  you  as  their  spiritual 
leaders — to  you,  Holy  Father,  who  should  be  their  Moses,  to 
smite  the  rock  of  error,  that  the  living,  saving  truth  may 
gush  out!" 

He  paused,  as  if  fearful  of  his  own  rushing  thought.  Then : 
"Is  not  the  past  fraught  with  lessons  of  deepest  import  to 
us?  Is  not  the  Church  being  rejected  by  the  nations  of  Europe 
because  of  our  intolerance,  our  oppression,  our  stubborn  cling 
ing  to  broken  idols  and  effete  forms  of  faith?  We  are  now 
turning  from  the  wreckage  which  the  Church  has  wrought  in 
the  Old  World,  and  our  eyes  are  upon  America.  But  can  we 
deceive  ourselves  that  free,  liberty-loving  America  will  bow 
her  neck  to  the  mediaeval  yoke  which  the  Church  would  im 
pose  upon  her?  Why,  oh,  why  cannot  we  see  the  Church's 
tremendous  opportunities  for  good  in  this  century,  and  yield 
to  that  inevitable  mental  and. moral  progression  which  must 
sweep  her  from  her  foundations,  unless  she  conform  to  its 
requirements  and  join  in  the  movement  toward  universal  eman 
cipation!  Our  people  are  taught  from  childhood  to  be  led; 
they  are  willing  followers — none  more  willing  in  the  world! 
But  why  lead  them  into  the  pit?  Why  muzzle  them  with  fear, 
oppress  them  with  threats,  fetter  them  with  outworn  dogma 
and  dead  creed?  Why  continue  to  dazzle  them  with  pagan 
ceremonialism  and  oriental  glamour,  and  then,  our  exactions 
wrung  from  them,  leave  them  to  consume  with  disease  and 
decay  with  moral  contagion?" 

"The  man  is  mad  with  heresy!"  muttered  the  Pontiff,  turn 
ing  to  the  Cardinal-Bishops. 

"No,  it  is  not  I  who  is  mad  with  heresy,  but  the  Holy 
Church,  of  which  you  are  the  spiritual  Head!"  cried  the  priest, 
his  loud  voice  trembling  with  indignation  and  his  frail  body 
swaying  under  his  rapidly  growing  excitement.  "She  is  guilty 
of  the  damnable  heresy  of  concealing  knowledge,  of  hiding 
truth,  of  stifling  honest  questionings!  She  is  guilty  of  grossest 
intolerance,  of  deadliest  hatred,  of  impurest  motives — she,  the 
self-constituted,  self-endowed  spiritual  guide  of  mankind,  arro 
gating  to  herself  infallibility,  superiority,  supreme  authority — 
yea,  the  very  voice  of  God  himself!" 

The  priest  had  now  lost  all  sense  of  environment,  and  his 
voice  waxed  louder  as  he  continued: 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"The  conduct  of  the  Church  throughout  the  centuries  has 
made  her  the  laughing  stock  of  history,  an  object  of  ridicule  to 
every  man  of  education  and  sense!  She  is  filled  with  super 
stition — da  you  not  know  it?  She  is  permeated  with  pagan 
idolatry,  fetishism,  and  carnal-mindedness!  She  is  pitiably 
ignorant  of  the  real  teachings  of  the  Christ!  Her  dogmas  have 
been  formed  by  the  subtle  wits  of  Church  theologians.  They 
are  in  this  century  as  childish  as  her  political  and  social 
schemes  are  mischievous!  Why  have  we  formulated  our  doc 
trine  of  purgatory?  Why  so  solicitous  about  souls  in  purgato 
rial  torment,  and  yet  so  careless  of  them  \vhile  still  on  earth? 
Where  is  our  justification  for  the  doctrine  of  infallibility?  Is 
liberty  to  think  the  concession  of  God,  or  of  the  Holy  Father? 
Where,  oh,  where  is  the  divine  Christ  in  our  system  of  the 
ology?  Is  he  to  be  found  in  materialism,  intolerance,  the  burn 
ing  of  Bibles,  in  hatred  of  so-called  heretics,  and  in  worldly 
practices?  Are  we  not  keeping  the  Christ  in  the  sepulcher, 
refusing  to  permit  him  to  arise?" 

His  speech  soared  into  the  impassioned  energy  of  thundered 
denunciation. 

"Yes,  Holy  Father,  and  Cardinal-Bishops,  I  am  justified  in 
criticizing  the  Holy  Catholic  Church!  And  I  am  likewise  justi 
fied  in  condemning  the  Protestant  Church!  All  have  fallen 
woefully  short  of  the  glory  of  God,  and  none  obeys  the  simple 
commands  of  the  Christ.  The  Church  throughout  the  world 
has  become  secularized,  and  worship  is  but  hollow  consistency 
in  the  strict  performance  of  outward  acts  of  devotion.  Our  re 
ligion  is  but  a  hypocritical  show  of  conformity.  Our  asylums, 
our  hospitals,  our  institutions  of  charity?  Alas!  they  but  evi 
dence  our  woeful  shortcoming,  and  our  persistent  refusal  to 
rise  into  the  strength  of  the  healing,  saving  Christ,  which  would 
render  these  obsolete  institutions  unnecessary  in  the  world  of 
to-day!  The  Holy  Catholic  Church  is  but  a  human  institution. 
Its  worldliness,  its  scheming,  its  political  machinations,  make 
me  shudder — !" 

"Stop,  madman!"  thundered  one  of  the  Cardinal-Bishops, 
rushing  upon  the  frail  Jose  with  such  force  as  to  fell  him  to  the 
floor.  The  Pontiff  had  risen,  and  sunk  again  into  his  chair. 
The  valet  hurried  to  his  assistance.  The  Papal  Secretary,  his 
face  contorted  with  rage,  and  his  throat  choking  with  the  press 
of  words  which  he  strove  to  utter,  hastened  to  the  door  to  sum 
mon  help.  "Remove  this  man!"  he  commanded,  pointing  out 
the  prostrate  form  of  Jose  to  the  two  Swiss  guards  wrho  had 
responded  to  his  call.  "Confine  him!  He  is  violent — a  raging 
maniac!" 

A  few  days  later,  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon,  having  been  pro- 

78 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nounced  by  the  Vatican  physicians  mentally  deranged,  as  the 
result  of  acute  cerebral  anaemia,  was  quietly  conveyed  to  a 

sequestered  monastery  at  Palazzola. 

****** 

Two  summers  came,  and  fled  again  before  the  chill  winds 
which  blew  from  the  Alban  hills.  Then  one  day  Jose's  uncle 
appeared  at  the  monastery  door  with  a  written  order  from  His 
Holiness,  effecting  the  priest's  conditional  release.  Together 
they  journeyed  at  once  to  Seville,  the  uncle  alert  and  energetic 
as  ever,  showing  but  slight  trace  of  time's  devastating  hand; 
Jose,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self  physically,  and  his  mind 
clouded  with  the  somber  pall  of  melancholia. 

Toward  the  close  of  a  quiet  summer,  spent  with  his  mother 
in  his  boyhood  home,  Jose  received  from  his  uncle's  hand  an 
other  letter,  bearing  the  papal  insignia.  It  was  evident  that  it 
was  not  unexpected,  for  it  found  the  priest  with  his  effects 
packed  and  ready  for  a  considerable  journey.  A  hurried  fare 
well  to  his  mother,  and  the  life-weary  Jose,  combining  inno 
cence  and  misery  in  exaggerated  proportions,  and  still  a  vassal 
of  Rome,  set  out  for  the  port  of  Cadiz.  There,  in  company  with 
the  Apostolic  Delegate  and  Envoy  Extraordinary  to  the  Re 
public  of  Colombia,  he  embarked  on  the  West  Indian  trader 
Sarnia,  bound  for  Cartagena,  in  the  New  World. 


CHAPTER  12 

is  no  region  in  the  Western  Hemisphere  more  in 
vested  with  the  spirit  of  romance  and  adventure  than 
that  strip  of  Caribbean  coast  stretching  from  the  Cape  of 
Yucatan  to  the  delta  of  the  Orinoco  and  known  as  the  Spanish 
Main.  No  more  superb  setting  could  have  been  chosen  for  the 
opening  scenes  of  the  New  World  drama.  Skies  of  profoundest 
blue— the  tropical  sun  flaming  through  massive  clouds  of  vapor 
— a  sea  of  exuberant  color,  foaming  white  over  coral  beaches — 
waving  cocoa  palms  against  a  background  of  exotic  verdure 
marking  a  tortuous  shore  line,  which  now  rises  sheer  and  pre 
cipitous  from  the  water's  edge  to  dizzy,  snowcapped,  cloud-hung 
heights,  now  stretches  away  into  vast  reaches  of  oozy  mangrove 
bog  and  dank  cinchona  grove — here  flecked  with  stagnant  la 
goons  that  teem  with  slimy,  crawling  life — there  flattened  into 
interminable,  forest-covered  plains  and  untrodden,  primeval 
wildernesses,  impenetrable,  defiant,  alluring — and  all  peren 
nially  bathed  in  dazzling  light,  vivid  color,  and  soft,  fragrant 
winds — with  everywhere  redundant  foliage — humming,  chat- 

79 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


tering,  screaming  life — profusion — extravagance — prodigality 
— riotous  waste!  Small  wonder  that  when  this  enticing  shore 
was  first  revealed  to  the  astonished  Conquistador es,  where 
every  form  of  Nature  was  wholly  different  from  anything  their 
past  experience  afforded,  they  were  childishly  receptive  to  every 
tale,  however  preposterous,  of  fountains  of  youth,  of  magical 
lakes,  or  enchanted  cities  with  mountains  of  gold  in  the  depths 
of  the  frowning  jungle.  They  had  come  with  their  thought 
attuned  to  enchantment;  their  minds  were  fallow  to  the  in 
credible;  they  were  fresh  from  their  conquest  of  the  vast  Mare 
Tenebrosum,  with  its  mysteries  and  terrors.  At  a  single  stroke 
from  the  arm  of  the  intrepid  Genoese  the  mediaeval  supersti 
tions  which  peopled  the  unknown  seas  had  fallen  like  fetters 
from  these  daring  and  adventurous  souls.  The  slumbering 
spirit  of  knight-errantry  awoke  suddenly  within  their  breasts; 
and  when  from  their  frail  galleons  they  beheld  with  ravished 
eyes  this  land  of  magic  and  alluring  mystery  which  spread  out 
before  them  in  such  gorgeous  panorama,  they  plunged  into  the 
glittering  waters  with  waving  swords  and  pennants,  with  shouts 
of  praise  and  joy  upon  their  lips,  and  inaugurated  that  series 
of  prodigious  enterprise,  extravagant  deeds  of  hardihood,  and 
tremendous  feats  of  prowess  which  still  remain  unsurpassed  in 
the  annals  of  history  for  brilliancy,  picturesqueness,  and  wealth 
of  incident. 

With  almost  incredible  rapidity  and  thoroughness  the  Span 
ish  arms  spread  over  the  New  World,  urged  by  the  corroding 
lust  of  gold  and  the  sharp  stimulus  afforded  by  the  mythical 
quests  which  animated  the  simple  minds  of  these  hardy  search 
ers  for  the  Golden  Fleece.  Neither  trackless  forests,  withering 
heat,  miasmatic  climate  nor  savage  Indians  could  dampen  their 
ardor  or  check  their  search  for  riches  and  glory.  They  pene 
trated  everywhere,  steel-clad  and  glittering,  with  lance  and 
helmet  and  streaming  banner.  Every  nook,  every  promontory 
of  a  thousand  miles  of  coast  was  minutely  searched;  every 
island  was  bounded;  every  towering  mountain  scaled.  Even 
those  vast  regions  of  New  Granada  which  to-day  are  as  un 
known  as  the  least  explored  parts  of  darkest  Africa  became 
the  scenes  of  stirring  adventure  and  brilliant  exploit  of  these 
daring  crusaders  of  more  than  three  centuries  ago. 

The  real  wonders  yielded  by  this  newly  discovered  land  of 
enchantment  far  exceeded  the  fabled  Manoa  or  El  Dorado  of 
mythical  lore;  a*nd  the  adventurous  expeditions  that  were  first 
incited  by  these  chimeras  soon  changed  into  practical  coloniz 
ing  and  developing  projects  of  real  and  permanent  value. 
Amazing  discoveries  were  made  of  empires  which  had  already 
developed  a  state  of  civilization,  mechanical,  military,  and 

80 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


agricultural,  which  rivaled  those  of  Europe.  Natural  resources 
were  revealed  such  as  the  Old  World  had  not  even  guessed 
were  possible.  Great  rivers,  vast  fertile  plains,  huge  veins  of 
gold  and  copper  ore,  inexhaustible  timber,  a  wealth  of  every 
material  thing  desired  by  man,  could  be  had  almost  without 
effort.  Fortunate,  indeed,  was  the  Spanish  Conquistador  in  the 
possession  of  such  immeasurable  riches;  fortunate,  indeed,  had 
he  possessed  the  wisdom  to  meet  the  supreme  test  of  character 
which  this  sudden  accession  of  wealth  and  power  was  to  bring! 

With  the  opening  of  the  vast  treasure  house  flanked  by  the 
Spanish  Main  came  the  Spaniard's  supreme  opportunity  to 
master  the  world.  Soon  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  Western  Hemisphere;  with  immeasurable  wealth 
flowing  into  his  coffers;  sustained  by  dauntless  courage  and  an 
intrepid  spirit  of  adventure;  with  papal  support,  and  the  learn 
ing  and  genius  of  the  centuries  at  his  command,  he  faced  the 
opportunity  to  extend  his  sway  over  the  entire  world  and  unite 
all  peoples  into  a  universal  empire,  both  temporal  and  spiritual. 
That  he  failed  to  rise  to  this  possibility  was  not  due  to  any  lack 
of  appreciation  of  his  tremendous  opportunity,  nor  to  a  dearth 
of  leaders  of  real  military  genius,  but  to  a  misapprehension  of 
the  great  truth  that  the  conquest  of  the  world  is  not  to  be 
wrought  by  feats  of  arms,  but  by  the  exercise  of  those  moral 
attributes  and  spiritual  qualities  of  heart  and  soul  which  he 
did  not  possess — or  possessing,  had  prostituted  to  the  carnal 
influences  of  lust  of  material  riches  and  temporal  power. 

In  the  immediate  wake  of  the  Spanish  Conqueros  surged 
the  drift  and  flotsam  of  the  Old  World.  Cities  soon  sprang  up 
along  the  Spanish  Main  which  reflected  a  curious  blend  of  the 
old-time  life  of  Seville  and  Madrid  with  the  picturesque  and 
turbulent  elements  of  the  adventurer  and  buccaneer.  The 
spirit  of  the  West  has  always  been  synonymous  with  a  larger 
sense  of  freedom,  a  shaking  off  of  prejudice  and  tradition  and 
the  trammels  of  convention.  The  sixteenth  century  towns  of 
the  New  World  were  no  exception,  and  their  streets  and  plazas 
early  exhibited  a  multicolored  panorama,  wherein  freely  min 
gled  knight  and  predaceous  priest,  swashbuckler  and  staid 
hidalgo,  timid  Indian  and  veiled  doncella — a  potpourri  of  mer 
chant,  prelate,  negro,  thief,  the  broken  in  fortune  and  the  black 
ened  in  character — all  poured  into  the  melting  pot  of  the  new 
West,  and  there  steaming  and  straining,  scheming  and  plotting, 
attuned  to  any  pitch  of  venturesome  project,  so  be  it  that  gold 
and  fame  were  the  promised  emoluments  thereof. 

And  gold,  and  fame  of  a  certain  kind,  were  always  to  be  had 
by  those  whose  ethical  code  permitted  of  a  little  straining.  For 
the  great  ships  which  carried  the  vast  wealth  of  this  new  land 

81 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  magic  back  to  the  perennially  empty  coffers  of  Old  Spain 
constituted  a  temptation  far  more  readily  recognized  than  re 
sisted.  These  huge,  slow-moving  galleons,  gilded  and  carved, 
crawling  lazily  over  the  surface  of  the  bright  tropical  sea,  and 
often  so  heavily  freighted  with  treasure  as  to  be  unsafe  in  rough 
weather,  came  to  be  regarded  as  special  dispensations  of  Provi 
dence  by  the  cattle  thieves  and  driers  of  beef  who  dwelt  in  the 
pirates'  paradise  of  Tortuga  and  Hispaniola,  and  little  was 
required  in  way  of  soul-alchemy  to  transform  the  boucanicr 
into  the  lawless  and  sanguinary,  though  picturesque,  corsair  of 
that  romantic  age.  The  buccaneer  was  but  a  natural  evolution 
from  the  peculiar  conditions  then  obtaining.  Where  human 
society  in  the  process  of  formation  has  not  yet  arrived  at  the 
necessity  of  law  to  restrain  the  lust  and  greed  of  its  members; 
and  where  at  the  same  time  untold  wealth  is  to  be  had  at  the 
slight  cost  of  a  few  lives;  and,  too,  where  even  the  children  are 
taught  that  whosoever  aids  in  the  destruction  of  Spanish  ships 
and  Spanish  lives  renders  a  service  to  the  Almighty,  the  bucca 
neer  must  be  regarded  as  the  logical  result.  He  multiplied  with 
astonishing  rapidity  in  these  warm,  southern  waters,  and  not  a 
ship  that  sailed  the  Caribbean  was  safe  from  his  sudden  depre 
dations.  So  extensive  and  thorough  was  his  \vork  that  the  bed 
of  the  Spanish  Main  is  dotted  with  traditional  treasure  ships, 
and  to  this  day  remnants  of  doubloons  or  "pieces  of  eight"  and 
bits  of  bullion  and  jewelry  are  washed  up  on  the  shining 
beaches  of  Panama  and  northern  Colombia  as  grim  memorials 
of  his  lawless  activities. 

The  expenditure  of  energy  necessary  to  transport  the  gold, 
silver  and  precious  stones  from  the  New  World  to  the  bottom 
less  treasury  of  Spain  was  stupendous.  Yet  not  less  stupendous 
was  the  amount  of  treasure  transported.  From  the  distant 
mines  of  Potosi,  from  the  Pilcomayo,  from  the  almost  inacces 
sible  fastnesses  of  wrhat  are  now  Bolivia  and  Ecuador,  a  precious 
stream  poured  into  the  leaking  treasure  box  of  Spain  that 
totalled  a  value  of  no  less  than  ten  billion  dollars.  Much  of 
the  wealth  wrhich  came  from  Peru  was  shipped  up  to  the  isth 
mus  of  Panama,  and  thence  transferred  to  plate-fleets.  But  the 
buccaneers  became  so  active  along  the  Pacific  coast  that  water 
shipment  was  finally  abandoned,  and  from  that  time  trans 
portation  had  to  be  made  overland  by  way  of  the  Andean 
plateau,  sometimes  a  distance  of  two  thousand  miles,  to  the 
strongholds  which  were  built  to  receive  and  protect  the  treasure 
until  the  plate-fleets  could  be  made  up.  Of  these  strongholds 
there  were  two  of  the  first  importance,  the  old  city  of  Panama, 
on  the  isthmus,  and  the  almost  equally  old  city  of  Cartagena, 
on  the  northern  coast  of  what  is  now  the  Republic  of  Colombia. 

82 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


The  spirit  of  ancient  Carthage  must  have  breathed  upon  this 
"Very  Royal  and  Loyal  City"  which  Pedro  de  Heredia  in  the 
sixteenth  century  founded  on  the  north  coast  of  New  Granada, 
and  bequeathed  to  it  a  portion  of  its  own  romance  and  tragedy. 
Superbly  placed  upon  a  narrow,  tongue-shaped  islet,  one  of  a 
group  that  shield  an  ample  harbor  from  the  sharp  tropical 
storms  which  burst  unheralded  over  the  sea  without;  girdled 
by  huge,  battlemented  walls,  and  guarded  by  frowning  fort 
resses,  Cartagena  commanded  the  gateway  to  the  exhaustless 
wealth  of  the  Cordilleras,  at  whose  feet  she  still  nestles,  bathed 
in  perpetual  sunshine,  and  kissed  by  cool  ocean  breezes  which 
temper  the  winds  blowing  hot  from  the  steaming  llanos  of  the 
interior.  By  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  she  offered 
all  that  the  adventurous  seeker  of  fame  and  fortune^  could 
desire,  and  attracted  to  herself  not  only  the  chivalry,  but  the 
beauty,  wealth  and  learning  which,  mingled  with  rougher  ele 
ments,  poured  into  the  New  World  so  freely  in  the  opening 
scenes  of  the  great  drama  inaugurated  by  the  arrival  of  the 
tiny  caravels  of  Columbus  a  half  century  before. 

The  city  waxed  quickly  rich  and  powerful.  Its  natural  ad 
vantages  of  location,  together  with  its  massive  fortifications, 
and  its  wonderful  harbor,  so  extensive  that  the  com 
bined  fleets  of  Spain  might  readily  have  found  anchorage 
therein,  early  rendered  it  the  choice  of  the  Spanish  monarch 
as  his  most  dependable  reservoir  and  shipping  point  for  the 
accumulated  treasure  of  his  new  possessions.  The  island  upon 
which  the  city  arose  was  singularly  well  chosen  for  defense. 
Fortified  bridges  were  built  to  connect  it  with  the  mainland, 
and  subterranean  passageways  led  from  the  great  walls  en 
circling  it  to  the  impregnable  fortress  of  San  Felipe  de  Barajas, 
on  Mount  San  Lazaro,  a  few  hundred  yards  back  of  the  city  and 
commanding  the  avenues  and  approaches  of  the  land  side.  To 
the  east,  and  about  a  mile  from  the  walls,  the  abrupt  hill  of 
La  Popa  rises,  surmounted  by  the  convent  of  Santa  Candelaria, 
likewise  connected  by  underground  tunnels  to  the  interior  of 
the  city,  and  commanding  the  harbor  and  its  approaches  from 
the  sea.  The  harbor  formerly  connected  with  the  open  sea 
through  two  entrances,  the  Boca  Grande,  a  wide,  fortified  pass 
between  the  island  of  Tierra  Bomba  and  the  tongue  on  which 
the  city  stands,  and  the  Boca  Chica,  some  nine  miles  farther 
west,  a  narrow,  tortuous  pass,  wide  enough  to  permit  entry  to 
but  a  single  vessel  at  a  time,  and  commanded  by  forts  San 
Fernando  and  San  Jose. 

By  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  Cartagena,  "Queen 
of  the  Indies  and  Queen  of  the  Seas,"  had  expanded  into  a  proud 
and  beautiful  city,  the  most  important  mart  of  the  New  World. 

83 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Under  royal  patronage  its  merchants  enjoyed  a  monopoly  of 
commerce  with  Spain.  Under  the  special  favor  of  Rome  it 
became  an  episcopal  See,  and  the  seat  of  the  Holy  Inquisition. 
Its  docks  and  warehouses,  its  great  centers  of  commerce,  its 
sumptuous  dwellings,  its  magnificent  Cathedral,  its  colleges  and 
monasteries,  and  its  proud  aristocracy,  all  reflected  the  spirit  of 
enterprise  which  animated  its  sons  and  found  expression  in  a 
city  which  could  boast  a  pride,  a  culture,  and  a  wealth  almost 
unrivalled  even  in  the  Old  World. 

But,  not  unlike  her  ancient  prototype,  Cartagena  succumbed 
to  the  very  influences  which  had  made  her  great.  Her  wealth 
excited  the  cupidity  of  freebooters,  and  her  power  aroused  the 
jealousy  of  her  formidable  rivals.  Her  religion  itself  became 
an  excuse  for  the  plundering  hands  of  Spain's  enemies.  Again 
and  again  the  city  was  called  upon  to  defend  the  challenge 
which  her  riches  and  massive  wralls  perpetually  issued.  Again 
and  again  she  wras  forced  to  yield  to  the  heavy  tributes  and  dis 
graceful  penalties  of  buccaneers  and  legalized  pirates  who,  like 
Drake,  came  to  plunder  her  under  royal  patent.  Cartagena 
rose  and  fell,  and  rose  again.  But  the  human  heart  which 
throbs  beneath  the  lash  of  lust  or  revenge  knows  no  barriers. 
Her  great  forts  availed  nothing  against  the  lawless  hordes 
which  swarmed  over  them.  Neither  were  her  tremendous  walls 
proof  against  starvation.  Again  and  again,  her  streets  filled 
with  her  gaunt  dead,  she  stubbornly  held  her  gates  against  the 
enemies  of  Spain  who  assaulted  her  in  the  name  of  religion, 
only  at  last  to  weaken  with  terror  and  throw  them  open  in 
disgraceful  welcome  to  the  French  de  Pontis  and  his  maudlin, 
rag-tag  followers,  who  drained  her  of  her  last  drop  of  life  blood. 
As  her  gates  swung  wide  and  this  nondescript  band  of  marau 
ders  streamed  in  with  curses  and  shouts  of  exultation,  the 
glory  of  this  royal  mediaeval  city  passed  out  forever. 

Almost  from  its  inception,  Cartagena  had  been  the  point  of 
attack  of  every  enterprise  launched  with  the  object  of  wresting 
from  Spain  her  rich  western  possessions,  so  much  coveted  by 
her  jealous  and  revengeful  rivals.  It  was  Spain  herself  who 
fought  for  very  existence  while  Cartagena  was  holding  her 
gates  against  the  enemies  of  Holy  Church.  And  these  enemies 
knew  that  they  had  pierced  the  Spanish  heart  when  the  "Queen 
of  the  Indies"  fell.  And  in  no  small  measure  did  Spain  deserve 
the  fate  which  overtook  her.  For,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
stupendous  amount  of  treasure  derived  from  these  new  posses 
sions,  the  dramatic  and  dominant  part  which  she  played  in  the 
affairs  of  Europe  during  the  sixteenth  century  would  have  been 
impossible.  This  treasure  she  wrested  from  her  South  Ameri 
can  colonies  at  a  cost  in  the  destruction  of  human  life,  in  the 

84 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


outraging  of  human  instincts,  in  the  debauching  of  ideals  and 
the  falsifying  of  hope,  in  hellish  oppression  and  ghastly  torture, 
that  can  never  be  adequately  estimated.  Her  benevolent  in 
struments  of  colonization  were  cannon  and  saintly  relics.  Her 
agents  were  swaggering  soldiers  and  bigoted  friars.  Her  sys 
tem  involved  the  impression  of  her  language  and  her  undemon- 
strable  religious  beliefs  upon  the  harmless  aborigines.  The 
fruits  of  this  system,  which  still  linger  after  three  centuries, 
are  superstition,  black  ignorance,  and  woeful  mental  retarda 
tion.  To  the  terrified  aborigines  the  boasted  Spanish  civiliza 
tion  meant  little  more  than  "gold,  liquor,  and  sadness."  Small 
\vonder  that  the  simple  Indians,  unable  to  comprehend  the 
Christian's  lust  for  gold,  poured  the  molten  metal  down  the 
throats  of  their  captives,  crying,  "Eat,  Christian,  eat!"  They 
had  borrowed  their  ideals  from  the  Christian  Spaniards,  who 
by  means  of  the  stake  and  rack  were  convincing  them  that  God 
was  not  in  this  western  land  until  they  came,  bringing  their 
debauched  concept  of  Christianity. 

And  so  Cartagena  fell,  late  in  the  seventeenth  century,  never 
to  regain  more  than  a  shadow  of  her  former  grandeur  and 
prestige.  But  again  she  rose,  in  a  semblance  of  her  martial 
spirit,  when  her  native  sons,  gathering  fresh  courage  and  in 
spiration  from  the  waning  powers  of  the  mother-country  in  the 
early  years  of  the  century  just  closed,  organized  that  federation 
which,  after  long  years  of  almost  hopeless  struggle,  lifted  the 
yoke  of  Spanish  misrule  from  New  Granada  and  proclaimed  the 
Republic  of  Colombia.  Cartagena  wras  the  first  city  of  Co 
lombia  to  declare  its  independence  from  Spain.  And  in  the 
great  war  which  followed  the  "Heroic  City"  passed  through 
terrible  vicissitudes,  emerging  from  it  still  further  depleted 
and  sunken,  a  shell  of  massive  walls  and  battered  defenses, 
with  desolated  homes  and  empty  streets  echoing  the  tread  of 
the  mendicant  peon. 

As  the  nineteenth  century,  so  rich  in  invention,  discovery, 
and  stirring  activity  in  the  great  States  to  the  north,  drew  to  a 
close,  a  chance  visitor  to  this  battle-scarred,  mediaeval  city 
would  have  found  her  asleep  amid  the  dreams  of  her  former 
greatness.  Approaching  from  the  harbor,  especially  if  he  ar 
rived  in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  his  eyes  would  have  met  a 
view  of  exquisite  beauty.  Seen  thus,  great  moss-grown  struc 
tures  rise  from  within  the  lofty  encircling  walls,  with  many  a 
tower  and  gilded  dome  glittering  in  the  clear  sunlight  and 
standing  out  in  sharp  relief  against  the  green  background  of 
forest-plumed  hills  and  towering  mountains.  The  abysmal 
blue  of  the  untainted  tropical  sky  overhead  contrasts  sharply 
with  the  red-tiled  roofs  and  dazzling  white  exteriors  of  the 

85 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


buildings  beneath;  and  the  vivid  tints,  mingling  with  the  iri 
descence  of  the  scarcely  rippling  waters  of  the  harbor,  blend 
into  a  color  scheme  of  rarest  loveliness  in  the  clear  atmosphere 
which  seems  to  magnify  all  distant  objects  and  intensify  every 
hue. 

A  closel  approach  to  the  citadel  which  lies  within  the  land 
locked  harbor  reveals  in  detail  the  features  of  the  stupendous 
walls  which  guard  this  key  to  Spain's  former  treasure  house. 
Their  immensity  and  their  marvelous  construction  bear  witness 
to  the  genius  of  her  famous  military  engineers,  and  evoke  the 
same  admiration  as  do  the  great  temples  and  monuments  of 
ancient  Egypt.  These  grim  walls,  in  places  sixty  feet  through, 
and  pierced  by  numerous  gates,  are  frequently  widened  into 
broad  esplanades,  and  set  here  and  there  with  bastions  and 
watch  towers  to  command  strategic  points.  At  the  north  end 
of  the  city  they  expand  into  an  elaborately  fortified  citadel, 
within  which  are  enormous  fresh  water  tanks,  formerly  sup 
plied  by  the  rains,  and  made  necessary  by  the  absence  of 
springs  so  near  the  coast.  Within  the  walls  at  various  points 
one  finds  the  now  abandoned  barracks,  storerooms,  and  echoing 
dungeons,  the  latter  in  the  days  of  the  stirring  past  too  often 
pressed  into  service  by  the  Holy  Inquisition.  Underground 
tunnels,  still  intact,  lead  from  the  walls  to  the  Cathedral,  the 
crumbling  fortress  of  San  Felipe  de  Barajas,  and  the  deserted 
convent  on  the  summit  of  La  Popa.  Time-defying,  grim,  dra 
matic  reliques  of  an  age  forever  past,  breathing  poetry  and 
romance  from  every  crevice — still  in  fancy  echoing  from  mold- 
ering  tower  and  scarred  bulwark  the  clank  of  sabre,  the  tread 
of  armored  steed,  and  the  shouts  of  exulting  Conquistador es 
— aye,  their  ghostly  echoes  sinking  in  the  fragrant  air  of  night 
into  soft  whispers,  which  bear  to  the  tropical  moon  dark  hints 
of  ancient  tragedies  enacted  within  these  dim  keeps  and  gloom- 
shrouded  tunnels! 

The  pass  of  Boca  Grande — "large  mouth" — through  which 
Drake's  band  of  marauders  sailed  triumphantly  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  sixteenth  century,  was  formerly  the  usual  entrance 
to  the  city's  magnificent  harbor.  But  its  wide,  deep  channel, 
only  two  miles  from  the  city  walls,  afforded  too  easy  access  to 
undesirable  visitors  in  the  heyday  of  freebooters;  and  the 
harassed  Cartagenians,  wearied  of  the  innumerable  piratical 
attacks  which  this  broad  entrance  constantly  invited,  under 
took  to  fill  it  up.  This  they  accomplished  after  years  of  heroic 
effort  and  an  enormous  expenditure  of  money,  leaving  the  har 
bor  only  the  slender,  tortuous  entrance  of  Boca  Chica — "little 
mouth" — dangerous  to  incoming  vessels  because  of  the  almost 
torrential  flow  of  the  tide  through  it,  but  much  more  readily 

86 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


defended.  The  two  castles  of  San  Fernando  and  San  Jose, 
frowning  structures  of  stone  dominating  this  entrance,  have 
long  since  fallen  into  disuse,  but  are  still  admirably  preserved. 
Beneath  the  former,  and  extending  far  below  the  surface  of  the 
water,  is  the  old  Bastile  of  the  Inquisition,  occasionally  pressed 
into  requisition  now  to  house  recalcitrant  politicians,  and  where 
no  great  effort  of  the  imagination  is  required  still  to  hear  the 
groans  of  the  tortured  and  the  sighs  of  the  condemned,  await 
ing  in  chains  and  san  benitos  the  approaching  auto  da  fe. 

But  the  greater  distance  from  the  present  entrance  of  the 
harbor  to  the  city  walls  affords  the  visitor  a  longer  period  in 
which  to  enjoy  the  charming  panorama  which  seems  to  drift 
slowly  out  to  meet  him  as  he  stands  entranced  before  it.  The 
spell  of  romance  and  chivalry  is  upon  him  long  ere  he  disem 
barks;  and  once  through  the  great  gateway  of  the  citadel  itself, 
he  yields  easily  to  the  ineluctable  charm  which  seems  to  hover 
in  the  balmy  air  of  this  once  proud  city.  Everywhere  are  evi 
dences  of  ancient  grandeur,  mingling  with  memories  of  enor 
mous  wealth  and  violent  scenes  of  strife.  The  narrow,  winding 
streets,  characteristic  of  oriental  cities;  the  Moorish  architec 
ture  displayed  in  the  grandiose  palaces  and  churches;  the 
grated,  unglazed  windows,  through  which  still  peep  timid 
senoritas,  as  in  the  romantic  days  of  yore;  the  gaily  painted 
balconies,  over  which  bepowdered  doncellas  lean  to  pass  the 
day's  gossip  in  the  liquid  tongue  of  Cervantes,  all  transport  one 
in  thought  to  the  chivalrous  past,  when  this  picturesque  sur 
vival  of  Spain's  power  in  America  was  indeed  the  very  Queen 
of  the  western  world  and  the  proud  boast  of  the  haughty 
monarchs  of  Castile. 

Nor  was  the  city  more  dear  to  the  Spanish  King  than  to  the 
spiritual  Sovereign  who  sat  on  Peter's  throne.  The  Holy  See 
strove  to  make  Cartagena  the  chief  ecclesiastical  center  of  the 
New  World;  and  churches,  monasteries,  colleges,  and  convents 
flourished  there  as  luxuriantly  as  the  tropical  vegetation.  The 
city  was  early  elevated  to  a  bishopric.  A  magnificent  Cathedral 
was  soon  erected,  followed  by  other  churches  and  buildings  to 
house  ecclesiastical  orders,  including  the  Jesuit  college,  the 
University,  the  women's  seminary,  and  the  homes  for  religious 
orders  of  both  sexes.  The  same  lavish  expenditure  of  labor 
and  wealth  was  bestowed  upon  the  religious  structures  as  on 
the  walls  and  fortifications.  The  Cathedral  and  the  church  of 
San  Juan  de  Dios,  the  latter  the  most  conspicuous  structure  in 
the  city,  with  its  double  towers  and  its  immense  monastery 
adjoining,  became  the  special  recipients  of  the  liberal  outpour 
ings  of  a  community  rich  not  only  in  material  wealth,  but  in 
culture  and  refinement  as  well.  The  latter  church  in  particular 

87 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  the  object  of  veneration  of  the  patrons  of  America's  only 
Saint,  the  beneficent  Pedro  Claver,  whose  whitened  bones  now 
repose  in  a  wonderful  glass  coffin  bound  with  strips  of  gold 
beneath  its  magnificent  marble  altar.  In  the  central  plaza  of 
the  city  still  stands  the  building  erected  to  house  the  Holy 
Inquisition,  so  well  preserved  that  it  yet  serves  as  a  dwelling. 
Adjacent  to  it,  and  lining  the  plaza,  are  spacious  colonial  edi 
fices,  once  the  homes  of  wealth  and  culture,  each  shaded  by 
graceful  palms  and  each  enclosing  its  inner  garden,  or  patio, 
where  tropical  plants  and  aromatic  shrubs  riot  in  richest  color 
and  fragrance  throughout  the  year. 

In  the  halcyon  days  of  Cartagena's  greatness,  when,  under 
the  protection  of  the  powerful  mother-country,  her  commerce 
extended  to  the  confines  of  the  known  world,  her  streets  and 
markets  presented  a  scene  of  industry  and  activity  wholly  for 
eign  to  her  in  these  latter  days  of  her  decadence.  From  her 
port  the  rich  traffic  which  once  centered  in  this  thriving  city 
moved,  in  constantly  swelling  volume,  in  every  direction.  In 
her  marts  were  formulated  those  audacious  plans  which  later 
took  shape  in  ever-memorable  expeditions  up  the  Magdalena 
and  Cauca  rivers  in  search  of  gold,  or  to  establish  new  colonies 
and  extend  the  city's  sphere  of  influence.  From  her  gates  were 
launched  those  projects  which  had  for  their  object  the  discovery 
of  the  mysterious  regions  where  rivers  were  said  to  flow  over 
sands  of  pure  gold  and  silver,  or  the  kingdom  of  El  Dorado, 
where  native  potentates  sprinkled  their  bodies  with  gold  dust 
before  bathing  in  the  streams  sacred  to  their  deities.  From 
this  city  the  bold  Quesada  set  out  on  the  exploits  of  discovery 
and  conquest  which  opened  to  the  world  the  rich  plateau  of 
Bogota,  and  ranked  him  among  the  greatest  of  the  Conquista- 
dores.  In  those  days  a  canal  had  been  cut  through  the  swamps 
and  dense  coast  lowlands  to  the  majestic  Magdalena  river, 
some  sixty-five  miles  distant,  where  a  riverine  town  was  founded 
and  given  the  name  of  Calamar,  the  name  Pedro  de  Heredia 
had  first  bestowed  upon  Cartagena.  Through  this  digue  the 
city's  merchant  vessels  passed  to  the  great  arterial  stream  be 
yond,  and  thence  some  thousand  miles  south  into  the  heart  of  the 
rich  and  little  known  regions  of  upper  Colombia.  To-day,  like 
the  grass-grown  streets  of  the  ancient  city,  this  canal,  choked 
with  weeds  and  debris,  is  but  a  green  and  turbid  pool,  but 
yet  a  reminder  of  the  faded  glory  of  the  famous  old  town  which 
played  such  a  dramatic  role  in  that  age  of  desperate  courage. 

In  the  finished  town  of  Cartagena  Spain's  dreams  of  imperial 
pomp  and  magnificence  were  externalized.  In  her  history  the 
tragedy  of  the  New  World  drama  has  been  preserved.  To-day, 
sunk  in  decadence,  surrounded  by  the  old  mediaeval  flavor,  and 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


steeped  in  the  romance  of  an  age  of  chivalry  forever  past,  her 
muniments  and  donjons,  her  gray,  crenelated  walls  and  time- 
defying  structures  continue  to  express  that  dogged  tenacity  of 
belief  and  stern  defiance  of  unorthodox  opinion  which  for 
two  hundred  years  maintained  the  Inquisition  within  her  gates 
and  sacrificed  her  fair  sons  and  daughters  to  an  undemon- 
strable  creed.  The  heavy  air  of  ecclesiasticism  still  hangs 
over  her.  The  priests  and  monks  who  accompanied  every 
sanguinary  expedition  of  the  Conquistador es,  ready  at  all  times 
to  absolve  any  desperado  who  might  slay  a  harmless  Indian 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  have  their  successors  to-day  in  the  astute 
and  untiring  sons  of  Rome,  who  conserve  the  interests  of  Holy 
Church  within  these  battered  walls  and  guard  their  portals 
against  the  entrance  of  radical  thought.  Heredia  had  scarcely 
founded  the  city  when  King  Philip  sent  it  a  Bishop.  And  less 
than  a  decade  later  the  Cathedral,  which  to-day  stands  as  the 
center  of  the  episcopal  See,  was  begun. 

The  Cathedral,  though  less  imposing  than  the  church  of  San 
Juan  de  Dios,  is  a  fine  example  of  the  ecclesiastical  architecture 
of  the  colonial  era.  Occupying  a  central  position  in  the  city,  its 
ever-open  doors  invite  rich  and  poor  alike,  citizen  and  stranger, 
to  enter  and  linger  in  the  refreshing  atmosphere  within,  where 
the  subdued  light  and  cool  shadows  of  the  great  nave  and  chap 
els  afford  a  grateful  respite  from  the  glare  and  heat  of  the  streets 
without.  Massive  in  exterior  appearance,  and  not  beautiful 
within,  the  Cathedral  nevertheless  exhibits  a  construction  which 
is  at  once  broad,  simple  and  harmonious.  The  nave  is  more 
than  usually  wide  between  its  main  piers,  and  its  rounded 
arches  are  lofty  and  well  proportioned.  Excellent  portraits  of 
former  Bishops  adorn  its  white  walls,  and  narrow  rectangular 
windows  at  frequent  intervals  admit  a  dim,  mellow  light 
through  their  dark  panes.  Before  one  of  these  windows — ap 
parently  with  no  thought  of  incongruity  in  the  exhibition  of 
such  a  gruesome  object  attached  to  a  Christian  church — there 
has  been  affixed  an  iron  grating,  said  to  have  served  the  Holy 
Inquisition  as  a  gridiron  on  which  to  roast  its  heretical  victims. 
Within,  an  ambulatory,  supported  on  the  first  tier  of  arches, 
affords  a  walk  along  either  side  of  the  nave,  and  leads  to  the 
winding  stairway  of  the  bell  tower.  At  one  end  of  this  ambu" 
latory,  its  entrance  commanding  a  full  view  of  the  nave  and  the 
capilla  mayor,  wyith  its  exquisitely  carved  marble  altar,  is  located 
the  Bishop's  sanctum.  It  was  here  that  the  young  Spanish 
priest,  Jose  de  Rincon,  stood  before  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena  on 
the  certain  midday  to  which  reference  was  made  in  the  opening 
chapter  of  this  recital,  and  received  with  dull  ears  the  ecclesias 
tical  order  which  removed  him  still  farther  from  the  world  and 

89 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


doomed  him  to  a  living  burial  in  the  crumbling  town  of  Simiti, 
in  the  wilderness  of  forgotten  Guamoco. 


CHAPTER  13 

"    AT  last,  you  come!" 

J-\    The    querulous    tones    of    the    aged   Bishop   eddied   the 
•*•  brooding  silence  within  the  Cathedral.       Without  wait 
ing  for  a  reply  he  turned  again  to  his  table  and  took  up  a  paper 
containing  a  list  of  names. 

"You  wait  until  midday,"  he  continued  testily;  "but  you  give 
me  time  to  reflect  and  decide.  The  parish  of  Simiti  has  long 
been  vacant.  I  have  assigned  you  to  it.  The  Honda  touches  at 
Calamar  to-morrow,  going  up-river.  You  will  take  it." 

"Simiti!     Father—!" 

"Bien;  and  would  you  dispute  this  too!"  quavered  the  ill- 
humored  Bishop. 

"But — Simiti — you  surely  cannot  mean — !" 

The  Bishop  turned  sharply  around.  "I  mean  that  after  what 
I  learn  from  Borne  I  will  not  keep  you  here  to  teach  your  here 
sies  in  our  University!  I  mean  that  after  what  I  hear  this 
morning  of  your  evil  practices  I  will  not  allow  you  to  spend 
another  day  in  Cartagena!"  The  angry  ecclesiastic  brought  his 
bony  fist  hard  against  the  table  to  emphasize  the  remark. 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  he  resumed,  after  some  moments  of  nurs 
ing  his  choleric  feelings.  "Would  you  debate  further!  The 
Holy  Father  for  some  unexplained  reason  inflicts  a  madman 
upon  me!  And  I,  innocent  of  what  you  are,  obey  his  instruc 
tions  and  place  you  in  the  University — with  what  result?  You 
have  the  effrontery — the  madness — to  lecture  to  your  classes 
on  the  heresies  of  Borne!" 

"But—" 

"And  as  if  that  were  not  burden  enough  for  these  old 
shoulders,  I  must  learn  that  I  have  taken  a  serpent  to  my  bosom 
— but  that  you  are  still  sane  enough  to  propagate  heresies — -to 
plot  revolution  with  the  Badicals — and — shame  consume  you! — 
to  wantonly  ruin  the  fair  daughters  of  our  diocese!  But,  do 
you  see  now  why  I  send  you  where  you  can  do  less  evil  than 
here  in  Cartagena?" 

The  priest  slowly  petrified  under  the  tirade. 

"The  fault  is  not  mine  if  I  must  act  without  instruction  from 
Borne,"  the  Bishop  went  on  petulantly.  "Twice  have  I  warned 
you  against  your  teachings — but  I  did  not  suspect  then,  for  only 
yesterday  did  I  learn  that  before  coming  to  me  you  had  been 

90 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


confined  in  a  monastery — insane!  But — Hombre!  when  you 
bring  the  blush  of  shame  to  my  cheeks  because  of  your  godless 
practices — it  is  time  to  put  you  away  without  waiting  for  in 
struction!" 

Godless  practices!    Was  the  Bishop  or  the  priest  going  mad? 

"Go  now  to  your  room,"  the  Bishop  added,  turning  again  to 
his  table.  "You  have  little  enough  time  to  prepare  for  your 
journey.  Wenceslas  will  give  you  letters  to  the  Alcalde  of 
Simiti." 

Wenceslas !  The  priest's  thought  flew  back  over  the  events 
of  the  morning.  Marcelena— Maria — the  encounter  below  with 
— !  Dios!  Could  it  be  that  Wenceslas  had  fastened  upon  him 
the  stigma  of  his  own  crime?  The  priest  found  his  tongue. 

"Father! — it  is  untrue! — these  charges  are  false  as  hell!" 
he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "I  demand  to  know  who  brings  them 
against  me!" 

The  testy  Bishop's  wrath  flared  up  anew.  "You  demand! 
Am  I  to  sit  here  and  be  catechised  by  you?  It  is  enough  that  I 
know  what  occurs  in  my  diocese,  and  am  well  informed  of  your 
conduct!" 

The  doorway  darkened,  and  the  priest  turned  to  meet  the 
object  of  his  suspecting  thought. 

Bestowing  a  smile  of  patronage  upon  Jose,  and  bowing  ob 
sequiously  before  the  Bishop,  Wenceslas  laid  some  papers  upon 
the  table,  remarking  as  he  did  so,  "The  letters,  Your  Grace,  to 
introduce  our  Jose  to  his  new  field.  Also  his  instructions  and 
expense  money." 

"Wenceslas!"  The  priest  confronted  him  fiercely.  "Do 
you  accuse  me  before  the  Bishop?" 

"Accuse,  amigo?"  Wenceslas  queried  in  a  tone  of  assumed 
surprise.  "Have  I  not  said  that  your  ready  tongue  and  pen  are 
your  accusers?  But,"  with  a  conciliatory  air,  "we  must  remem 
ber  that  our  good  Bishop  mercifully  views  your  conduct  in  the 
light  of  your  recent  mental  affliction,  traces  of  which,  unfor 
tunately,  have  lingered  to  cause  him  sorrow.  And  so  he  gra 
ciously  prepares  a  place  for  you,  caro  amigo,  where  rest  and 
relief  from  the  strain  of  teaching  will  do  you  much  good,  and 
where  life  among  simple  and  affectionate  people  will  restore 
you,  he  hopes,  to  soundness  of  mind." 

The  priest  turned  again  to  the  Bishop  in  a  complexity  of 
appeal.  The  soft  speech  of  Wenceslas,  so  full  of  a  double  en- 
tendu,  so  markedly  in  contrast  with  the  Bishop's  harsh  but  at 
least  sincere  tirade,  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  he  was  now 
the  victim  of  a  plot,  whose  ramifications  extended  back  to  the 
confused  circumstances  of  his  early  life,  and  the  doubtful  pur 
poses  of  his  uncle  and  his  influence  upon  the  sacerdotal  direc- 

91 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


tors  in  Rome.     And  he  saw  himself  a  helpless  and  hopelessly 
entangled  victim. 

"Father!"  In  piteous  appeal  Jose  held  out  his  hands  to  the 
Bishop,  who  had  turned  his  back  upon  him  and  was  busy  with 
the  papers  on  his  table. 

"Amiga,  the  interview  is  ended,"  said  Wenceslas  quietly, 
stepping  between  the  priest  and  his  superior. 

Jose  pushed  wildly  past  the  large  form  of  Wenceslas  and 
seized  the  Bishop's  hand. 

"Santa  Maria!"  cried  the  petulant  churchman.  "Do  you 
obey  me,  or  no?  If  not,  then  leave  the  Church — and  spend  your 
remaining  days  as  a  hounded  ex-priest  and  unfrocked  apostate," 
he  finished  significantly.  "Go,  prepare  for  your  journey!" 

Wenceslas  slipped  the  letter  and  a  few  pesos  into  the  hand  of 
the  smitten,  bewildered  Jose,  and  turning  him  to  the  door, 
gently  urged  him  out  and  closed  it  after  him. 

****** 

Just  why  the  monastery  gates  had  opened  to  him  after  two 
years'  deadening  confinement,  Jose  had  not  been  apprised.  All 
he  knew  was  that  his  uncle  had  appeared  with  a  papal  appoint 
ment  for  him  to  the  University  of  Cartagena,  and  had  urged  his 
acceptance  of  it  as  the  only  course  likely  to  restore  him  both 
to  health  and  position,  and  to  meet  the  deferred  hopes  of  his 
sorrowing  mother. 

"Accept  it,  sobrino  mio,"  the  uncle  had  said.  "Else,  pass 
your  remaining  days  in  confinement.  There  can  be  no  refuta 
tion  of  the  charges  against  you.  But,  if  these  doors  open  again 
to  you,  think  not  ever  to  sever  your  connection  with  the  Church 
of  Rome.  For,  if  the  Rincon  honor  should  prove  inadequate  to 
hold  you  to  your  oath,  be  assured  that  Rincon  justice  will  fol 
low  you  until  the  grave  wipes  out  the  stain  upon  our  fair 
name." 

"Then,  tio  mio,  let  the  Church  at  once  dismiss  me,  as  un 
worthy  to  be  her  son!"  pleaded  Jose. 

"What,  excommunication?"  cried  the  horrified  uncle. 
"Never!  Death  first!  Are  you  still  mad?" 

Jose  looked  into  the  cold,  emotionless  eyes  of  the  man  and 
shuddered.  The  ancient  spirit  of  the  Holy  Inquisition  lurked 
there,  and  he  cowered  before  it.  But  at  least  the  semblance  of 
freedom  had  been  offered  him.  His  numbed  heart  already  had 
taken  hope.  He  were  indeed  mad  not  to  acquiesce  in  his  uncle's 
demands,  and  accept  the  proffered  opportunity  to  leave  forever 
the  scenes  of  his  suffering  and  disgrace.  And  so  he  bowed 
again  before  the  inexorable. 

Arriving  in  Cartagena  some  months  before  this  narrative 
opens,  he  had  gradually  yielded  himself  to  the  restorative  effects 

92 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  changed  environment  and  the  hope  which  his  uncle's  warm 
assurances  aroused,  that  a  career  would  open  to  him  in  the 
New  World,  unclouded  by  the  climacteric  episode  of  the  pub 
lishing  of  his  journal  and  his  subsequent  arrogant  bearing  be 
fore  the  Holy  Father,  which  had  provoked  his  fate.  Under  the 
beneficent  influences  of  the  soft  climate  and  the  new  interests 
of  this  tropic  land  he  began  to  feel  a  budding  of  something  like 
confidence,  and  the  suggestions  of  an  unfamiliar  ambition  to 
retrieve  past  failure  and  yet  gratify,  even  if  in  small  measure, 
the  parental  hope  which  had  first  directed  him  as  a  child  into 
the  fold  of  the  Church.  The  Bishop  had  assigned  him  at  once  to 
pedagogical  work  in  the  University;  and  in  the  teaching  of 
history,  the  languages,  and,  especially,  his  beloved  Greek,  Jose 
had  found  an  absorption  that  was  slowly  dimming  the  memory 
of  the  dark  days  which  he  had  left  behind  in  the  Old  World. 

But  the  University  had  not  afforded  him  the  only  interest 
in  his  new  field.  He  had  not  been  many  weeks  on  Colombian 
soil  when  his  awakening  perceptions  sensed  the  people's  op 
pression  under  the  tyranny  of  ecclesiastical  politicians.  Nor 
did  he  fail  to  scent  the  approach  of  a  tremendous  conflict,  in 
which  the  country  would  pass  through  violent  throes  in  the 
struggle  to  shake  off  the  galling  yoke  of  Rome.  Maintaining  an 
attitude  of  strict  neutrality,  he  had  striven  quietly  to  gauge  the 
anticlerical  movement,  and  had  been  appalled  to  find  it  so 
widespread  and  menacing.  Only  a  miracle  could  save  unhappy 
Colombia  from  being  rent  by  the  fiercest  of  religious  wars  in 
the  near  future.  Oh,  if  he  but  had  the  will,  as  he  had  the  intel 
lectual  ability,  to  throw  himself  into  the  widening  breach! 

"There  is  but  one  remedy,"  he  murmured  aloud,  as  he  sat 
one  evening  on  a  bench  in  the  plaza  of  Simon  Bolivar,  watching 
the  stream  of  gaily  dressed  promenaders  parading  slowly  about 
on  the  tesselated  walks,  but  hearing  little  of  their  animated  con 
versation. 

"And  what  is  that,  may  I  ask,  friend?" 

The  priest  roused  up  with  a  start.  He  had  no  idea  that  his 
audible  meditations  had  been  overheard.  Besides,  he  had 
spoken  in  English.  But  this  question  had  been  framed  in  the 
same  tongue.  He  looked  around.  A  tall,  slender  man,  with 
thin,  bronzed  face  and  well-trimmed  Van  Dyke  beard,  sat  beside 
him.  The  man  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Didn't  know  that  I  should  find  any  one  here  to-night  who 
could  speak  my  lingo,"  he  said  cordially.  "But,  I  repeat,  what 
is  the  remedy?" 

"Christianity,"  returned  the  amazed  Jose,  without  knowing 
what  he  said. 

"And  the  condition  to  be  remedied?"  continued  the  stranger. 

93 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"This  country's  diseased — but  to  whom  have  I  the  honor 
of  speaking?"  drawing  himself  up  a  little  stiffly,  and  glancing 
about  to  see  who  might  be  observing  them. 

"Oh,  my  credentials?"  laughed  the  man,  as  he  caught  Jose's 
wondering  look.  "I'm  quite  unknown  in  Cartagena,  unfor 
tunately.  You  must  pardon  my  Yankee  inquisitiveness,  but  I've 
watched  you  out  here  for  several  evenings,  and  have  wondered 
what  weighty  problems  you  were  wrestling  with.  A  quite  un 
pardonable  offense,  from  the  Spanish  viewpoint,  but  wholly 
forgivable  in  an  uncouth  American,  I'm  sure.  Besides,  when  I 
heard  you  speak  my  language  it  made  me  a  bit  homesick,  and 
I  wanted  to  hear  more  of  the  rugged  tongue  of  the  Gentiles." 

Laughing  again  good-naturedly,  he  reached  into  an  inner 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  wallet.  "My  name's  Hitt,"  he  said,  hand 
ing  Jose  his  card.  "But  I  didn't  live  up  to  it.  That  is,  I  failed 
to  make  a  hit  up  north,  and  so  I'm  down  here."  He  chuckled 
at  his  own  facetiousness.  "Amos  A.  Hitt,"  he  went  on  affably. 
"There  used  to  be  a  'Reverend'  before  it.  That  was  when  I  was 
exploring  the  Lord's  throne.  I've  dropped  it,  now  that  I'm 
humbly  exploring  His  footstool  instead." 

Jose  yielded  to  the  man's  friendly  advances.  This  was  not 
the  first  American  he  had  met;  yet  it  seemed  a  new  type,  and 
one  that  drew  him  strongly. 

"So  you  think  this  country  diseased,  eh?"  the  American  con 
tinued. 

Jose  did  not  answer.  While  there  was  nothing  in  the 
stranger's  appearance  and  frank,  open  countenance  to  arouse 
suspicion,  yet  he  must  be  careful.  He  was  living  down  one 
frightful  mistake.  He  could  not  risk  another.  But  the  man  did 
not  wait  for  a  reply. 

"Well,  I'm  quite  agreed  with  you.  It  has  priest-itis."  He 
stopped  and  looked  curiously  at  Jose,  as  if  awaiting  the  effect  of 
his  bold  words.  Then — "I  take  it  you  are  not  really  one  of  'em?" 

Jose  stared  at  the  man  in  amazement.  Hitt  laughed  again. 
Then  he  drew  forth  a  cigar  and  held  it  out.  "Smoke?"  he  said. 
The  priest  shook  his  head.  Hitt  lighted  the  cigar  himself,  then 
settled  back  on  the  bench,  his  hands  jammed  into  his  trousers 
pockets,  and  his  long  legs  stuck  straight  out  in  front,  to  the 
unconcealed  annoyance  of  the  passers-by.  But,  despite  his 
brusquerie  and  his  thoughtlessness,  there  was  something  about 
the  American  that  was  wonderfully  attractive  to  the  lonely 
priest. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Hitt  went  on  abstractedly  in  corroboration  of  his 
former  statement,  "Colombia  is  absolutely  stagnant,  due  to 
Jesuitical  politics,  the  bane  of  all  good  Catholic  countries.  If 
she  could  shake  off  priestcraft  she'd  have  a  chance — provided 
she  didn't  fall  into  orthodox  Protestantism." 

94 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Jose  gasped,  though  he  strove  to  hide  his  wonder.    "You — 
he  began  hesitatingly,  "you  were  in  the  ministry — ?" 

"Yes.  Don't  be  afraid  to  come  right  out  with  it.  I  was  a 
Presbyterian  divine  some  six  years  ago,  in  Cincinnati.  Ever 
been  there?" 

Jose  assured  him  that  he  had  never  seen  the  States. 

"H'm,"  mused  the  ex-preacher;  "great  country — wonderful 
— none  like  it  in  the  world!  I've  been  all  over,  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa — seen  'em  all.  America's  the  original  Eden,  and  our 
women  are  the  only  true  descendants  of  mother  Eve.  No  ques 
tion  about  it,  that  apple  incident  took  place  up  in  the  States 
somewhere — probably  in  Ohio." 

Jose  caught  the  man's  infectious  humor  and  laughed 
heartily.  Surely,  this  American  was  a  tonic,  and  of  the  sort 
that  he  most  needed.  "Then,  you  are — still  touring — ?" 

"I'm  exploring,"  Hitt  replied.  "I'm  here  to  study  what  an 
cient  records  I  may  find  in  your  library;  then  I  shall  go  on  to 
Medellin  and  Bogota.  I'm  on  the  track  of  a  prehistoric  Inca 
city,  located  somewhere  in  the  Andes — and  no  doubt  in  the  most 
inaccessible  spot  imaginable.  Tradition  cites  this  lost  city  as 
the  cradle  of  Inca  civilization.  Tampu  Tocco,  it  is  called  in 
their  legends,  the  place  from  which  the  Incas  went  out  to  found 
that  marvelous  empire  which  eventually  included  the  greater 
part  of  South  America.  The  difficulty  is,"  he  added,  knotting 
his  brows,  "that  the  city  was  evidently  unknown  to  the  Span 
iards.  I  can  find  no  mention  of  it  in  Spanish  literature,  and 
I've  searched  all  through  the  libraries  of  Spain.  My  only  hope 
now  is  that  I  shall  run  across  some  document  down  here  that 
will  allude  to  it,  or  some  one  who  has  heard  likely  Indian 
rumors." 

Jose  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  hard  at  the  man.  "Well!" 
he  ejaculated,  "you  are — if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  it — an 
original  type." 

"I  presume  I  am,"  admitted  the  American  genially.  "I've 
been  all  sorts  of  things  in  my  day,  preacher,  teacher,  editor. 
My  father  used  to  be  a  circuit  rider  in  New  England  forty  years 
ago  or  more.  Pious — good  Lord!  Why,  he  was  one  of  the  kind 
\vho  believe  the  good  book  'from  kiver  to  kiver,'  you  know. 
Used  to  preach  interminable  sermons  about  the  mercy  of  the 
Lord  in  holding  us  all  over  the  smoking  pit  and  not  dropping 
us  in!  Why,  man!  after  listening  to  him  expound  the  Scrip 
tures  at  night  I  used  to  go  to  bed  with  my  hair  on  end  and 
my  skin  all  goose-flesh.  No  wonder  I  urged  him  to  send  me  to 
the  Presbyterian  Seminary!" 

"And  you  were  ordained?"  queried  Jose,  dark  memories 
rising  in  his  own  thought. 

95 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Thoroughly  so!  And  glad  I  was  of  it,  too,  for  I  had  grown 
up  as  pious  and  orthodox  as  my  good  father.  I  considered  the 
ordination  a  through  ticket  to  paradise." 

"But— now— " 

"Oh,  I  found  myself  in  time,"  continued  the  man,  answering 
Jose's  unspoken  thought.  "Then  I  stopped  preaching  beautiful 
legends,  and  tried  to  be  genuinely  helpful  to  my  congregation. 
I  had  a  fine  church  in  Cincinnati  at  that  time.  But — -well,  I 
mixed  a  trifle  too  much  heresy  into  my  up-to-date  sermons,  I 
guess.  Anyway,  the  Assembly  didn't  approve  my  orthodoxy, 
and  I  had  as  little  respect  for  its  heterodoxy,  and  the  upshot 
of  it  was  that  I  quit — cold."  He  laughed  grimly  as  he  finished 
the  recital.  "But,"  he  \vent  on  gravely,  "I  now  see  that  it  was 
due  simply  to  my  desire  to  progress  beyond  the  acceptance  of 
tradition  and  allegory  as  truth,  and  to  find  some  better  founda 
tion  upon  which  to  build  than  the  undemonstrable  articles  of 
faith  embraced  in  the  Westminster  Confession.  To  me,  that 
confession  of  faith  had  become  a  confession  of  ignorance."  He 
turned  his  shrewd  eyes  upon  Jose.  "I  wras  in  somewhat  the 
same  mental  state  that  I  think  you  are  in  now,"  he  added. 

"And  why,  if  I  may  ask,  are  you  now  exploring?"  asked 
Jose,  disregarding  the  implication. 

"Oh,  as  for  that,"  replied  the  American  easily,  "I  used  to 
teach  history  and  became  especially  interested  in  ancient  civili 
zations,  lost  cities,  and  the  like,  in  the  Western  Hemisphere. 
Long  before  I  left  the  ministry  oil  was  struck  on  our  little  Penn 
sylvania  farm,  and — well,  I  didn't  have  to  wTork  after  that.  So 
for  some  years  I've  devoted  myself  strictly  to  my  particular 
hobby  of  travel.  And  in  my  work  I  find  it  necessary  to  discard 
ceremony,  and  scrape  acquaintance  with  all  sorts  and  condi 
tions.  I  especially  cultivate  clergymen.  I've  wanted  to  know 
you  ever  since  I  first  saw  you  out  here.  But  I  couldn't  wait  for 
a  formal  introduction.  And  so  I  broke  in  unceremoniously  upon 
your  meditations  a  few  moments  ago." 

"I  am  grateful  to  you  for  doing  so,"  said  Jose  frankly,  hold 
ing  out  a  hand.  "There  is  much  that  you  can  tell  me — much 
that  I  want  to  know.  But —  He  again  looked  cautiously 
around. 

"Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Hitt,  quickly  sensing  the  priest's 
uneasiness.  "What  say  you,  shall  we  meet  somewhere  down  by 
the  city  wall?  Say,  at  the  old  Inquisition  cells?" 

Jose  nodded  his  acquiescence,  and  they  separated.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  two  were  seated  in  one  of  the  cavernous  arch 
ways  of  the  long,  echoing  corridor  which  leads  to  the  deserted 
barracks  and  the  gloomy,  bat-infested  cells  beneath.  A  vagrant 
breeze  drifted  now  and  then  across  the  grim  wall  above  them, 

96 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  the  deserted  road  in  front  lay  drenched  in  the  yellow  light 
of  the  tropic  moon.  There  was  little  likelihood  of  detection  here, 
where  the  dreamy  plash  of  the  sea  drowned  the  low  sound  of 
their  voices;  and  Jose  breathed  more  freely  than  in  the  populous 
plaza  which  they  had  just  left. 

"Good  Lord!"  muttered  the  explorer,  returning  from  a  peep 
into  the  foul  blackness  of  a  subterranean  tunnel,  "imagine  what 
took  place  here  some  three  centuries  ago!" 

"Yes,"  returned  Jose  sadly;  "and  in  the  reeking  dungeons 
of  San  Fernando,  out  there  at  the  harbor  entrance.  And,  what 
is  worse,  my  own  ancestors  were  among  the  perpetrators  of 
those  black  deeds  committed  in  the  name  of  Christ." 

"Whew!  You  don't  say!  Tell  me  about  it."  The  ex 
plorer  drew  closer.  Jose  knew  somehow  that  he  could  trust 
this  stranger,  and  so  he  briefly  sketched  his  ancestral  story  to 
his  sympathetic  listener.  "And  no  one  knows,"  he  concluded 
in  a  depressed  tone,  "how  many  of  the  thousands  of  victims  of 
the  Inquisition  in  Cartagena  were  sent  to  their  doom  by  the 
house  of  Rincon.  It  may  be,"  he  sighed,  "that  the  sins  of  my 
fathers  have  been  visited  upon  me — that  I  am  now  paying  in 
part  the  penalty  for  their  criminal  zeal." 

The  explorer  sat  for  some  time  in  silent  meditation.  "Per 
haps,"  he  said,  "your  ,family  fell  under  the  spell  of  old  Saint 
Dominic.  You  know  the  legend?  How  God  deliberated  long 
whether  to  punish  the  wickedness  of  mankind  by  sending  down 
war,  plague,  or  famine,  and  was  finally  prevailed  upon  by  Saint 
Dominic  to  send,  instead,  the  Holy  Inquisition.  Another  choice 
example  of  the  convenient  way  the  world  has  always  had  of 
attributing  the  foulest  deeds  of  men  to  the  Almighty.  No  won 
der  religion  has  so  woefully  declined!" 

"But  is  it  so  up  in  the  great  North?"  asked  Jose.  "Tell  me, 
what  is  the  religious  status  there?  My  limitations  have  been 
such  that  I  have — I  have  not  kept  abreast  of  current  theological 
thought.'' 

"In  the  United  States  the  conventional,  passive  submission 
to  orthodox  dogma  is  rapidly  becoming  a  thing  of  the  past,"  the 
explorer  replied.  "The  people  are  beginning  to  think  on  these 
topics.  All  human  opinion,  philosophical,  religious,  or  scien 
tific,  is  in  a  state  of  liquefaction — not  yet  solidified.  Just  what 
will  crystallize  out  of  the  magma  is  uncertain.  The  country 
is  experiencing  a  religious  crisis,  and  an  irresistible  determina 
tion  to  know  is  abroad  in  the  land.  Everything  is  being  turned 
upside-down,  and  one  hardly  dares  longer  say  what  he  believes, 
for  the  dogma  of  to-day  is  the  fairy-tale  of  to-morrow.  And, 
through  it  all,  as  some  one  has  tersely  said,  'orthodoxy  is  hang 
ing  onto  the  coat-tails  of  progress  in  a  vain  attempt  to  stop 

97 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her.'  We  are  facing  in  the  United  States  the  momentous  ques 
tion,  Is  Christianity  a  failure?  Although  no  one  knows  what 
Christianity  really  is.  But  one  thing  is  certain,  the  brand  of 
Christianity  handed  out  by  Protestant  and  Catholic  alike  is 
mighty  close  to  the  borderline  of  dismal  failure." 

"But  is  there  in  the  North  no  distinct  trend  in  religious  be 
lief?"  queried  Jose. 

The  explorer  hestitated.  "Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "there  is. 
The  man  who  holds  and  promulgates  any  belief,  religious  or 
scientific,  is  being  more  and  more  insistently  forced  to  the  point 
of  demonstration.  The  citation  of  patristic  authority  is  becom 
ing  daily  more  thoroughly  obsolete." 

"And  there  is  no  one  who  demonstrates  practical  Chris 
tianity?" 

"No.  Do  you?  Is  there  any  one  in  your  Church,  or  in  the 
Protestant  faith,  who  does  the  works  which  Christ  is  reported 
to  have  done?  Is  there  any  one  who  really  tries  to  do  them? 
Or  thinks  he  could  if  he  tried?  The  good  church  Fathers  from 
the  third  century  down  could  figure  out  that  the  world  was 
created  on  the  night  before  the  twenty-third  of  October,  four 
thousand  and  four  B.  C.,  and  that  Adam's  fall  occurred  about 
noon  of  the  day  he  was  created.  They  could  dilate  ad  nauseam 
on  transubstantiation,  the  divine  essence,  and  the  mystery  of 
the  Trinity;  they  could  astonishingly  allegorize  the  Bible  le 
gends,  and  read  into  every  word  a  deep,  hidden,  incomprehen 
sible  sense;  they  could  prove  to  their  own  satisfaction  that 
Adam  composed  certain  of  the  Psalms;  that  Moses  wrote  every 
word  of  the  Pentateuch,  even  the  story  of  his  own  death  and 
burial;  and  that  the  entire  Bible  was  delivered  by  God  to  man, 
word  for  word,  just  as  it  stands,  including  the  punctuation. 
And  yet,  not  one  of  them  followed  the  simple  commands  of 
Jesus  closely  enough  to  enable  him  to  cure  a  toothache,  to  say 
nothing  of  generally  healing  the  sick  and  raising  the  dead!  Am 
I  not  right?" 

"Yes — I  am  sorry  to  have  to  admit,"  murmured  Jose. 

"Well,"  went  on  the  explorer,  "that's  what  removed  me 
from  the  Presbyterian  ministry.  It  is  not  Christianity  that  is 
a  dismal  failure,  but  men's  interpretation  of  it.  Of  true  Chris 
tianity,  I  confess  I  know  little.  Oh,  I'm  a  fine  preacher!  And 
yet  I  am  representative  of  thousands  of  others,  like  myself,  all 
at  sea.  Only,  the  others  are  either  ashamed  or  afraid  to  make 
this  confession.  But,  in  my  case,  my  daily  bread  did  not  depend 
upon  my  continuance  in  the  pulpit." 

"But  supposing  that  it  had — " 

"The  result  doubtless  would  have  been  the  same.  The  ortho 
dox  faith  was  utterly  failing  to  supply  me  with  a  satisfying  in- 

98 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


terpretation  of  life,  and  it  afforded  me  no  means  of  escaping 
the  discords  of  mundane  existence.  It  could  only  hold  out  an 
undemonstrable  promise  of  a  life  after  death,  provided  I  was 
elected,  and  provided  I  did  not  too  greatly  offend  the  Creator 
during  the  few  short  years  that  I  might  spend  on  earth.  If  I 
did  that,  then,  according  to  the  glorious  Westminster  Confes 
sion,  I  was  doomed — for  we  are  not  so  fortunate  as  you  in  hav 
ing  a  purgatory  from  which  we  may  escape  through  the  suf 
frages  of  the  faithful,"  he  concluded  with  a  chuckle. 

Jose  knew,  as  he  listened,  that  his  own  Church  would  hold 
this  man  a  blasphemer.  The  man  by  his  own  confession  was 
branded  a  Protestant  heretic.  And  he,  Jose,  was  anathema  for 
listening  to  these  sincere,  brutally  frank  confidences,  and  ten 
dering  them  his  warm  sympathy.  Yet  he  sat  spellbound. 

"And  so  I  retired  from  the  ministry,"  continued  the  ex 
plorer.  "I  had  become  ashamed  of  tearing  down  other  men's 
religious  beliefs.  I  was  weary  of  having  to  apologize  constantly 
for  the  organization  to  which  I  was  attached.  At  home  I  had 
been  taught  a  devout  faith  in  revealed  religion;  in  the  world  I 
was  thrown  upon  its  inquiring  doubts;  I  yearned  for  faith,  yet 
demanded  scientific  proof.  Why,  I  would  have  been  satisfied 
with  even  the  slight  degree  of  proof  which  we  are  able  to  ad 
vance  for  our  various  physical  sciences.  But,  no,  it  was  not 
forthcoming.  I  must  believe  because  the  Fathers  had  believed. 
I  struggled  between  emotion  and  reason,  until — well,  until  I 
had  to  throw  it  all  over  to  keep  from  going  mad." 

Jose  bowed  in  silence  before  this  recital  of  a  soul-experience 
so  closely  paralleling  his  own. 

"But,  come,"  said  the  explorer  cheerily,  "I'm  doing  all  the 
talking.  Now — 

"No!  no!"  interrupted  the  eager  Jose.  "I  do  not  wish  to 
talk.  I  want  to  hear  you.  Go  on,  I  beg  of  you!  Your  words  are 
like  rain  to  a  parched  field.  You  will  yet  offer  me  something 
upon  which  I  can  build  with  new  hope." 

"Do  not  be  so  sanguine,  my  friend,"  returned  the  explorer 
in  a  kindly  tone.  "I  fear  I  shall  be  only  the  reaper,  who  cuts 
the  weeds  and  stubble,  and  prepares  the  field  for  the  sower.  I 
have  said  that  I  am  an  explorer.  But  my  field  is  not  limited  to 
this  material  world.  I  am  an  explorer  of  men's  thoughts  as 
well.  I  am  in  search  of  a  religion.  I  manifest  this  century's 
earnest  quest  for  demonstrable  truth.  And  so  I  stop  and  ques 
tion  every  one  I  meet,  if  perchance  he  may  point  me  in  the 
right  direction.  My  incessant  wandering  about  the  globe  is,  if 
I  may  put  it  that  way,  but  the  outward  manifestation  of  my 
ceaseless  search  in  the  realm  of  the  soul." 

He  paused.    Then,  reaching  out  and  laying  a  hand  upon  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


priest's  knee,  he  said  in  a  low,  earnest  voice,  "My  friend,  some 
thing  happened  in  that  first  year  of  our  so-called  Christian  era. 
What  it  was  we  do  not  know.  But  out  of  the  smoke  and  dust, 
the  haze  and  mist  of  that  great  cataclysm  has  proceeded  the 
character  Jesus — absolutely  unique.  It  is  a  character  which 
has  had  a  terrific  influence  upon  the  world  ever  since.  Because 
of  it  empires  have  crumbled;  a  hundred  million  human  lives 
have  been  destroyed;  and  the  thought-processes  of  a  world  have 
been  overthrown  or  reversed.  Just  what  he  said,  just  what  he 
did,  just  how  he  came,  and  how  he  went,  we  may  not  know  with 
any  high  degree  of  accuracy.  But,  beneath  all  the  myth  and 
legend,  the  lore  and  childish  human  speculation  of  the  inter 
vening  centuries,  there  must  be  a  foundation  of  eternal  truth. 
And  it  must  be  broad — very  broad.  I  am  digging  for  it — as  I 
dug  on  the  sites  of  ancient  Troy  and  Babylon — as  I  have  dug 
over  the  buried  civilizations  of  Mexico  and  Yucatan— as  I  shall 
dig  for  the  hidden  Inca  towns  on  the  wooded  heights  of  the 
Andes.  And  while  I  dig  materially  I  am  also  digging  spir 
itually." 

"And  what  have  you  found?"  asked  Jose  hoarsely. 

"I  am  still  in  the  overburden  of  debris  which  the  sedulous, 
tireless  Fathers  heaped  mountain  high  upon  the  few  recorded 
teachings  of  Jesus.  But  already  I  see  indications  of  things  to 
come  that  w7ould  make  the  members  of  the  Council  of  Trent  and 
the  cocksure  framers  of  the  Westminster  Confession  burst  from 
their  graves  by  sheer  force  of  astonishment!  There  are  even 
now  foreshadowings  of  such  revolutionary  changes  in  our  con 
cept  of  God,  of  the  universe,  of  matter,  and  the  human  mind, 
of  evil,  and  all  the  controverted  points  of  theological  discussion 
of  this  day,  as  to  make  me  tremble  when  I  contemplate  them. 
In  my  first  hasty  judgment,  after  dipping  into  the  'Higher  Crit 
icism,'  I  concluded  that  Jesus  was  but  a  charlatan,  who  had 
learned  thaumaturgy  in  Egypt  and  practiced  it  in  Judea. 
Thanks  to  a  better  appreciation  of  the  same  'Higher  Criticism' 
I  am  reconstructing  my  concept  of  him  now,  and  on  a  better 
basis.  I  once  denounced  God  as  the  creator  of  both  good  and 
evil,  and  of  a  man  W7ho  He  knew  must  inevitably  fall,  even 
before  the  clay  of  which  he  wras  made  had  become  fairly  dry. 
I  changed  that  concept  later  to  Matthew  Arnold's  'that  some 
thing  not  ourselves  that  makes  for  righteousness.'  But  mighty 
few  to-day  recognize  such  a  God!  Again,  in  Jesus'  teaching  that 
sin  brought  death  into  the  world,  I  began  to  see  what  is  so  dimly 
foreshadowed  to-day,  the  mental  nature  of  all  things.  'Sin'  is 
the  English  translation  of  the  original  'hamartio,'  which  means, 
'to  miss  the  mark,'  a  term  used  in  archery.  Well,  then,  missing 
the  mark  is  the  mental  result  of  nonconformity  to  law,  is  it 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


not?  And,  going  further,  if  death  is  the  result  of  missing  the 
mark,  and  that  is  itself  due  to  mental  cause,  and,  since  death 
results  from  sickness,  old  age,  or  catastrophe,  then  these  things 
must  likewise  be  mental.  Sickness,  therefore,  becomes  wholly 
mental,  does  it  not?  Death  becomes  mental.  Sin  is  mental. 
Spirit,  the  Creator,  is  mental.  Matter  is  mental.  And  we  live 
and  act  in  a  mental  realm,  do  we  not?  The  sick  man,  then,  be 
comes  one  who  misses  the  mark,  and  therefore  a  sinner.  I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  the  sick  man  is  not  at  peace 
with  God,  if  God  is  'that  which  makes  for  righteousness.'  Surely 
the  maker  of  that  old  Icelandic  sixteenth-century  Bible  must 
have  been  inspired  when,  translating  from  Luther's  Bible,  he 
wrote  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  'And  God  created  man 
after  His  own  likeness,  in  the  likeness  of  Mind  shaped  He  him.' 
Cannot  you  see  the  foreshadowing  to  which  I  have  referred?" 

Jose  kept  silence.  The  current  of  his  thought  seemed  about 
to  swerve  from  its  wonted  course. 

"What  is  coming  is  this,"  continued  the  explorer  earnestly, 
"a  tremendous  broadening  of  our  concept  of  God,  a  more  ex 
alted,  a  more  worthy  concept  of  Him  as  spirit — or,  if  you  will, 
as  mind.  An  abandonment  of  the  puerile  concept  of  Him  as  a 
sort  of  magnified  man,  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  preachers, 
or  of  Virgin  and  Saints,  and  yielding  to  their  petitions,  to  their 
higher  sense  of  justice,  and  to  money-bought  earthly  ceremonies 
to  lift  an  imaginary  curse  from  His  own  creatures.  And  with 
it  will  come  that  wonderful  consciousness  of  Him  which  I  now 
begin  to  realize  that  Jesus  must  have  had,  a  consciousness  of 
Him  as  omnipotent,  omnipresent  good.  As  I  to-day  read  the 
teachings  of  Jesus  I  am  constrained  to  believe  that  he  was  con 
scious  only  of  God  and  God's  spiritual  manifestation.  And  in 
that  remarkable  consciousness  the  man  Jesus  realized  his  own 
life — indeed,  that  consciousness  was  his  life — and  it  included 
no  sense  of  evil.  The  great  lesson  which  I  draw  from  it  is  that 
evil  must,  therefore,  be  utterly  unreal  and  non-existent.  And 
heaven  is  but  the  acquisition  of  that  mind  or  consciousness 
which  was  in  Christ  Jesus." 

"But,  Mr.  Hitt,  such  ideas  are  revolutionary!" 

"True,  if  immediately  and  generally  adopted.  And  so  you 
see  why  the  Church  strives  to  hold  the  people  to  its  own  archaic 
and  innocuous  religious  tenets;  why  your  Church  strives  so 
zealously  to  hold  its  adherents  fast  to  the  rules  laid  down  by 
pagan  emperors  and  ignorant,  often  illiterate  churchmen,  in 
their  councils  and  synods;  and  why  the  Protestant  church  is  so 
quick  to  denounce  as  unevangelical  everything  that  does  not 
measure  to  its  devitalized  concept  of  Christianity.  They  do 
not  practice  what  they  preach;  yet  they  would  not  have  you 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


practice  anything  else.  The  human  mind  that  calls  itself  a 
Christian  is  a  funny  thing,  isn't  it?" 

He  laughed  lightly;  then  lapsed  into  silence.  The  sea  breeze 
rose  and  sighed  among  the  great,  incrusted  arches.  The  restless 
waves  moaned  in  their  eternal  assault  upon  the  defiant  walls. 
The  moon  clouded,  and  a  warm  rain  began  to  fall.  Jose  rose. 
"I  must  return  to  the  dormitory,"  he  announced  briefly.  "When 
you  pass  me  in  the  plaza  to-morrow  evening,  come  at  once  to 
this  place.  I  will  meet  you  here.  You  have — I  must — 

But  he  did  not  finish.  Pressing  the  explorer's  hand,  he 
turned  abruptly  and  hurried  up  the  dim,  narrow  street. 


CHAPTER  14 

ALL  through  the  following  day  the  priest  mused  over  the 
conversation  of  the  preceding  night.  The  precipitation 
with  which  this  new  friendship  had  been  formed,  and  the 
subsequent  abrupt  exchange  of  confidences,  had  scarcely  im 
pressed  him  as  unusual.  He  was  wholly  absorbed  by  the  radical 
thought  which  the  man  had  voiced.  He  mulled  over  it  in  his 
wakeful  hours  that  night.  He  could  not  prevent  it  from  color 
ing  the  lecture  which  he  delivered  to  his  class  in  ancient  his 
tory  that  day.  And  when  the  sun  at  length  dropped  behind  La 
Popa,  he  hurried  eagerly  to  the  plaza.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
and  the  ex-clergyman  met  in  the  appointed  rendezvous. 

"I  dropped  in  to  have  a  look  at  the  remains  of  Pedro  Claver 
to-day,"  his  new  friend  remarked.  "The  old  sexton  scraped  and 
bowed  with  huge  joy  as  he  led  me  behind  the  altar  and  lighted 
up  the  grewsome  thing.  I  suppose  he  believed  that  Pedro's  soul 
was  up  in  the  clouds  making  intercession  with  the  Lord  for 
him,  while  he,  poor  devil,  was  toting  tourists  around  to  gaze 
at  the  Saint's  ghastly  bones  in  their  glass  coffin.  The  thing 
would  be  funny  were  it  not  for  its  sad  side,  namely,  the  dense 
and  superstitious  ignorance  in  which  such  as  this  poor  sexton 
are  held  all  their  lives  by  your  Church.  It's  a  shame  to  feed 
them  writh  the  bones  of  dead  Saints,  instead  of  with  the  bread  of 
life!  But,"  he  reflected,  "I  was  myself  just  as  bigoted  at  one 
time.  And  my  zeal  to  convert  the  world  to  Protestantism  was 
just  as  hot  as  any  that  ever  animated  the  missionaries  of  your 
faith." 

He  paused  and  looked  quizzically  at  Jose.  He  seemed  to  be 
studying  the  length  to  which  he  could  go  in  his  criticism  of 
the  ancient  faith  of  the  house  of  Rincon.  But  Jose  remained 
in  expectant  silence. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Speaking  of  missionaries,"  the  man  resumed,  "I  shall  never 
forget  an  experience  I  had  in  China.  My  wealthy  and  ultra- 
aristocratic  congregation  decided  that  I  needed  rest,  and  so 
sent  me  on  a  world  tour.  It  was  a  member  of  that  same  con 
gregation,  by  the  way,  a  stuffy  old  dame  whose  wealth  footed 
up  to  millions,  who  once  remarked  to  me  in  all  confidence  that 
she  had  no  doubt  the  aristocracy  of  heaven  was  composed  of 
Presbyterians.  Poor,  old,  empty-headed  prig !  What  could  I  do 
but  assure  her  that  I  held  the  same  comforting  conviction! 
Well,  through  influential  friends  in  Pekin  I  was  introduced  to 
the  eminent  Chinese  statesman,  Wang  Fo,  of  delightful  memory. 
Our  conversation  turned  on  religion,  and  then  I  made  the  most 
inexcusable  faux  pas  that  a  blithering  Yankee  could  make,  that 
of  expressing  regret  that  he  was  not  of  our  faith.  Good  heavens! 
But  he  was  the  most  gracious  gentleman  in  the  world,  and  his 
biting  rebuke  was  couched  in  tones  of  silken  softness. 

"  'What  is  it  that  you  offer  me?'  he  said  mildly.  'Blind 
opinion?  Undemonstrated  and  undemonstrable  theory?  Why, 
may  I  ask,  do  you  come  over  here  to  convert  us  heathen,  when 
your  own  Christian  land  is  rife  with  evil,  with  sedition,  with 
religious  hatred  of  man  for  man,  with  bloodshed  and  greed? 
If  your  religious  belief  is  true,  then  you  can  demonstrate  it- 
prove  it  beyond  doubt.  Do  you  say  that  the  wonderful  mate 
rial  progress  which  your  great  country  manifests  is  due  to 
Christianity?  I  answer  you,  no.  It  is  due  to  the  unfettering  of 
the  human  mind,  to  the  laying  off  of  much  of  the  mediaeval 
superstition  which  in  the  past  ages  has  blighted  mankind.  It 
is  due  largely  to  the  abandonment  of  much  of  what  you  are 
still  pleased  to  call  Christianity.  The  liberated  human  mind 
has  expanded  to  a  degree  never  before  seen  in  the  world.  We 
Chinese  are  still  mentally  fettered  by  our  stubborn  resistance  to 
change,  to  progression.  Your  great  inventors  and  your  great 
men  of  finance  are  but  little  hampered  by  religious  superstition. 
Hence  the  mental  flights  which  they  so  boldly  undertake,  and 
the  stupendous  achievements  they  attain.  Is  it  not  so?' 

"What  could  I  say?  He  had  me.  But  he  hadn't  finished  me 
quite. 

"  'I  once  devoted  much  time  to  the  study  of  Chemistry,'  he 
went  on  blandly,  'and  when  I  tell  you  that  there  is  a  law  to 
the  effect  that  the  volume  of  a  gas  is  a  function  of  its  pres 
sure  I  do  so  with  the  full  knowledge  that  I  can  furnish  you 
indisputable  proof  therefor.  But  when  you  come  to  me  with 
your  religious  theories,  and  I  mildly  request  your  proofs,  you 
wish  to  imprison  or  hang  me  for  doubting  the  absurdities  which 
you  cannot  establish!' 

"He   laughed   genially,   then   took   me   kindly  by  the  arm. 

103 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


'Proof,  my  zealous  friend,  proof,'  he  said.  'Give  me  proof  this 
side  of  the  grave  for  what  you  believe,  and  then  you  will  have 
converted  the  heathen.  And  can  your  Catholic  friend — or, 
shall  I  say  enemy? — prove  his  laughable  doctrine  of  purgatory? 
The  dead  in  purgatory  dependent  upon  the  living!  Why,  I  tell 
him,  that  smacks  of  Shintoism,  wherein  the  living  feed  the 
dead!  Then  he  points  in  holy  indignation  to  the  Bible.  Bah! 
Cannot  I  prove  anything  I  may  wish  from  your  Bible?  What 
wrill  you  have?  Polygamy?  Incest?  Murder?  Graft?  Hand 
me  your  Bible,  and  I  will  establish  its  divinity.  No,  my  good 
friend.  When  you  come  to  me  with  proofs  that  you  really  do 
the  works  of  him  wrhom  you  profess  to  follow,  then  will  I 
gladly  listen,  for  I,  too,  seek  truth.  But  in  the  present  deplora 
ble  absence  of  proofs  I  take  much  more  comfort  in  the  adora 
tion  of  my  amiable  ancestors  than  I  could  in  your  laughable 
and  undemonstrable  religious  creeds.' 

"I  left  his  presence  a  saddened  but  chastened  man,  and  went 
home  to  do  a  little  independent  thinking.  When  I  approached 
my  Bible  without  the  bias  of  the  Westminster  Confession  I  dis 
covered  that  it  did  serve  admirably  as  a  wardrobe  in  which  to 
hang  any  sort  of  religious  prejudice.  Continued  study  made 
me  see  that  religious  faith  is  generally  mere  human  credulity. 
I  discovered  that  in  my  pitying  contempt  for  those  of  differing 
belief  I  much  resembled  the  Yankee  who  ridiculed  a  Chinaman 
for  wearing  a  pig-tail.  'True,'  the  Celestial  replied,  'we  still 
wear  the  badge  of  our  former  slavery.  But  you  emancipated 
Americans,  do  you  not  wear  the  badge  of  a  present  and  much 
worse  form  of  slavery  in  your  domination  by  Tammany  Hall, 
by  your  corrupt  politicians,  and  your  organizers  and  protectors 
of  crime?' 

"As  time  passed  I  gradually  began  to  feel  much  more 
kindly  toward  Matthew  Arnold,  who  said,  'Orthodox  theology 
is  an  immense  misunderstanding  of  the  Bible.'  And  I  began 
likewise  to  respect  his  statement  that  our  Bible  language  is 
'fluid  and  passing' — that  much  of  it  is  the  purest  poetry,  beau 
tiful  and  inspiring,  but  symbolical." 

"But,"  broke  in  Jose,  "you  must  admit  that  there  is  some 
thing  awfully  wrong  with  the  world,  with— 

"Well,"  interrupted  Hitt,  "and  what  is  it?  As  historical 
fact,  that  story  about  Adam  and  Eve  eating  an  apple  and  there 
by  bringing  down  God's  curse  upon  the  whole  innocent  human 
race  is  but  a  figment  of  little  minds,  and  an  insult  to  divine  in 
telligence.  But,  as  symbolizing  the  dire  penalty  we  pay  for  a 
belief  in  the  reality  of  both  good  and  evil — ah,  that  is  a  note 
just  beginning  to  be  sounded  in  the  world  at  large.  And  it 
may  account  for  the  presence  of  the  world's  evil." 

104 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Yet,  our  experience  certainly  shows  that  evil  is  just  as  real 
and  just  as  immanent  as  good!  And,  indeed,  more  powerful 
in  this  life." 

"If  so,"  replied  the  explorer  gravely,  "then  God  created  or 
instituted  it.  And  in  that  case  I  must  break  with  God." 

"Then  you  think  it  is  all  a  question  of  our  own  individual 
idea  of  God?" 

"Entirely.  And  human  concepts  of  Him  have  been  many 
and  varied.  But  that  worst  of  Old  Testament  interpreters  of 
the  first  century,  Philo,  came  terribly  close  to  the  truth,  I 
think,  when,  in  a  burst  of  inspiration,  he  one  day  wrote:  'Heav 
en  is  mind,  and  earth  is  sensation.'  Matthew  Arnold,  I  think, 
likewise  came  very  close  to  the  truth  when  he  said  that  the 
only  God  we  can  recognize  is  'that  something  not  ourselves 
that  makes  for  righteousness.'  And,  as  for  evil,  up  in  the  United 
States  there  are  some  who  are  now  lumping  it  all  under  the 
head  of  'mortal  mind,'  considering  it  all  but  the  'one  lie'  which 
Jesus  so  often  referred  to,  and  regarding  it  as  the  'suppositional 
opposite'  of  the  mind  that  is  God,  and  so,  powerless.  Not  a  bad 
idea,  I  think.  But  whether  the  money-loving  Yankee  will  ever 
leave  his  mad  chase  for  gold  long  enough  to  live  this  premise 
and  so  demonstrate  it,  is  a  question.  I'm  watching  its  develop 
ment  with  intense  interest.  We  in  the  States  have  wonderful, 
exceptional  opportunities  for  study  and  research.  We  ought  to 
uncover  the  truth,  if  any  people  should." 

He  fell  into  thoughtfulness  again.  Jose  drew  a  long  sigh. 
"I  wish — I  wish,"  he  murmured,  "that  I  might  go  there — that  I 
might  live  and  work  and  search  up  there." 

The  explorer  roused  up.  "And  why  not?"  he  asked  abruptly. 
"Look  here,  come  with  me  and  spend  a  year  or  so  digging 
around  for  buried  Inca  towns.  Then  we  will  go  back  to  the 
States.  Why,  man!  it  would  make  you  over.  I'll  take  you  as 
interpreter.  And  in  the  States  I'll  find  a  place  for  you.  Come. 
Will  you?" 

For  a  moment  the  doors  of  imagination  swung  wide,  and  in 
the  burst  of  light  from  within  Jose  saw  the  dreams  of  a  life 
time  fulfilled.  Emancipation  lay  that  way.  Freedom,  soul- 
expansion,  truth.  It  was  his  God-given  privilege.  Who  had 
the  right  to  lay  a  detaining  hand  upon  him?  Was  not  his  soul 
his  own,  and  his  God's? 

Then  a  dark  hand  stole  out  from  the  surrounding  shadows 
and  closed  the  doors.  From  the  blackness  there  seemed  to  rise 
a  hollow  voice,  uttering  the  single  word,  Honor.  He  thrust  out 
an  arm,  as  if  to  ward  off  the  assaults  of  temptation.  "No,  no," 
he  said  aloud,  "I  am  bound  to  the  Church!" 

"But  why  remain  longer  in  an  institution  with  which  you 
are  quite  out  of  sympathy?"  the  explorer  urged. 

105 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"First,  to  help  the  Church.  Who  will  uplift  her  if  we  de 
sert  her?  And,  second,  to  help  this,  my  ancestral  country," 
replied  Jose  in  deep  earnestness. 

"Worthy  aims,  both,"  assented  Hitt.  "But,  my  friend,  what 
will  you  accomplish  here,  unless  you  can  educate  these  peo 
ple  to  think?  I  have  learned  much  about  conditions  in  this 
country.  I  find  that  the  priest  in  Colombia  is  even  more  in 
tolerant  than  in  Ireland,  for  here  he  has  a  monopoly,  no  com 
petition.  He  is  absolute.  The  Colombian  is  the  logical  product 
of  the  doctrines  of  Holy  Church.  It  is  so  in  Mexico.  It  is  so 
wherever  the  curse  of  a  fixed  mentality  is  imposed  upon  a 
people.  For  that  engenders  determined  opposition  to  mobility. 
It  quenches  responsiveness  to  new  concepts  and  new  ideas.  It 
throttles  a  nation.  The  bane  of  mental  progress  is  the  Semper 
Idem  of  your  Church." 

"Christianity  will  remove  the  curse." 

"I  have  no  doubt  whatever  of  that.  It  probably  is  the  future 
cure  for  all  social  ills  and  evils  of  every  sort.  But  if  so,  it 
must  be  the  Christianity  which  Jesus  taught  and  demonstrated 
— not  the  theological  chaff  now  disseminated  in  his  name.  Do 
not  forget  that  we  no  longer  know  what  Christianity  is.  It  is 
a  lost  science." 

"It  can  and  will  be  recovered!"  cried  Jose  warmly. 

"I  have  said  that  is  foreshadowed.  But  we  must  have  the 
whole  garment  of  the  Christ,  without  human  addenda.  He  is 
reported  as  having  said,  'The  works  that  I  do  bear  witness  of 
me.'  Now  the  works  of  the  Christian  Church  bear  ample  wit 
ness  that  she  has  not  the  true  understanding  of  the  Christ.  Nor 
has  that  eminent  Protestant  divine,  now  teaching  in  a  theologi 
cal  seminary  in  the  States,  who  recently  said  that,  although 
Jesus  ministered  miraculously  to  the  physical  man,  yet  it  was 
not  his  intention  that  his  disciples  should  continue  that  sort  of 
ministry;  that  the  healing  which  Jesus  did  was  wholly  inciden 
tal,  and  was  not  an  example  to  be  permanently  imitated.  Good 
heavens!  how  these  poor  theologians  hide  their  inability  to  do 
the  works  of  the  Master  by  taking  refuge  in  such  ridiculously 
unwarranted  assertions.  To  them  the  rule  seems  to  be  that, 
if  you  can't  do  a  thing  you  must  deny  the  possibility  of  its 
being  done.  Great  logic,  isn't  it? 

"And  yet,"  he  went  on,  "the  Church  has  had  nearly  two 
thousand  years  in  which  to  learn  to  do  the  works  of  the  Master. 
Pretty  dull  pupil,  I  think.  And  we've  had  nearly  two  thousand 
years  of  theology  from  this  slow  pupil.  Would  that  she  would 
from  now  on  give  us  a  little  real  Christianity!  Heavens!  the 
world  needs  it.  And  yet,  do  you  know,  sectarian  feeling  is 
still  so  bitter  in  the  so-called  Church  of  God  that  if  a  Bishop  of 

106 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  Anglican  Church  should  admit  Presbyterians,  Methodists, 
or  members  of  other  denominations  to  his  communion  table  a 
scream  of  rage  would  go  up  all  over  England,  and  a  mighty  de 
mand  would  be  raised  to  impeach  the  Bishop  for  heresy! 
Think  of  it!  God  above!  the  puny  human  mind.  Do  you 
wonder  that  the  dogma  of  the  Church  has  lost  force?  That, 
despite  its  thunders,  thinking  men  laugh?  I  freely  admit  that 
our  great  need  is  to  find  an  adequate  substitute  for  the  authority 
\vhich  others  would  like  to  impose  upon  us.  But  where  shall  we 
find  such  authority,  if  not  in  those  who  demonstrate  their 
ability  to  do  the  works  of  the  Master?  Show  me  your  works, 
and  I'll  show  you  my  faith.  This  is  my  perpetual  challenge. 

"But,  now,"  he  said,  "returning  to  the  subject  so  near  your 
heart:  the  condition  of  this  country  is  that  of  a  large  part  of 
South  America,  where  the  population  is  unsettled,  even  turbu 
lent,  and  where  a  priesthood,  fanatical,  intolerant,  often  un 
scrupulous,  pursue  their  devious  means  to  extend  and  perpet 
uate  unhindered  the  sway  of  your  Church.  Colombia  is  strug 
gling  to  remove  the  blight  which  Spain  laid  upon  her,  namely, 
mediaeval  religion.  It  is  this  same  blighting  religion,  coupled 
with  her  remorseless  greed,  which  has  brought  Spain  to  her 
present  decrepit,  empty  state.  And  how  she  did  strive  to 
force  that  religion  upon  the  world!  Whole  nations,  like  the 
Incas,  for  example,  ruthlessly  slaughtered  by  the  papal-ben- 
isoned  riffraff  of  Spain  in  her  attempts  to  foist  herself  into 
world  prestige  and  to  bolster  up  the  monstrous  assumptions  of 
Holy  Church !  The  Incas  were  a  grand  nation,  with  a  splendid 
mental  viewpoint.  But  it  withered  under  the  touch  of  the 
mediaeval  narrowness  fastened  upon  it.  Whole  nations  wasted 
in  support  of  papal  assumptions — and  do  you  think  that  the 
end  is  yet?  Far  from  it!  War  is  coming  here  in  Colombia.  It 
may  come  in  other  parts  of  this  Western  Hemisphere,  certainly 
in  Mexico,  certainly  in  Peru  and  Bolivia  and  Chili,  rocked  in 
the  cradle  of  Holy  Church  for  ages,  but  now  at  last  awaking  to 
a  sense  of  their  backward  condition  and  its  cause.  If  ever  the 
Church  had  a  chance  to  show  what  she  could  do  when  given  a 
free  hand,  she  has  had  it  in  these  countries,  particularly  in 
Mexico.  In  all  the  nearly  four  centuries  of  her  unmolested 
control  in  that  fair  land,  oppressed  by  sword  and  crucifix,  did 
she  ever  make  an  attempt  worth  the  name  to  uplift  and  emanci 
pate  the  common  man?  Not  one.  She  took  his  few,  hard-earned 
pesos  to  get  his  weary  soul  out  of  an  imagined  purgatory — but 
she  left  him  to  rot  in  peonage  while  on  earth!  But,  friend,  I 
repeat,  the  struggle  is  coming  here  in  Colombia.  And  look  you 
well  to  your  own  escape  when  it  arrives!" 

"And  can  I  do  nothing  to  help  avert  it?"  cried  the  distressed 
Jose. 

107 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Well,"  returned  the  explorer  meditatively,  "such  bondage 
is  removable  either  through  education  or  war.  But  in  Colombia 
I  fear  the  latter  will  overtake  the  former  by  many  decades." 

"Then  rest  assured  that  I  shall  in  the  meantime  do  what  in 
me  lies  to  instruct  my  fellow-countrymen,  and  to  avoid  such  a 
catastrophe!" 

"Good  luck  to  you,  friend.  And — by  the  way,  here  is  a 
little  book  that  may  help  you  in  your  work.  I'm  quite  sure 
you've  never  read  it.  Under  the  ban,  you  know.  Kenan's  Vie 
de  Jesus.  It  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  may  be  useful." 

Jose  reached  out  and  took  the  little  volume.  It  was  anath 
ema,  he  knew,  but  he  could  not  refuse  to  accept  it. 

"And  there  is  another  book  that  I  strongly  recommend  to 
you.  I'm  sorry  I  haven't  a  copy  here.  It  once  created  quite  a 
sensation.  It  is  called,  'Confessions  of  a  Roman  Catholic  Priest.' 
Published  anonymously,  in  Vienna,  but  unquestionably  bear 
ing  the  earmarks  of  authenticity.  It  mentions  this  country — 

Without  speaking,  Jose  had  slowly  risen  and  started  down 
the  musty  corridor,  his  thought  aflame  with  the  single  desire  to 
get  away.  Down  past  the  empty  barracks  and  gaping  cells  he 
went,  without  stopping  to  peer  into  their  tenebrous  depths — on 
and  on,  skirting  the  grim  walls  that  typified  the  mediaevalism 
surrounding  and  fettering  his  restless  thought — on  to  the  long 
incline  which  led  up  to  the  broad  esplanade  on  the  summit. 
Must  he  forever  flee  this  pursuing  Nemesis?  Or  should  he  hurl 
himself  from  the  wall,  once  he  gained  the  top?  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  incline  he  heard  the  low  sound  of  voices.  A  priest 
and  a  young  girl  who  sat  there  on  the  parapet  rose  as  he  ap 
proached.  He  stopped  abruptly  in  front  of  them.  "Wenceslas!" 
he  exclaimed.  "And  Maria!" 

"Ah,  amigo,  a  quiet  stroll  before  retiring?  It  is  a  sultry 
night." 

"Yes,"  slowly  replied  Jose,  looking  at  the  girl,  who  drew 
back  into  the  shadow  cast  by  the  body  of  her  companion.  Then, 
bowing,  he  passed  on  down  the  wall  and  disappeared  in  the 
darkness  that  shrouded  the  distance. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  long  form  of  the  explorer  appeared 
above  the  incline.  Wenceslas  and  the  girl  had  departed.  Seeing 
no  one,  the  American  turned  and  descended  to  the  ground, 
shaking  his  head  in  deep  perplexity. 


108 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  15 

r  I  ^HE  next  day  was  one  of  the  Church's  innumerable  feast- 
days,  and  Jose  was  free  to  utilize  it  as  he  might.  He 
determined  on  a  visit  to  the  suburb  of  Turbaco,  some 
eight  miles  from  Cartagena,  and  once  the  site  of  Don  Ignacio's 
magnificent  country  home.  Although  he  had  been  some  months 
in  Cartagena,  he  had  never  before  felt  any  desire  to  pass  beyond 
its  walls.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  break  the  limi 
tation  which  those  encircling  walls  typified,  that  his  restless 
thought  might  expand  ere  it  formulated  into  definite  concepts 
and  plans  for  future  work.  This  morning  he  wanted  to  be 
alone.  The  old  injury  done  to  his  sensitive  spirit  by  the  pub 
lication  of  his  journal  had  been  unwittingly  opened  anew.  The 
old  slowness  had  crept  again  into  his  gait  since  the  evening 
before.  Over  night  his  countenance  had  resumed  its  wonted 
heaviness;  and  his  slender  shoulders  bent  again  beneath  their 
former  burden. 

When  Jose  arrived  in  Cartagena  he  had  found  it  a  city  of 
vivid  contrasts.  There  mediaevalism  still  strove  with  the  spirit 
of  modern  progress;  and  so  it  suited  well  as  an  environment  for 
the  dilation  of  his  shrunken  soul-arteries.  The  lethal  influence 
of  the  monastery  long  lay  over  him,  beneath  which  he  con 
tinued  to  manifest  those  eccentric  habits  which  his  prolonged 
state  of  loneliness  had  engendered.  He  looked  askance  at  the 
amenities  which  his  associates  tentatively  held  out  to  him.  He 
sank  himself  deep  in  study,  and  for  weeks,  even  months,  he 
shunned  the  world  of  people  and  things.  He  found  no  stimulus 
to  a  search  for  his  ancestral  palace  within  the  city,  nor  for  a 
study  of  the  Rincon  records  which  lay  moldering  in  the  ancient 
city's  archives. 

But,  as  the  sunlit  days  drifted  dreamily  past  with  peaceful, 
unvarying  monotony,  Jose's  faculties,  which  had  always  been 
alert  until  he  had  been  declared  insane,  gradually  awakened. 
His  violently  disturbed  balance  began  to  right  itself;  his  equilib 
rium  became  in  a  measure  restored.  The  deadening  thought 
that  he  had  accomplished  nothing  in  his  vitiated  life  yielded  to 
a  hopeful  determination  to  yet  retrieve  past  failure.  The  pride 
and  fear  which  had  balked  the  thought  of  self-destruction  now 
served  to  fan  the  flame  of  fresh  resolve.  He  dared  not  do  any 
writing,  it  was  true.  But  he  could  delve  and  study.  And  a 
thousand  avenues  opened  to  him  through  which  he  could  serve 
his  fellow-men.  The  papal  instructions  which  his  traveling 
companion,  the  Apostolic  Delegate,  had  brought  to  the  Bishop 

109 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  Cartagena,  evidently  had  sufficed  for  his  credentials;  and 
the  latter  had  made  no  occasion  to  refer  to  the  priest's  past.  An 
order  from  the  Vatican  was  law;  and  the  Bishop  obeyed  it  with 
no  other  thought  than  its  inerrancy  and  inexorability.  And 
with  the  lapse  of  the  several  months  which  had  slipped  rapidly 
away  while  he  sought  to  forget  and  to  clear  from  his  mind  the 
dark  clouds  of  melancholia  which  had  settled  over  it,  Jose  be 
came  convinced  that  the  Bishop  knew  nothing  of  his  career 
prior  to  his  arrival  in  Colombia. 

And  it  is  possible  that  the  young  priest's  secret  would  have 
died  with  him — that  he  would  have  lived  out  his  life  amid  the 
peaceful  scenes  of  this  old,  romantic  town,  and  gone  to  his  long 
rest  at  last  with  the  consciousness  of  having  accomplished  his 
mite  in  the  service  of  his  fellow-beings;  it  is  possible  that  Rome 
would  have  forgotten  him;  and  that  his  uncle's  ambitions,  to 
which  he  knew  that  he  had  been  regarded  as  in  some  way  use 
ful,  would  have  flagged  and  perished  over  the  watery  waste 
\vhich  separated  the  New  World  from  the  Old,  but  for  the  in 
tervention  of  one  man,  wTho  crossed  Jose's  path  early  in  his 
new  life,  found  him  inimical  to  his  own  worldly  projects,  and 
removed  him,  therefore,  as  sincerely  in  the  name  of  Christ  as 
the  ancient  Conquistadores,  with  priestly  blessing,  hewed  from 
their  paths  of  conquest  the  simple  and  harmless  aborigines. 

That  man  was  Wenceslas  Ortiz,  trusted  servant  of  Holy 
Church,  who  had  established  himself  in  Cartagena  to  keep  a 
watchful  eye  on  anticlerical  proceedings.  That  he  wras  able  to 
do  this,  and  at  the  same  time  turn  them  greatly  to  his  own 
advantage,  marks  him  as  a  man  of  more  than  usually  keen  and 
resourceful  mentality.  He  was  a  native  son,  born  of  prosperous 
parents  in  the  riverine  town  of  Mompox,  which,  until  the  erratic 
Magdalena  sought  for  itself  a  new  channel,  was  the  chief  port 
between  Barranquilla  and  the  distant  Honda.  There  had  been 
neither  family  custom  nor  parental  hopes  to  consider  among 
the  motives  \vhich  had  directed  him  into  the  Church.  He  was  a 
born  worldling,  but  with  unmistakable  talents  for  and  keen 
appreciation  of  the  art  of  politics.  His  love  of  money  was  sub 
ordinate  only  to  his  love  of  powrer.  To  both,  his  talents  made 
access  easy.  In  the  contemplation  of  a  career  in  his  early  years 
he  had  hesitated  long  between  the  Church  and  the  Army;  but 
had  finally  thrown  his  lot  with  the  former,  as  offering  not  only 
equal  possibilities  of  worldly  preferment  and  riches,  but  far 
greater  stability  in  those  periodic  revolutions  to  which  his 
country  was  so  addicted.  The  Army  was  frequently  over 
thrown;  the  Church,  never.  The  Government  changed  with 
every  successful  political  revolution;  the  Church  remained  im 
movable.  And  so  with  the  art  of  a  trained  politician  he  culti- 

110 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


vated  his  chosen  field  with  such  intensity  that  even  the  Holy 
See  felt  the  glow  of  his  ardor,  and  in  recognition  of  his  marked 
abilities,  his  pious  fervor  and  great  influence,  was  constrained 
to  place  him  just  where  he  wished  to  be,  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  Bishop  of  Cartagena,  and  probable  successor  to  that  aged 
incumbent,  who  had  grown  to  lean  heavily  and  confidingly  upon 
him. 

As  coadjutor,  or  suffragan  to  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena,  Wen- 
ceslas  Ortiz  had  at  length  gathered  unto  himself  sufficient  in 
fluence  of  divers  nature  as,  in  his  opinion,  to  ensure  him  the 
See  in  case  the  bishopric  should,  as  was  contemplated,  be 
raised  eventually  to  the  status  of  a  Metropolitan.  It  was  he, 
rather  than  the  Bishop,  who  distributed  parishes  to  ambitious 
pastors  and  emoluments  to  greedy  politicians.  His  irons  in 
ecclesiastical,  political,  social  and  commercial  fires  were  in 
numerable.  The  doctrine  of  the  indivisibility  of  Church  and 
State  had  in  him  an  able  champion — but  only  because  he 
thereby  found  a  sure  means  of  increasing  his  prestige  and  aug 
menting  his  power  and  wealth.  His  methods  of  work  mani 
fested  keenness,  subtlety,  shrewdness  and  skill.  His  rewards 
were  lavish.  His  punishments,  terrible.  The  latter  smacked  of 
the  Inquisition:  he  preferred  torture  to  quick  despatch. 

It  had  not  taken  Wenceslas  long  to  estimate  the  character 
of  the  newcomer,  Jose.  Nor  was  he  slow  to  perceive  that  this 
liberal  pietist  was  cast  in  an  unusual  mold.  Polity  necessitated 
the  cultivation  of  Jose,  as  it  required  the  friendship — or,  in  any 
event,  the  thorough  appraisement — of  every  one  with  whom 
Wenceslas  might  be  associated.  But  the  blandishments,  arti 
fice,  diplomacy  and  hints  of  advancements  which  he  poured  out 
in  profusion  upon  Jose  he  early  saw  would  fail  utterly  to  pene 
trate  the  armor  of  moral  reserve  with  which  the  priest  was 
clad,  or  effect  in  the  slightest  degree  the  impression  which  they 
were  calculated  to  make. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  priest  became  irritating;  later, 
annoying;  and  finally,  positively  dangerous  to  the  ambitions  of 
Wenceslas.  For,  to  illustrate,  Jose  had  once  discovered  him, 
in  the  absence  of  the  Bishop,  celebrating  Mass  in  a  state  of  in 
ebriation.  This  irritated.  Wenceslas  had  only  been  careless. 
Again,  Jose  had  several  times  shown  himself  suspicious  of  his 
fast-and-loose  methods  with  the  rival  political  factions  of  Car 
tagena.  This  was  annoying.  Finally,  he  had  come  upon  Jose 
in  the  market  place  a  few  weeks  prior,  in  earnest  conference 
with  Marcelena  and  the  girl,  Maria;  and  subsequent  conversa 
tion  with  him  developed  the  fact  that  the  priest  had  other  dark 
suspicions  which  were  but  too  well  founded.  This  was  danger 
ous.  It  was  high  time  to  prepare  for  possible  contingencies. 

Ill 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


And  so,  in  due  time,  carefully  wording  his  hint  that  Padre 
Jose  de  Rincon  might  be  a  Radical  spy  in  the  ecclesiastical 
camp,  Wenceslas  found  means  to  obtain  from  Rome  a  fairly 
comprehensive  account  of  the  priest's  past  history.  He  mused 
over  this  until  an  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  namely,  the 
similarity  of  this  account  with  many  of  the  passages  which  he 
had  found  in  a  certain  book,  "The  Confessions  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  Priest" — a  book  which  had  cast  the  shadow  of  dis 
trust  upon  Wenceslas  himself  in  relation  to  certain  matters  of 
ecclesiastical  politics  in  Colombia  nearly  three  years  before,  and 
at  a  most  unfortunate  time.  Indeed,  this  sudden,  unheralded 
exposure  had  forced  him  to  a  hurried  recasting  of  certain 
cherished  plans,  and  drawn  from  him  a  burning,  unquenchable 
desire  to  lay  his  pious  hands  upon  the  writer. 

His  influence  with  Rome  at  length  revealed  the  secret  of  the 
wretched  book's  authorship.  And  from  the  moment  that  he 
learned  it,  Jose's  fate  was  sealed.  The  crafty  politician  laughed 
aloud  as  he  read  the  priest's  history.  Then  he  drew  his  plans 
and  waited.  But  in  the  interim  he  made  further  investigations; 
and  these  he  extended  far  back  into  the  ancestral  history  of  this 
unfortunate  scion  of  the  once  powerful  house  of  Rincon. 

Meantime,  a  few  carefully  chosen  words  to  the  Bishop 
aroused  a  dull  interest  in  that  quarter.  Jose  had  been  seen 
mingling  freely  with  men  of  very  liberal  political  views.  It 
would  be  well  to  warn  him.  Again,  weeks  later,  Wenceslas  was 
certain,  from  inquiries  made  among  the  students,  that  Jose's 
work  in  the  classroom  bordered  a  trifle  too  closely  on  radi 
calism.  It  were  well  to  admonish  him.  And,  still  later,  hap 
pening  to  call  at  Jose's  quarters  just  above  his  own  in  the 
ecclesiastical  dormitory,  and  not  finding  him  in,  he  had  been 
struck  by  the  absence  of  crucifix  or  other  religious  symbol  in 
the  room.  Was  the  young  priest  becoming  careless  of  his 
example? 

And  now,  on  this  important  feast-day,  where  \vas  Padre 
Jose?  On  the  preceding  evening,  as  Wenceslas  leaned  over  the 
parapet  of  the  wall  after  his  surprise  by  Jose,  he  had  noted  in 
the  dim  light  the  salient  features  of  a  foreigner  wTho,  he  had 
just  learned,  was  registered  at  the  Hotel  Mariano  from  the 
United  States.  Moreover,  Wenceslas  had  just  come  from  Jose's 
room,  whither  he  had  gone  in  search  of  him,  and — may  the 
Saints  pardon  his  excess  of  holy  zeal  which  impelled  him  to 
examine  the  absent  priest's  effects ! — he  had  returned  now  to 
the  Bishop  bearing  a  copy  of  Renan's  Vie  de  Jesus,  with  the 
American's  name  on  the  flyleaf.  It  certainly  were  well  to  ad 
monish  Padre  Jose  again,  and  severely! 

The  Bishop,  hardly  to  the  surprise  of  his  crafty  coadjutor, 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


flew  into  a  towering  rage.  He  was  a  man  of  irascible  temper, 
bitterly  intolerant,  and  unreasoningly  violent  against  all  un 
believers,  especially  Americans  whose  affairs  brought  them  to 
Colombia.  In  this  respect  he  was  the  epitome  of  the  ecclesias 
tical  anti-foreign  sentiment  which  obtained  in  that  country. 
His  intolerance  of  heretics  was  such  that  he  would  gladly  have 
bound  his  own  kin  to  the  stake  had  he  believed  their  opinions 
unorthodox.  Yet  he  was  thoroughly  conscientious,  a  devout 
churchman,  and  saturated  with  the  beliefs  of  papal  infallibility 
and  the  divine  origin  of  the  Church.  In  the  observance  of 
church  rites  and  ceremonies  he  was  unremitting.  In  the  soul- 
burning  desire  to  witness  the  conversion  of  the  world,  and  espe 
cially  to  see  the  lost  children  of  Europe  either  coaxed  or  beaten 
back  into  the  embrace  of  Holy  Church,  his  zeal  amounted  to 
fanaticism.  In  the  present  case — 

"Your  Eminence,"  suggested  the  suave  Wenceslas  to  his  ex 
asperated  superior,  "may  I  propose  that  you  defer  action  until 
I  can  discover  the  exact  status  of  this  American?" 

And  the  Bishop  forthwith  placed  the  whole  matter  in  his 
trusted  assistant's  helpful  hands. 

Meantime,  Jose  and  the  American  explorer  sat  in  the  shade 
of  a  magnificent  palm  on  a  high  hill  in  beautiful  Turbaco,  look 
ing  out  over  the  shimmering  sea  beyond.  For  Hitt  had  wan 
dered  into  the  Plaza  de  Caches  just  as  Jose  was  taking  a  car 
riage,  and  the  latter  could  not  well  refuse  his  proffered  com 
panionship  for  the  day.  Yet  Jose  feared  to  be  seen  in  broad 
daylight  with  this  stranger,  and  he  involuntarily  murmured  a 
Loado  sea  Dios!  when  they  reached  Turbaco,  as  he  believed, 
unobserved.  He  did  not  know  that  a  sharp-eyed  young  novi 
tiate,  whom  Wenceslas  had  detailed  to  keep  the  priest  under 
surveillance,  had  hurried  back  to  his  superior  with  the  report 
of  Jose's  departure  with  the  Americano  on  this  innocent  pleas 
ure  jaunt. 

"Say  no  more,  my  friend,  in  apology  for  your  abrupt  de 
parture  last  evening,"  the  explorer  urged.  "But  tell  me,  rather, 
about  your  illustrious  grandfather  who  had  his  country  seat  in 
this  delightful  spot.  Why,  man!  this  is  paradise.  I've  a  notion 
to  come  here  to  live  some  day." 

Jose  cast  his  apprehensions  upon  the  soft  ocean  breeze,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  the  inspiriting  influence  of  his  charming 
environment.  He  dwelt  at  length  upon  the  Rincon  greatness 
of  mediaeval  days,  and  expressed  the  resolve  sometime  to  delve 
into  the  family  records  which  he  knew  must  be  hidden  away 
in  the  moldering  old  city  of  Cartagena.  "But  now,"  he  con 
cluded,  after  another  reference  to  the  Church,  "is  Colombia  to 
witness  again  the  horror  of  those  days  of  carnage?  And  over 
the  human  mind's  interpretation  of  the  Christ?  God  forbid!" 

113 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  American  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "There  is  but  one 
remedy — education.  Not  sectarian,  partisan,  worldly  education 
— not  instruction  in  relative  truths  and  the  chaff  of  material 
istic  speculation — but  that  sort  of  education  whereby  the  selfish 
human  mind  is  lifted  in  a  measure  out  of  itself,  out  of  its  petty 
jealousies  and  envyings,  out  of  sneaking  graft  and  touting  for 
worldly  emolument,  and  into  a  sense  of  the  eternal  truth  that 
real  prosperity  and  soundness  of  states  and  institutions  are  to 
be  realized  only  when  the  Christ-principle,  'Love  thy  neighbor 
as  thyself,'  is  made  the  measure  of  conduct.  There  is  a  tre 
mendous  truth  which  has  long  since  been  demonstrated,  and 
yet  which  the  world  is  most  woefully  slow  to  grasp,  namely, 
that  the  surest,  quickest  means  of  realizing  one's  own  pros 
perity  and  happiness  is  in  that  of  others — not  in  a  world  to 
come,  but  right  here  and  now." 

"But  that  means  the  inauguration  of  the  millennium,"  pro 
tested  Jose. 

"Well,  and  why  not  so?"  returned  the  explorer  calmly. 
"Has  not  that  been  the  ultimate  aim  of  Christianity,  and  of  all 
serious  effort  for  reform  for  the  past  two  thousand  years? 
And,  do  you  know,  the  millennium  could  be  ushered  in  to 
morrow,  if  men  only  thought  so?  Within  an  incredibly  short 
time  evil,  even  to  death  itself,  could  be  completely  wiped  off 
the  earth.  But  this  wiping-off  process  must  take  place  in  the 
minds  and  thoughts  of  men.  Of  that  I  am  thoroughly  con 
vinced.  But,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  expressed  to  the  Bishop 
your  views  regarding  the  condition  of  this  country?" 

Jose  flushed.  "Yes,"  he  replied  in  embarrassment.  "Only 
a  week  ago  I  tried  again  to  convince  him  of  the  inevitable  trend 
of  events  here  unless  drastic  measures  wrere  interposed  by  the 
Church.  I  had  even  lectured  on  it  in  my  classes." 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"The  Bishop  is  a  man  of  very  narrow  vision,"  replied  Jose. 
"He  rebuked  me  severely  and  truculantly  bade  me  confine  my 
attention  to  the  particular  work  assigned  me  and  let  affairs 
of  politics  alone.  Of  course,  that  meant  leaving  them  to  his 
assistant,  Wenceslas.  Mr.  Hitt,  Colombia  needs  a  Luther!" 

"Just  so,"  returned  the  explorer  gravely.  "Priestcraft 
from  the  very  earliest  times  has  been  one  of  the  greatest  curses 
of  mankind.  Its  abuses  date  far  back  to  Egyptian  times,  W7hen 
even  prostitution  was  countenanced  by  the  priests,  and  when 
they  practiced  all  sorts  of  impostures  upon  the  ignorant  masses. 
In  the  Middle  Ages  they  turned  Christianity,  the  richest  of 
blessings,  into  a  snare,  a  delusion,  a  rank  farce.  They  arro 
gated  to  themselves  all  learning,  all  science.  In  Peru  it  was 
even  illicit  for  any  one  not  belonging  to  the  nobility  to  attempt 

114 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


to  acquire  learning.  That  was  the  sole  privilege  of  priests  and 
kings.  In  all  nations,  from  the  remotest  antiquity,  and  whether 
civilized  or  not,  learning  has  been  claimed  by  the  priests  as 
the  unique  privilege  of  their  caste — a  privilege  bestowed  upon 
them  by  the  special  favor  of  the  ruling  deity.  That's  why  they 
always  sought  to  surround  their  intellectual  treasures  with  a 
veil  of  mystery.  Roger  Bacon,  the  English  monk,  once  said 
that  it  was  necessary  to  keep  the  discoveries  of  the  philosophers 
from  those  unworthy  of  knowing  them.  How  did  he  expect  a 
realization  of  'Thy  kingdom  come,'  I  wonder?" 

"They  didn't  expect  it  to  come — on  earth,"  said  Jose. 

"No.  They  relegated  that  to  the  imagined  realm  which  was 
to  be  entered  through  the  gateway  of  death.  It's  mighty  con 
venient  to  be  able  to  relegate  your  proofs  to  that  mysterious 
realm  beyond  the  grave.  That  has  always  been  a  tremendous 
power  in  the  hands  of  priests  of  all  times  and  lands.  By  the 
way,  did  you  know  that  the  story  of  Abel's  assassination  was 
one  of  many  handed  down,  in  one  form  or  another,  by  the 
priests  of  India  and  Egypt?" 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  inquired  Jose  eagerly. 

"Certainly.  The  story  doubtless  comes  from  the  ancient 
Egyptian  tale  which  the  priests  of  that  time  used  to  relate 
regarding  the  murder  of  Osiris  by  his  brother,  Set.  It  was  a 
deed  of  jealousy.  The  story  later  became  incorporated  into  the 
sacred  books  of  India  and  Egypt,  and  was  afterward  taken  over 
by  the  Hebrews,  when  they  were  captives  in  Egypt.  The  He 
brews  learned  much  of  Egyptian  theology,  and  their  own  re 
ligion  was  greatly  tinctured  by  it  subsequently.  The  legend 
of  the  deluge,  for  example,  is  another  tradition  of  those  primi 
tive  days,  and  credited  by  the  nations  of  antiquity.  But  here 
there  is  the  likelihood  of  a  connection  with  the  great  cataclysm 
of  antiquity,  the  disappearance  of  the  island  of  Atlantis  in 
consequence  of  a  violent  earthquake  and  volcanic  action.  This 
alleged  island,  supposed  to  be  a  portion  of  the  strip  at  one  time 
connecting  South  America  with  Africa,  is  thought  to  have 
sunk  beneath  the  waters  of  the  present  Atlantic  ocean  some 
nine  thousand  years  before  Solon  visited  Egypt,  and  hence, 
some  eleven  thousand  years  ago.  Anyway,  the  story  of  this 
awful  catastrophe  got  into  the  Egyptian  records  in  the  earliest 
times,  and  was  handed  down  to  the  Hebrews,  who  probably 
based  their  story  of  the  flood  upon  it.  You  see,  there  is  a 
foundation  of  some  sort  for  all  those  legends  in  the  book  of 
Genesis.  The  difficulty  has  been  that  humanity  has  for  centu 
ries  childishly  accepted  them  as  historical  fact.  For  example, 
the  serpent  story.  Now  in  very  primitive  times  the  serpent 
was  the  special  emblem  of  Kneph,  the  creator  of  the  world,  and. 

115 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  good  genius.  It  is  still  so  regarded  by 
the  Chinese,  who  make  of  it  one  of  their  most  beautiful  sym 
bols,  the  dragon.  Later  it  became  the  emblem  of  Set,  the  slayer 
of  Osiris;  and  after  that  it  was  looked  upon  with  horror  as  the 
enemy  of  mankind,  the  destroyer,  the  evil  principle.  Hence,  in 
Egypt,  the  Hebrew  captives  adopted  the  serpent  as  emblemati 
cal  of  evil,  and  later  used  it  in  their  scriptural  records  as  the 
evil  genius  that  tempted  Eve  and  brought  about  the  fall  of  man. 
And  so  all  people  whose  religious  beliefs  are  founded  upon  the 
Hebrew  Bible  now  look  upon  the  serpent  as  the  symbol  of  evil. 
Jews,  Christians,  and  Mohammedans  thus  regard  it." 

Jose  gazed  at  the  man  with  rapt  interest.  "Don't  stop!"  he 
urged.  "Go  on!  go  on!" 

Hitt  laughed.  "Well,"  he  resumed,  "the  tree  and  the  serpent 
were  worshiped  all  through  eastern  countries,  from  Scandinavia 
to  the  Asiatic  peninsula  and  down  into  Egypt.  And,  do  you 
know,  we  even  find  vestiges  of  such  worship  in  America?  Down 
in  Adams  county,  Ohio,  on  the  banks  of  Brush  creek,  there  is 
a  great  mound,  called  the  serpent  mound.  It  is  seven  hundred 
feet  long,  and  greatly  resembles  the  one  in  Glen  Feechan,  Ar- 
gyleshire,  Scotland.  It  also  resembles  the  one  I  found  in  the  an 
cient  city  of  Tiahuanuco,  whose  ruins  lie  at  an  elevation  of 
some  thirteen  thousand  feet  above  the  Pacific  ocean,  on  the 
shores  of  Lake  Titicaca,  near  the  Bolivian  frontier.  This  an 
cient  city  ages  ago  sent  out  colonists  all  over  North  and  South 
America.  These  primitive  people  believed  that  a  serpent  emitted 
an  egg  from  its  mouth,  and  that  the  earth  was  born  of  that  egg. 
Now  the  serpent  mound  in  Ohio  has  an  egg  in  its  mouth.  What 
is  the  logical  inference?" 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  Jose,  his  eyes  wide  with 
astonishment. 

Hitt  laughed  again  in  evident  enjoyment  of  the  priest's 
wonder.  Then  he  resumed:  "It  has  been  established  to  my 
entire  satisfaction  that  the  ancient  Egyptians  and  the  Mayas 
of  Central  and  South  America  used  almost  identical  symbols. 
And  from  all  antiquity,  and  by  all  nations,  the  symbols  of 
the  tree  and  serpent  and  their  worship  have  been  so  closely 
identified  as  to  render  it  certain  that  their  origin  is  the  same. 
What,  then,  are  the  serpent  and  tree  of  knowledge  in  the 
Hebrew  Bible  but  an  outgrowth  of  this?  The  tree  of  life,  of 
civilization,  of  knowledge,  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the 
land,  of  the  'garden,'  of  the  primitive  country  of  the  race, 
Mayax.  And  the  empire  of  the  Mayas  was  situated  between  the 
two  great  continents  of  North  and  South  America.  These 
people  spread  out  in  all  directions.  They  populated  the  then 
existing  island  of  Atlantis.  And  when  the  terrible  earthquake 

116 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


occurred,  whereby  this  island  was  sunk  beneath  the  waves  of 
the  Atlantic  ocean,  why,  to  these  people  the  world  had  been 
drowned!  The  story  got  to  Egypt,  to  Chaldea,  and  to  India. 
Hence  the  deluge  record  of  Genesis." 

"But,  these  primitive  people,  how  ancient  are  they?"  queried 
Jose. 

"No  one  can  form  any  adequate  estimate,"  said  Hitt  in  reply. 
"The  wonderful  city  of  Tiahuanuco  was  in  ruins  when  Manco 
Capac  laid  the  foundations  of  the  Inca  empire,  which  was  later 
devastated  by  the  Spaniards.  And  the  Indians  told  the  Span 
iards  that  it  had  been  constructed  by  giants  before  the  sun 
shone  in  heaven." 

"Astonishing!"  exclaimed  Jose.  "Such  facts  as  these — if 
facts  they  be — relegate  much  of  the  Scriptural  authority  to 
the  realm  of  legend  and  myth!" 

"Quite  so,"  returned  the  explorer.  "When  the  human 
mind  of  this  century  forces  itself  to  approach  a  subject  without 
prejudice  or  bias,  and  without  the  desire  to  erect  or  maintain 
a  purely  human  institution  at  whatever  cost  to  world-progress, 
then  it  finds  that  much  of  the  hampering,  fettering  dogma  of 
mediaevalism  now  laid  upon  it  by  the  Church  becomes  pure 
fiction,  without  justifiable  warrant  or  basis.  Remember,  the 
Hebrew  people  gave  us  the  Old  Testament,  in  which  they  had 
recorded  for  ages  their  tribal  and  national  history,  their  poetry, 
their  beliefs  and  hopes,  as  well  as  their  legends,  gathered  from 
all  sources.  We  have  likewise  the  historical  records  of  other 
nations.  But  the  Hebrew  possessed  one  characteristic  which 
differentiated  him  from  all  other  people.  He  was  a  monotheist, 
and  he  saw  his  God  in  every  thing,  every  event,  every  place. 
His  concept  of  God  was  his  life-motif.  This  concept  evolved 
slowly,  painfully,  throughout  the  centuries.  The  ancient 
Hebrew  patriarchs  saw  it  as  a  variable  God,  changeful,  fickle, 
now  violently  angry,  now  humbly  repentant,  now  making  con 
tracts  with  mankind,  now  petulantly  destroying  His  own  handi 
work.  He  was  a  God  who  could  order  the  slaughter  of  inno 
cent  babes,  as  in  the  book  of  Samuel;  or  He  was  a  tender, 
merciful  Father,  as  in  the  Psalms.  He  could  harden  hearts, 
wage  bloody  wars,  walk  with  men  'in  the  cool  of  the  day,' 
create  a  universe  with  His  fiat,  or  spend  long  days  designing 
and  devising  the  material  utensils  and  furniture  of  sacrifice  to 
be  used  in  His  own  worship.  In  short,  men  saw  in  Him  just 
what  they  saw  in  themselves.  They  saw  but  their  mental  con 
cept.  The  Bible  records  humanity's  changing,  evolving  con 
cept  of  God,  of  that  'something  not  ourselves  which  makes  for 
righteousness.'  And  this  concept  gradually  changed  from  the 
magnified  God-man  of  the  Old  Testament,  a  creature  of  human 

117 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


whims  and  passions,  down  to  that  held  by  the  man  of  Nazareth, 
a  new  and  beautiful  concept  of  God  as  love.  This  new  concept 
Jesus  joyously  gave  to  a  sin-weary  world  that  had  utterly 
missed  the  mark.  But  it  cost  him  his  earthly  life  to  do  it. 
And  the  dark  record  of  the  so-called  Christian  Church,  both 
Protestant  and  Catholic,  contains  the  name  of  many  a  one  who 
has  paid  the  same  penalty  for  a  similar  service  of  love. 

"The  Chaldeans  and  Egyptians,"  he  went  on,  after  a  mo 
ment's  reflective  pause,  "gave  the  Hebrews  their  account  of  the 
creation  of  the  universe,  the  fall  of  man,  the  flood,  and  many 
other  bits  of  mythical  lore.  And  into  these  stories  the  Hebrews 
read  the  activity  of  their  God,  and  drew  from  them  deep  moral 
lessons.  Egypt  gave  the  Hebrews  at  least  a  part  of  the  story 
of  Joseph,  as  embodied  in  the  hieroglyphics  wrhich  may  be 
read  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  to-day.  They  probably  also  gave 
the  Hebrews  the  account  of  the  creation  found  in  the  second 
chapter  of  Genesis,  for  to  this  day  you  can  see  in  some  of  the 
oldest  Egyptian  temples  pictures  of  the  gods  making  men  out 
of  lumps  of  clay.  The  discovery  of  the  remains  of  the  'Nean 
derthal  man'  and  the  'Ape-man  of  Java'  now  places  the  dawn 
of  human  reason  at  a  period  some  three  to  live  hundred  thou 
sand  years  prior  to  our  present  century,  and,  combined  with  the 
development  of  the  science  of  geology,  which  shows  that  the 
total  age  of  the  earth's  stratified  rocks  alone  cannot  be  much 
less  than  fifty-five  millions  of  years,  serves  to  cast  additional 
ridicule  upon  the  Church's  present  attitude  of  stubborn  adher 
ence  to  these  prehistoric  scriptural  legends  as  literal,  God- 
given  fact.  But,  to  make  the  right  use  of  these  legends — well, 
that  is  another  thing." 

"And  that?" 

The  explorer  hesitated.  "I  find  it  difficult  to  explain,"  he 
said  at  length.  "But,  remember  what  I  have  already  said,  there 
is,  there  must  be,  a  foundation  beneath  all  these  legends  which 
admonish  mankind  to  turn  from  evil  to  good.  And,  as  I  also 
said,  that  foundation  must  be  very  broad.  I  have  said  that  I 
was  in  search  of  a  religion.  Why  not,  you  may  ask,  accept  the 
religious  standard  which  Jesus  set?  That  was  the  new  concept 
of  God  as  love.  Very  good.  I  am  quite  convinced  that  love  is 
the  religion,  the  tie  which  binds  all  things  together  and  to  a 
common  source  and  cause.  And  I  am  equally  convinced  that 
Jesus  is  the  only  person  recorded  in  history  who  ever  lived  a 
life  of  pure  reflection  of  the  love  which  he  called  God.  And 
so  you  see  why  I  am  chipping  and  hewing  away  at  the  theo 
logical  conception  of  the  Christ,  and  trying  to  get  at  the  reality 
buried  deep  beneath  in  the  theological  misconceptions  of  the 
centuries.  I  am  quite  convinced  that  if  men  loved  one  another, 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


as  Jesus  bade  them  do,  all  war,  strife,  disease,  poverty,  and 
discord  of  every  sort  would  vanish  from  human  experience. 
But — and  here  is  a  serious  question — did  Jesus  ask  the  impossi 
ble?  Did  he  command  us  to  love  the  sinful,  erring  mortal  whom 
we  see  in  our  daily  walk— or  did  he — did  he  have  a  new 
thought,  namely,  that  by  loving  the  real  man,  for  which,  per 
haps,  this  human  concept  stands  in  the  human  mind,  that 
this  very  act  would  change  that  distorted  concept  and  cause  it 
to  yield  its  place  to  the  real  one?  I  believe  Jesus  to  have  been 
the  wisest  man  \vho  ever  trod  this  earth.  But  I  likewise  believe 
that  no  man  has  ever  been  more  deplorably  misunderstood, 
misquoted,  and  misinterpreted  than  he.  And  so  I  am  delving 
down,  down  beneath  the  mass  of  human  conjecture  and  ridicu 
lous  hypothesis  which  the  Church  Fathers  and  our  own  theo 
logians  have  heaped  up  over  this  unique  character,  if  perchance 
I  may  some  day  discover  just  what  he  was,  just  what  he  really 
said,  and  just  what  the  message  which  he  sought  to  convey  to 
mankind." 

He  leaned  over  and  laid  a  hand  on  Jose's  arm.  "My  young 
friend,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  believe  there  are  meanings  in  the 
life  and  words  of  Jesus  of  which  the  Church  in  its  astounding 
self-sufficiency  has  never  even  dreamed.  Did  he  walk  on  the 
water?  Did  he  feed  the  multitude  with  a  few  loaves?  Did  he 
raise  Lazarus?  Did  he  himself  issue  from  the  tomb?  No  more 
momentous  questions  were  ever  asked  than  these.  For,  if  so, 
then  the  message  of  Jesus  has  a  bearing  on  the  material  uni 
verse,  on  the  human  mind,  and  the  whole  realm  of  thought  that 
is  utterly  revolutionary!  What  was  that  message?  Did  the 
man's  own  apostles  and  immediate  followers  understand  it? 
Did  Paul?  Certain  we  are,  however,  that  the  theology  which 
Rome  gave  to  her  barbarian  conquerors  was  wholly  different 
from  that  taught  by  Jesus  and  his  disciples.  And  we  know 
that  the  history  of  Europe  from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire 
down  to  the  Franco-Prussian  war  is  largely  a  recital  of  the 
development  of  the  religious  beliefs  which  Rome  handed  down 
to  her  conquerors,  and  their  influence  upon  the  human  mind. 
These  beliefs  constitute  the  working  hypothesis  of  that  institu 
tion  known  to-day  as  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  its 
separated  offshoots,  the  Greek  Catholic  and  the  Protestant 
Churches,  including  the  numberless  ramifications  and  divisions 
of  the  latter.  The  question  as  to  whether  eternal  salvation  is  a 
function  of  complete  immersion  of  the  human  body,  or  only  a 
gentle  sprinkling,  appears  most  lamentably  puerile  in  the  face 
of  the  tremendous  revolutionary  truths  hinted  by  the  deeds  of 
Jesus,  assuming  that  he  has  been  correctly  reported  in  the 
Gospels.  No;  Renan,  in  his  Vie  de  Jesus,  which  I  gave  you  last 

119 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


night,  missed  it.  Before  him,  Voltaire  and  countless  other 
critics  of  man-made  theology  missed  it.  The  writings  of  these 
men  do  serve,  however,  to  mow  down  the  theological  stubble  in 
the  world's  field  of  thought.  What  is  it,  this  gigantic  truth 
which  Jesus  brought?  I  do  not  know.  But  he  himself  is  re 
ported  to  have  said,  'If  ye  keep  my  commands,  ye  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine.'  And  his  chief  command  was,  that  we  love 
God  and  our  fellow-men.  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  that,  when 
we  follow  this  command,  we  shall  know  of  the  doctrine  which 
he  came  to  establish  in  the  hearts  of  men." 

"But  his  message  was  the  brotherhood  of  man,"  said  Jose. 

"Nay,"  replied  the  explorer,  "it  was  the  fatherhood  of  God, 
rather.  For  that  includes  the  brotherhood  of  man.  But,  while 
we  agree  thus  far,  who  can  say  what  the  fatherhood  of  God 
implies?  Who,  realizing  that  this  was  Jesus'  message,  knows 
how  to  make  it  practical,  as  he  did?  To  him  it  meant — ah, 
what  did  it  not  mean!  It  meant  a  consciousness  that  held 
not  one  trace  of  evil.  It  meant  a  consciousness  of  God  as 
omnipotent  power,  the  irresistible  power  of  good,  which,  in 
the  form  of  spirit,  or  mind,  as  some  will  have  it,  is  ever 
present.  Is  it  not  so?  Well,  then,  who  is  there  to-day,  within 
the  Church  or  without,  who  understands  the  divine  message 
of  the  fatherhood  of  God  sufficiently  to  acquire  such  a  con 
sciousness,  and  to  make  the  intensely  practical  application  of 
the  message  to  every  problem  of  mind,  or  body,  or  environ 
ment?  Who  to-day  in  your  Church  or  mine,  for  example, 
realizes  that  Jesus  must  have  seen  something  in  matter  far 
different  from  the  solid,  indestructible  thing  that  we  think  we 
see,  and  that  this  was  due  to  his  understanding  of  the  imma 
nence  of  his  Father  as  spirit — an  understanding  which  enabled 
him  to  walk  on  the  waves,  and  to  treat  material  things  as  if 
they  were  not?  No,  my  friend,  the  Christ-message  of  the 
fatherhood  of  God  is  hardly  apprehended  in  the  world  to-day 
in  the  slightest  degree  by  priest  or  prelate,  church  or  sect. 
And  yet,  the  influence  of  Jesus  is  tremendous!" 

Jose's  brow  knit  in  perplexity.  "I — I  don't  believe  I  follow 
you,  quite,"  he  said. 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  replied  the  explorer  gently.  "I  some 
times  wonder  if  I  understand  myself  just  what  it  is  that  I  am 
trying  to  express.  My  belief  is  still  in  a  state  of  transition.  I 
am  still  searching.  The  field  has  been  cleared.  And  now — now 
I  am  waiting  for  the  new  seed.  I  have  abandoned  forever  the 
sterile,  non-productive  religious  beliefs  of  current  theology. 
I  have  abandoned  such  belittling  views  of  God  as  the  Presbyte 
rian  sublapsarian  view  of  election.  I  have  turned  wearily  from 
the  puerile  dogma  of  your  Church  as  unworthy  of  the  Father 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  Jesus.  From  delving  into  the  mysteries  of  the  Brahminism 
of  India,  of  ancestor-worship  in  Japan,  of  Confucianism  in 
China,  of  Islamism  in  the  far  East,  I  have  come  back  to  the 
wonderful  man  of  Nazareth.  And  now  I  am  trying  to  see  what 
Christianity  would  be  if  purged  of  its  adulterations — purged 
of  the  Greek  philosophy  of  the  early  Fathers;  of  the  forgeries 
of  the  Middle  Ages;  of  the  pagan  ceremonialism  and  priestly 
rites  and  assumptions  of  powyer  to  save  or  damn  in  this  present 
century.  And  what  do  I  find,  after  all  this  rubbish  has  been 
filtered  out?  Love,  friend — love;  the  unfathomable  love  of  the 
Father  of  Jesus,  who  knows  no  evil,  no  sin,  no  sickness,  no 
death,  no  hell,  no  material  heaven,  but  whose  kingdom  is  the 
harmonious  realm  of  spirit,  or  mind,  wherein  the  individual 
consciousness  knows  no  discord  of  any  name  or  nature." 

The  afternoon  haze  had  been  long  gathering  when  Jose 
roused  the  sleeping  cochero  and  prepared  to  return  to  the 
stifling  ecclesiastical  atmosphere  from  which  for  a  brief  day  he 
had  been  so  happily  free.  A  cold  chill  swept  over  him  when 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  carriage,  and  he  shuddered  as  if  with 
an  evil  presentiment. 

"And  you  still  adhere  to  your  determination  to  remain  in 
the  Church?"  his  friend  asked,  as  they  turned  from  the  green 
hills  and  nodding  palms  of  Turbaco,  and  set  their  course  toward 
the  distant  mediaeval  city. 

"Yes,"  came  the  scarcely  audible  reply.  But  as  Jose  spoke, 
he  knew  that  his  mind  had  that  day  been  stripped  of  its  last 
remaining  vestige  of  the  old  theology,  leaving  it  bare,  exposed 
— and  receptive. 

****** 

A  week  passed.  The  explorer  had  gone,  as  silently  and  un 
announced  as  he  had  come.  The  evening  before  his  departure 
he  and  Jose  had  sat  again  in  the  thick  shadows  of  the  old  wall. 
The  next  morning  he  was  on  the  mighty  river;  and  the  priest 
was  left  with  a  great  void  in  his  heart. 

One  noon,  as  Jose  was  returning  from  his  classes,  he  pon 
dered  deeply  the  last  words  of  the  explorer,  "Remember,  noth 
ing  that  has  been  invented  by  mankind  or  evolved  by  the 
human  mind  can  stand,  or  remain.  We  might  just  as  well 
accept  that  great  fact  now  as  later,  and  adjust  ourselves  to  it. 
But  the  things  of  the  spirit  remain.  And  Paul  has  told  us 
what  they  are." 

As  he  passed  slowly  along  the  winding  little  street  toward 
the  dormitory,  a  messenger  approached  him  with  a  summons 
from  the  Bishop.  He  turned  and  started  wonderingly  toward 
the  Cathedral.  He  had  been  reprimanded  once,  twice,  for  the 
liberal  views  which  he  had  expressed  to  his  classes.  Was  he 

121 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


to  receive  another  rebuke  now?  He  had  tried  to  be  more 
careful  of  late.  Had  he  been  seen  with  the  explorer? 

An  hour  later,  his  eyes  set  and  unseeing,  and  his  thin  lips 
trembling,  Jose  dragged  himself  up  the  stone  steps  to  his  little 
room  and  threw  himself  upon  the  bed.  The  bonds  which  had 
been  slowly,  imperceptibly  tightening  during  these  few  months 
of  precious  liberty  had  been  drawn  suddenly  taut.  The  Bishop, 
in  the  role  of  Inquisitor  Natus,  had  just  revealed  a  full  knowl 
edge  of  his  dismal  past,  and  had  summarily  dismissed  him  from 
the  University  faculty.  Jose,  bewildered  and  stunned,  had 
tried  vainly  to  defend  himself.  Then,  realizing  his  impotence 
before  the  uncompromising  bigotry  of  this  choleric  ecclesiastic, 
he  had  burst  suddenly  into  a  torrent  of  frenzied  declarations  of 
his  undeserved  wrongs,  of  his  resolve  now  to  renounce  his 
oath,  to  leave  the  Church,  to  abandon  honor,  family,  everything 
that  held  or  claimed  him,  and  to  flee  into  unknown  and  un 
knowing  parts,  where  his  harassed  soul  might  find  a  few  years 
of  rest  before  its  final  flight!  The  Bishop  became  bitterly  and 
implacably  infuriated,  and  remanded  the  excited  priest  to  his 
room  to  reflect  upon  his  wild  words,  and  to  await  the  final  dis 
position  of  his  case — unless  he  should  have  determined  already 
to  try  the  devious  route  of  apostasy. 

Rising  the  next  morning  at  dawn  from  the  chill  floor  where 
he  had  spent  the  torturing  hours  of  an  interminable  night,  and 
still  clinging  forlornly  to  his  battered  sense  of  honor  and 
family  pride,  Jose  again  received  the  Bishop's  summons;  and, 
after  the  events  of  the  morning  already  related,  faced  the  angry 
churchman's  furious  tirade,  and  with  it,  what  he  could  not 
have  imagined  before,  a  charge  of  hideous  immorality.  Then 
had  been  set  before  him  a  choice  between  apostasy  and  accept 
ance  of  the  assignment  to  the  parish  of  far-off  Simiti. 

"And  now,  unpitying  Fate,"  he  murmured,  as  the  door  of 
the  Bishop's  sanctum  closed  behind  him,  and  he  wandered 
down  through  the  gloom  of  the  quiet  Cathedral,  "receive  your 
victim.  You  have  chosen  well  your  carnal  instruments — pride 
— ecclesiasticism — lust!  My  crimes?  Aye,  the  very  lowest; 
for  I  have  loved  liberty  of  thought  and  conscience;  I  have 
loved  virtue  and  honor;  the  pursuits  of  intellect;  the  fair;  the 
noble;  yea,  the  better  things  of  life.  I  have  loved  my  fellow- 
men;  and  I  have  sought  their  emancipation  from  the  thraldom 
of  ignorance.  I  have  loved  truth,  and  the  Christ  who  revealed 
it  to  the  dull  minds  of  mortals.  Enough!  I  stand  convicted! 
And — I  accept  the  sentence — I  have  no  desire  to  resist  it.  For 
the  end  is  now  not  distant!" 


122 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  16 

THE  tropical  moon  shone  in  her  fullness  from  an  unclouded 
sky.  Through  the  ethereal  atmosphere  which  bathed  the 
storied  city  her  beams  fell,  plashing  noiselessly  upon  the 
grim  memorials  of  a  stirring  past.  With  a  mantle  of  peace 
they  gently  covered  the  former  scenes  of  violence  and  strife. 
With  magic,  intangible  substance  they  filled  out  the  rents  in 
the  grassy  walls  and  smoothed  away  the  scars  of  battle.  The 
pale  luster,  streaming  through  narrow  barbican  and  mildewed 
arch,  touched  the  decaying  ruin  of  San  Felipe  with  the  wand  of 
enchantment,  and  restored  it  to  pristine  freshness  and  strength. 
Through  the  stillness  of  night  the  watery  vapor  streamed  up 
ward  from  garden  and  patio,  and  mingled  with  the  scent  of 
flushing  roses  and  tropical  buds  in  a  fragrant  mist  suffused 
with  the  moon's  yellow  glow. 

On  the  low  parapet  bordering  the  eastern  esplanade  of  the 
city  wall  the  solitary  figure  of  the  priest  cast  a  narrow  shadow 
in  the  pale  moonlight.  The  sounds  which  eddied  the  envelop 
ing  silence  seemed  to  echo  in  his  ears  the  tread  of  mediaeval 
warriors.  In  the  wraith-like  shadows  he  saw  the  armored 
forms  of  Conquistadores  in  mortal  strife  with  vulpine  buc 
caneers.  In  the  whirring  of  the  bats  which  flouted  his  face  he 
heard  the  singing  of  arrows  and  the  hiss  of  hurled  rocks.  In 
the  moan  of  the  ocean  as  it  broke  on  the  coral  reef  below 
sounded  the  boom  of  cannon,  the  curses  of  combatants,  and 
the  groans  of  the  dying.  Here  and  there  moved  tonsured 
monks,  now  absolving  in  the  name  of  the  peaceful  Christ  the 
frenzied  defenders  of  the  Heroic  City,  now  turning  to  hurl 
curses  at  the  swarming  enemy  and  consign  their  blackened 
souls  to  deepest  hell,  while  holding  images  of  the  crucified 
Saviour  to  the  quivering  lips  of  stricken  warriors. 

In  the  fancied  combat  raging  in  the  moonlight  before  him 
he  saw  the  sons  of  the  house  of  Rincon  manifesting  their 
devotion  to  Sovereign  and  Pope,  their  unshaken  faith  in  Holy 
Church,  their  hot  zeal  which  made  them  her  valiant  defenders, 
her  support,  her  humble  and  devoted  slaves  for  more  than 
three  centuries. 

What  was  the  charm  by  which  she  had  held  them?  And 
why  had  its  potency  failed  utterly  when  directed  to  him?  But 
they  were  men  of  physical  action,  not  thought — men  of  deeds 
which  called  only  for  brave  hearts  and  stout  bodies.  It  is 
true,  there  had  been  thinkers  in  those  days,  when  the  valiant 
sons  of  Rincon  hurled  the  enemy  from  Cartagena's  walls — • 

123 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


but  they  lay  rotting  in  dungeons — they  lay  broken  on  the  rack, 
or  hung  breathing  out  their  souls  to  God  amid  the  hot  flames 
which  His  self-appointed  vicars  kindled  about  them.  The 
Rincons  of  that  day  had  not  been  thinkers.  But  the  centuries 
had  finally  evolved  from  their  number  a  man  of  thought. 
Alas!  the  evolution  had  developed  intellect,  it  is  true — but  the 
process  had  refined  away  the  rugged  qualities  of  animal 
strength  which,  without  a  deeper  hold  on  Truth  and  the  way 
to  demonstrate  it  than  Jose  possessed,  must  leave  him  the  play 
thing  of  Fate. 

Young  in  years,  but  old  in  sorrow;  held  by  oaths  which  his 
ever-accusing  sense  of  honor  would  not  let  him  break;  trem 
bling  for  his  mother's  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  Rincon  pride, 
lest  the  ban  of  excommunication  fall  upon  him;  yet  little  dream 
ing  that  Rome  had  no  thought  of  this  while  his  own  peculiar 
elements  of  character  bound  him  as  they  did  to  her;  the  man 
had  at  last  yielded  his  life  to  the  system  which  had  wrecked  it 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  and  was  now  awaiting  the  morrow, 
when  the  boat  should  bear  him  to  far-off  Simiti.  He  went 
resignedly — even  with  a  dull  sense  of  gladness — for  he  went 
to  die.  Life  had  yielded  him  nothing — and  constituted  as  he 
was,  it  could  hold  nothing  for  him  in  the  future. 

The  glorious  moon  poured  its  full  splendor  upon  the  quiet 
city.  Through  the  haze  the  convent  on  La  Popa  sparkled  like 
an  enchanted  castle,  with  a  pavement  of  soft  moonbeams  lead 
ing  up  to  its  doors.  The  trill  of  a  distant  nightingale  rippled 
the  scented  air;  and  from  the  llanos  were  borne  on  the  warm 
land  breeze  low  feral  sounds,  broken  now  and  then  by  the 
plaintive  piping  of  a  lonely  toucan.  The  cocoa  palms  through 
out  the  city  stirred  dreamily  in  the  tempered  moonlight;  and 
the  banana  trees,  bending  with  their  luscious  burden,  cast 
great,  mysterious  shadows,  wherein  insect  life  rustled  and 
scampered  in  nocturnal  activity. 

"Padre  Jose!" 

A  woman's  voice  called  from  below.  The  priest  leaned  over 
the  wall. 

"It  is  Catalina.  I  have  been  hunting  everywhere.  Maria  is 
calling  for  you.  She  cannot  live  long.  You  will  come?" 

Come?  Yes — ah,  why  did  he  let  his  own  misery  blind  him 
to  the  sorrow  of  others  even  more  unfortunate!  Why  had  he 
forgotten  the  little  Maria!  Descending  the  broad  incline  to  the 
road  below,  Jose  hurried  W7ith  the  woman  to  the  bedside  of  the 
dying  girl.  On  the  way  the  warm-hearted,  garrulous  Catalina 
relieved  her  troubled  and  angered  soul. 

"Padre  Lorenzo  came  this  morning.  He  would  not  shrive 
her  unless  we  would  pay  him  first.  He  said  he  would  do  it  for 

124 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ten  pesos — then  live — and  then  three.  And  when  we  kept 
telling  him  that  we  had  no  money  he  told  us  to  go  out  and 
horrow  it,  or  he  would  leave  the  little  Maria  to  die  as  she  was. 
He  said  she  was  a  vile  sinner  anyway — that  she  had  not  made 
her  Easter  duty — that  she  could  not  have  the  Sacrament — and 
her  soul  would  go  straight  to  hell— and  there  was  no  redemp 
tion!  Then  he  came  again  this  afternoon  and  said  she  must 
die;  but  he  would  shrive  her  for  two  pesos.  And  when  we  told 
him  we  could  not  borrow  the  money  he  was  terribly  angry,  and 
cursed — and  Marcelena  was  frightened — and  the  little  Maria 
almost  died.  But  I  told  him  to  go — that  her  little  soul  was 
whiter  than  his — and  if  he  went  to  heaven  I  didn't  want  Maria 
to  go  there  too — and — !" 

The  woman's  words  burned  through  the  priest's  ears  and 
into  his  sickened  soul.  Recovering  her  breath,  Catalina 
went  on: 

"It  is  only  a  few  days  ago  that  the  little  Maria  meets  Sister 
Isabel  in  the  plaza.  'Ah,'  says  Sister  Isabel,  'you  are  going  to 
be  a  mother.' 

"'Yes,  Sister,'  answers  the  little  Maria,  much  confused; 
and  she  tries  to  hide  behind  Marcelena. 

"  'It  is  very  dangerous  and  you  will  suffer  much  unless  you 
have  a  sacred  cord  of  Saint  Frances,'  says  the  Sister.  'I  will 
bring  you  one.' 

"And  then  she  asks  where  the  little  Maria  lives;  and  that 
very  day  she  brings  a  piece  of  rope,  with  knots  in  it,  which 
she  says  the  priest  has  blessed,  and  it  is  a  sacred  cord  of  Saint 
Frances,  and  if  the  little  Maria  will  wear  it  around  her  waist 
she  will  not  suffer  at  the  parturition;  and  the  little  Maria  must 
pay  a  peso  oro  for  it — and  the  scared  little  lamb  paid  it,  for 
she  had  saved  a  little  money  which  Don  Carlos  Ojeda  gave  her 
for  washing — and  she  \vore  it  when  the  babe  was  born;  but 
it  didn't  help  her—" 

"Dios!"  ejaculated  the  priest. 

"And  Marcelena  had  paid  a  peso  y  medio,"  continued  the 
excited  woman,  "for  a  candle  that  Sister  Natalia  told  her  had 
come  from  the  altar  of  the  Virgin  of  Santander  and  was  very 
holy  and  would  help  one  through  confinement.  But  the 
candle  went  out;  and  it  was  only  a  round  stick  of  wood  with  a 
little  piece  of  candle  on  the  end.  And  I — Padre,  I  could  not 
help  it,  I  would  do  anything  for  the  poor  child — I  paid  two 
pesos  oro  for  a  new  escapulario  for  her.  Sister  Natalia  said  it 
was  very  holy — it  had  been  blessed  by  His  Grace,  the  Bishop, 
just  for  women  who  were  to  be  mothers,  and  it  would  carry 
them  through — but  if  they  died,  it  would  take  them  right  out  of 
purgatory — and — ! " 

125 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Catalina!"  interrupted  the  tortured  priest.    "Say  no  more!" 

"But,  Padre,  the  babe,"  the  woman  persisted.  "What  will 
become  of  it?  And — do  you  know? — Padre  Lorenzo  says  it  is 
yours!  He  told  Juanita  so — she  lives  below  us.  But  Maria 
says  no.  She  has  told  only  Marcelena — and  Marcelena  will 
never  tell.  Who  is  its  father,  Padre?" 

The  priest,  recognizing  the  inevitable,  patiently  resigned 
himself  to  the  woman's  talk  \vithout  further  reply.  Presently 
they  turned  into  the  Calle  Lazano,  and  entering  the  house 
where  Marcelena  had  greeted  him  that  morning,  mounted  to 
the  chamber  above  w7here  lay  the  little  Maria. 

A  single  candle  on  a  table  near  the  head  of  the  bed  shed  a 
flickering,  uncertain  light.  But  the  window  was  open,  and  the 
moon's  beams  poured  into  the  room  in  golden  profusion.  Aside 
from  the  girl,  there  were  no  other  occupants  than  Marcelena 
and  the  new-born  child. 

"Padre,"  murmured  the  passing  girl,  "you  will  not  let  me 
die  without  the  Sacrament?" 

"No,  child,"  replied  the  priest,  bending  over  her,  hot  tears 
streaming  down  his  cheeks  as  she  kissed  his  hand. 

The  girl  had  been  beautiful,  a  type  of  that  soft,  southern 
beauty,  whose  graces  of  form,  full,  regular  features,  and  rich 
olive  tint  mark  them  as  truly  Spanish,  with  but  little  admix 
ture  of  inferior  blood.  Her  features  were  drawn  and  set  now; 
but  her  great,  brown  eyes  which  she  raised  to  the  priest  \vere 
luminous  with  a  wistful  eagerness  that  in  this  final  hour  be 
came  sacred. 

"Marcelena,"  the  priest  hurriedly  whispered  to  the  woman. 
"I  have  no — but  it  matters  not  now;  she  need  not  know  that 
I  come  unprepared.  She  must  pass  out  of  the  world  happy 
at  last." 

"There  is  a  drop  of  wine  that  the  doctor  left;  and  I  will 
fetch  a  bit  of  bread,"  replied  the  woman,  catching  the  meaning 
of  the  priest's  words. 

"Bring  it;  and  I  will  let  her  confess  now." 

Bending  over  the  sinking  girl,  the  priest  bade  her  reveal 
the  burden  resting  on  her  conscience. 

"Carita,"  he  said  tenderly,  when  the  confession  was  ended, 
"fear  not.  The  blessed  Saviour  died  for  you.  He  went  to 
prepare  a  place  for  you  and  for  us  all.  He  forgave  the  sinful 
woman — carita,  he  forgives  you — yes,  freely,  gladly.  He  loves 
you,  little  one.  Fear  not  what  Padre  Lorenzo  said.  He  is  a 
sinful  priest.  Forget  all  now  but  the  good  Saviour,  who  stands 
with  open  arms — with  a  smile  on  his  beautiful  face — to  wel 
come  his  dear  child — his  little  girl — you,  carita,  you." 

"Padre— my  babe?" 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Yes,  child,  it  shall  be  cared  for." 

"But  not  by  the  Sisters" — excitedly — "not  in  an  asylum — • 
Padre,  promise  me!" 

"There,  carita,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

"And  you  will  care  for  it?" 

"I,  child?— ah,  yes,  I  will  care  for  it." 

The  girl  sank  back  again  with  a  smile  of  happiness.  A 
deep  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  At  the  feet  of  the  priest 
Catalina  huddled  and  wept  softly.  Marcelena,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  bed  where  she  might  not  be  seen,  rocked  silently  back  and 
forth  with  breaking  heart. 

"Padre — you  will — say  Masses  for  me?"  The  words  were 
scarcely  audible. 

"Yes,  carita." 

"I — have  no  money — no  money.  He  promised  to  give  me 
— money — and  clothes — 

"There,  carita,  I  will  say  Masses  for  you  without  money— 
every  day,  for  a  year.  And  you  shall  have  clothes — ah,  carita, 
in  heaven  you  shall  have  everything." 

The  candle  sputtered,  and  went  out.  The  moon  flooded 
the  room  with  ethereal  radiance. 

"Padre — lift  me  up — it  grows  dark — oh,  Padre,  you  are  so 
good  to  me — so  good." 

"No,  child,  it  is  not  I  who  am  good  to  you,  but  the  blessed 
Christ.  See  him,  carita — there — there  in  the  moonlight  he 
stands!" 

The  smoke  from  a  neighboring  chimney  drifted  slowly  past 
the  window  and  shone  white  in  the  silvery  beams.  The  girl, 
supported  by  the  arm  of  the  priest,  gazed  at  it  through  dim 
ming  eyes  in  reverent  awe. 

"Padre,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  the  Saviour!  Pray  to  him 
for  me." 

"Yes,  child."  And  turning  toward  the  window  the  priest 
extended  his  hand. 

"Blessed  Saviour,"  he  prayed,  "this  is  one  of  thy  stricken 
lambs,  lured  by  the  wolf  from  the  fold.  And  we  have  brought 
her  back.  Dost  thou  bid  her  come?" 

The  sobs  of  the  weeping  woman  at  his  feet  floated  through 
the  room. 

"Ah,  thou  tender  and  pitying  Master — best  friend  of  the 
sinning,  the  sick,  and  the  sorrowing — we  offer  to  thee  this 
bruised  child.  We  find  no  sin,  no  guile,  in  her;  for  after  the 
ignorant  code  of  men  she  has  paid  the  last  farthing  for  satisfy 
ing  the  wolf's  greed.  Dost  thou  bid  her  come?" 

In  the  presence  of  death  he  felt  his  own  terrible  impotence. 
Of  what  avail  then  was  his  Christianity?  Or  the  Church's 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


traditional  words  of  comfort?  The  priest's  tears  fell  fast.  But 
something  within — perhaps  that  "something  not  ourselves"- 
the  voice  of  Israel's  almost  forgotten  God— whispered  a  hope 
that  blossomed  in  this  petition  of  tenderest  love  and  pity.  He 
had  long  since  ceased  to  pray  for  himself;  but  in  this,  the 
only  prayer  that  had  welled  from  his  chilled  heart  in  months, 
his  pitying  desire  to  humor  the  wishes  of  a  dying  girl  had  un 
consciously  formulated  his  own  soul's  appeal. 

"Blessed  Saviour,  take  her  to  thine  arms;  shield  her  for 
ever  more  from  the  carnal  lust  of  the  wolf;  lift  her  above  the 
deadening  superstitions  and  hypocritical  creeds  of  those  who 
touch  but  to  stain;  take  her,  Saviour,  for  we  find  her  pure, 
innocent,  clean;  suffering  and  sorrow  have  purged  away  the 
sin.  Dost  thou  bid  her  come?" 

The  scent  of  roses  and  orange  blossoms  from  the  garden 
below  drifted  into  the  room  on  the  warm  breeze.  A  bird, 
awakened  by  the  swaying  of  its  nest,  peeped  a  few  sweet  notes 
of  contentment,  and  slept  again. 

"We  would  save  her — we  would  cure  her — but  we,  too,  have 
strayed  from  thee  and  forgotten  thy  commands — and  the 
precious  gift  of  healing  which  thou  didst  leave  with  men  has 
long  been  lost.  But  thou  art  here — thy  compassionate  touch 
still  heals  and  saves.  Jesus,  unique  son  of  God,  behold  thy 
child.  Wilt  thou  bid  her  come?" 

"What  says  he,  Padre?"  murmured  the  sinking  girl. 

The  priest  bent  close  to  her. 

"He  says  come,  carita — come!" 

With  a  fluttering  sigh  the  tired  child  sank  back  into  the 
priest's  arms  and  dropped  softly  into  her  long  sleep. 


CHAPTER  17 

THE  twisted,  turbid  "Danube  of  New  Granada,"  under  the 
gentle  guidance  of  its  patron,  Saint  Mary  Magdalene, 
threads  the  greater  part  of  its  sinuous  way  through  the 
heart  of  Colombia  like  an  immense,  slow-moving  morass.  Born 
of  the  arduous  tropic  sun  and  chill  sno\vs,  and  imbued  by  the 
river  god  with  the  nomadic  instinct,  it  leaps  from  its  pin 
nacled  cradle  and  rushes,  sparkling  with  youthful  vigor,  down 
precipice  and  perpendicular  cliff;  down  rocky  steeps  and  jagged 
ridges;  whirling  in  merry,  momentary  dance  in  shaded  basins; 
singing  in  swirling  eddies;  roaring  in  boisterous  cataracts,  to 
its  mad  plunge  over  the  lofty  wall  of  Tequendama,  whence  it 
subsides  into  the  dignity  of  broad  maturity,  and  begins  its 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


long,  wandering,  adult  life,  which  slowly  draws  to  a  sluggish 
old  age  and  final  oblivion  in  the  infinite  sea.  Toward  the  close 
of  its  meandering  course,  long  after  the  follies  and  excesses  of 
early  life,  it  takes  unto  itself  a  consort,  the  beautiful  Cauca; 
and  together  they  flow,  broadening  and  deepening  as  life  nears 
its  end;  merging  their  destinies;  sharing  their  burdens;  until 
at  last,  with  labors  ended,  they  sink  their  identities  in  the 
sunlit  Caribbean. 

When  the  simple-minded  Conquistadores  first  pushed  their 
frail  cockleshells  out  into  the  gigantic  embouchure  of  this  tawny 
stream  and  looked  vainly  for  the  opposite  shore,  veiled  by  the 
dewy  mists  of  a  glittering  morn,  they  unconsciously  crossed 
themselves  and,  forgetful  for  the  moment  of  greed  and  rapine 
and  the  lust  of  gold,  stood  in  reverent  awe  before  the  handi 
work  of  their  Creator.  Ere  the  Spaniard  had  laid  his  fell  curse 
upon  this  ancient  kingdom  of  the  Chibchas,  the  flowering  banks 
of  the  Magdalena,  to-day  so  mournfully  characterized  by  their 
frightful  solitudes,  were  an  almost  unbroken  village  from  the 
present  coast  city  of  Barranquilla  to  Honda,  the  limit  of  naviga 
tion,  some  nine  hundred  miles  to  the  south.  The  cupidity  of 
the  heartless,  bigoted  rabble  from  mediaeval  slums  which 
poured  into  this  wonderland  late  in  the  sixteenth  century  laid 
waste  this  luxuriant  vale  and  exterminated  its  trustful  in 
habitants.  Now  the  warm  airs  that  sigh  at  night  along  the 
great  river's  uncultivated  borders  seem  still  to  echo  the  gentle 
laments  of  the  once  happy  dwellers  in  this  primitive  paradise. 

Sitting  in  the  rounded  bow  of  the  wretched  riverine  steamer 
Honda,  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon  gazed  with  vacant  eyes  upon  the 
scenery  on  either  hand.  The  boat  had  arrived  from  Barran 
quilla  that  morning,  and  was  now  experiencing  the  usual  ex 
asperating  delay  in  embarking  from  Calamar.  He  had  just 
returned  to  it,  after  wandering  for  hours  through  the  forlorn 
little  town,  tormented  physically  by  the  myriad  mosquitoes, 
and  mentally  by  a  surprising  eagerness  to  reach  his  destination. 
He  could  account  for  the  latter  only  on  the  ground  of  complete 
resignation — a  feeling  experienced  by  those  unfortunate  souls 
who  have  lost  their  way  in  life,  and,  after  vain  resistance  to 
molding  circumstances,  after  the  thwarting  of  ambitions,  the 
quenching  of  ideals,  admit  defeat,  and  await,  with  something  of 
feverish  anticipation,  the  end.  He  had  left  Cartagena  early  that 
morning  on  the  ramshackle  little  train  which,  after  hours  of 
jolting  over  an  undulating  roadbed,  set  him  down  in  Calamar, 
exhausted  with  the  heat  and  dust-begrimed.  He  had  not  seen 
the  Bishop  nor  Wenceslas  since  the  interview  of  the  preceding 
day.  Before  his  departure,  however,  he  had  made  provision 
for  the  burial  of  the  girl,  Maria,  and  the  disposal  of  her  child. 

129 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


This  he  did  at  his  own  expense;  and  when  the  demands  of 
doctor  and  sexton  had  been  met,  and  he  had  provided  Marce- 
lena  with  funds  for  the  care  of  herself  and  the  child  for  at 
least  a  few  weeks,  his  purse  was  pitiably  light. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  straggling  remnant  of  a  sea  breeze 
drifted  up  the  river  and  tempered  the  scorching  heat.  Then 
the  captain  of  the  Honda  drained  his  last  glass  of  red  rum  in 
the  posada,  reiterated  to  his  political  affiliates  with  spiritous 
bombast  his  condensed  opinion  anent  the  Government,  and 
dramatically  signaled  the  pilot  to  get  under  way. 

Beyond  the  fact  that  Simiti  lay  somewhere  behind  the  liana- 
veiled  banks  of  the  great  river,  perhaps  three  hundred  miles 
from  Cartagena,  the  priest  knew  nothing  of  his  destination. 
There  were  no  passengers  bound  for  the  place,  the  captain  had 
told  him;  nor  had  the  captain  himself  ever  been  there,  although 
he  knew  that  one  must  leave  the  boat  at  a  point  called  Badillo, 
and  thence  go  by  canoe  to  the  town  in  question. 

But  Jose's  interest  in  Simiti  was  only  such  as  one  might 
manifest  in  a  prison  to  which  he  was  being  conveyed.  And, 
as  a  prisoner  of  the  Church,  he  inwardly  prayed  that  his  re 
maining  days  might  be  few.  The  blows  which  had  fallen,  one 
after  another,  upon  his  keen,  raw  nerves  had  left  him  be 
numbed.  The  cruel  bruises  which  his  faith  in  man  had  received 
in  Rome  and  Cartagena  had  left  him  listless,  and  without  pain. 
He  was  accepting  the  Bishop's  final  judgment  mutely,  for  he 
had  already  borne  all  that  human  nature  could  endure.  His 
severance  from  a  life  of  faith  and  love  was  complete. 

Nor  could  Jose  learn  when  he  might  hope  to  reach  Badillo, 
though  he  made  listless  inquiry. 

"Na,  Senor  Padre,"  the  captain  had  said,  "we  never  know 
where  to  find  the  water.  It  is  on  the  right  to-day;  on  the  left 
to-morrow.  There  is  low  tide  to-night;  the  morning  may  see  it 
ten  feet  higher.  And  Badillo — quien  sabe?  It  might  be  washed 
away  when  we  arrive."  And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  in 
complete  disclaimer  of  any  responsibility  therefor. 

The  captain's  words  were  not  idle,  for  the  channel  of  the 
mighty  river  changes  with  the  caprice  of  a  maiden's  heart. 
With  irresistible  momentum  the  tawny  flood  rolls  over  the 
continent,  now  impatiently  ploughing  its  way  across  a  great 
bend,  destroying  plantations  and  abruptly  leaving  towns  and 
villages  many  miles  inland;  now  savagely  filching  away  the 
soft  loam  banks  beneath  little  settlements  and  greedily  adding 
broad  acres  to  the  burden  of  its  surcharged  waters.  Mighty 
giants  of  the  forest,  wrested  from  their  footholds  of  centuries, 
plunge  with  terrifying  noise  into  the  relentless  stream;  great 
masses  of  earth,  still  cohering,  break  from  their  moorings  and 

130 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


glide  into  the  whirling  waters,  where,  like  immense  islands, 
they  journey  bobbing  and  tumbling  toward  the  distant  sea. 

Against  the  strong  current,  whose  quartzose  sediment 
tinkled  metallically  about  her  iron  prow,  the  clumsy  Honda 
made  slow  headway.  She  was  a  craft  of  some  two  hundred 
tons  burden,  with  iron  hull,  stern  paddle  wheel,  and  corrugated 
metal  passenger  deck  and  roof.  Below  the  passenger  deck, 
and  well  forward  on  the  hull,  stood  the  huge,  wood-burning 
boiler,  whose  incandescent  stack  pierced  the  open  space  where 
the  gasping  travelers  were  forced  to  congregate  to  get  what  air 
they  might.  Midway  on  this  deck  she  carried  a  few  cabins  at 
either  side.  These,  bare  of  furnishings,  might  accommodate 
a  dozen  passengers,  if  the  insufferable  heat  would  permit  them 
to  be  occupied.  Each  traveler  was  obliged  to  supply  his  own 
bedding,  and  likewise  hammock,  unless  not  too  discriminating 
to  use  the  soiled  cot  provided.  Many  of  those  whose  affairs 
necessitated  river  travel— and  there  was  no  other  mode  of 
reaching  the  interior — were  content  at  night  to  wrap  a  light 
blanket  about  them  and  lie  down  under  their  mosquito  nets  on 
the  straw  mats — petates- — with  which  every  peon  goes  pro 
vided.  Of  service,  there  was  none  that  might  be  so  designated. 
A  few  dirty,  half-dressed  negro  bays  from  the  streets  of  Bar- 
ranquilla  performed  the  functions  of  steward,  waiting  on  table 
with  unwashed  hands,  helping  to  sling  hammocks,  or  assisting 
with  the  carving  of  the  freshly  killed  beef  on  the  slippery  deck 
below.  Accustomed  as  he  had  been  to  the  comforts  of  Rome, 
and  to  the  less  elaborate  though  still  adequate  accommodations 
which  Cartagena  afforded,  Jose  viewed  his  prison  boat  with 
sinking  heart.  Iron  hull,  and  above  it  the  glowing  boiler;  over 
this  the  metal  passenger  deck;  and  above  that  the  iron  roof, 
upon  which  the  fierce  tropical  sun  poured  its  flaming  heat  all 
day;  clouds  of  steam  and  vapor  from  the  hot  river  enveloping 
the  boat — had  the  Holy  Inquisition  itself  sought  to  devise  the 
most  refined  torture  for  a  man  of  delicate  sensibilities  like 
Jos6  de  Rincon,  it  could  not  have  done  better  than  send  him 
up  the  great  river  at  this  season  and  on  that  miserable  craft, 
in  company  with  his  own  morbid  and  soul-corroding  thoughts. 

The  day  wore  on;  and  late  in  the  evening  the  Honda  docked 
at  the  pretentious  town  of  Maganguey,  the  point  of  transfer 
for  the  river  Cauca.  Like  the  other  passengers,  from  whom  he 
had  held  himself  reservedly  aloof,  Jose  gladly  seized  the  op 
portunity  to  divert  his  thoughts  for  a  few  moments  by  going 
ashore.  But  the  moments  stretched  into  hours;  and  when  he 
finally  learned  that  the  boat  would  not  leave  until  daybreak, 
he  lapsed  into  a  state  of  sullen  desperation  which,  but  for  the 
Rincon  stubbornness,  would  have  precipitated  him  into  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


dark  stream.  Aimlessly  he  wandered  about  the  town,  avoiding 
any  possible  rencontre  with  priests,  or  with  his  fellow-passen 
gers,  many  of  whom,  together  with  the  bacchanalian  captain, 
he  saw  in  the  various  cantinas,  making  merry  over  rum  and 
the  native  anisado. 

The  moon  rose  late,  bathing  the  whitewashed  town  in  a 
soft  sheen  and  covering  with  its  yellow  veil  the  filth  and 
squalor  which  met  the  priest  at  every  turn  as  he  wandered 
through  its  ill-lighted  streets.  Maganguey  in  plan  did  not 
depart  from  the  time-honored  custom  of  the  Spaniards,  who 
erected  their  cities  by  first  locating  the  church,  and  then  build 
ing  the  town  around  it.  So  long  as  the  church  had  a  good  loca 
tion,  the  rest  of  the  town  might  shift  for  itself.  Some  of  the 
better  buildings  dated  from  the  old  colonial  period,  and  had 
tile  roofs  and  red  brick  floors.  Many  bore  scars  received  in 
the  internecine  warfare  which  has  raged  in  the  unhappy 
country  with  but  brief  intervals  of  peace  since  the  days  of 
Spanish  occupation.  But  most  of  the  houses  were  of  the 
typical  mud-plastered,  palm-thatched  variety,  with  dirt  floors 
and  scant  furniture.  Yet  even  in  many  of  these  Jose  noted 
pianos  and  sewing  machines,  generally  of  German  make,  at 
which  the  housewife  was  occupied,  while  naked  babes  and 
squealing  pigs — the  latter  of  scarcely  less  value  than  the  for 
mer — fought  for  places  of  preferment  on  the  damp  and  grimy 
floors. 

Wandering,  blindly  absorbed  in  thought,  into  a  deserted 
road  which  branched  off  from  one  of  the  narrow  streets  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town,  Jose  stumbled  upon  a  figure  crouching 
in  the  moonlight.  Almost  before  he  realized  that  it  was  a 
human  being  a  hand  had  reached  up  and  caught  his. 

"Bucn  Padre!"  came  a  thick  voice  from  the  mass,  "for  the 
love  of  the  good  Virgin,  a  few  pesos!" 

A  beggar — perhaps  a  bandit!  Ah,  well;  Jose's  purse  was 
light — and  his  life  of  no  value.  So,  recovering  from  his  start, 
he  sought  in  his  pockets  for  some  billetes.  But — yes,  he  re 
membered  that  after  purchasing  his  river  transportation  in 
Calamar  he  had  carefully  put  his  few  remaining  bills  in  his 
trunk. 

"Amigo,  I  am  sorry,  but  I  have  no  money  with  me,"  he  said 
regretfully.  "But  if  you  will  come  to  the  boat  I  will  gladly 
give  you  something  there." 

At  this  the  figure  emitted  a  scream  of  rage,  and  broke  into 
a  torrent  of  sulphurous  oaths.  "Na,  the  Saints  curse  you 
beggarly  priests!  You  have  no  money,  but  you  rob  us  poor 
devils  with  your  lies,  and  then  leave  us  to  rot  to  death!" 

"But,  amigo,  did  I  not  say—"  began  Jose  soothingly. 

132 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Maldito!"  shrilled  the  figure;  "may  Joseph  and  Mary  and 
Jesus  curse  you!  A  million  curses  on  you,  maldito!"  Pulling 
itself  upward,  the  shapeless  thing  sank  its  teeth  deep  into  the 
priest's  hand. 

With  a  cry  of  pain  the  startled  Jose  tore  himself  loose,  his 
hand  dripping  with  blood.  At  the  same  time  the  figure  fell 
over  into  the  road  and  its  enveloping  rags  slipped  off,  disclosing 
in  the  bright  moonlight  a  loathsome,  distorted  face  and  ele 
phantine  limbs,  covered  with  festering  sores. 

"Good  God!"  cried  Jose,  recoiling.     "A  leper!" 

Turning  swiftly  from  the  hideous  object,  his  brain  awhirl 
with  the  horrible  nightmare,  the  priest  iled  blindly  from  the 
scene.  Nauseated,  quivering  with  horror,  with  the  obscene 
ravings  of  the  leper  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  stumbled  about 
the  town  until  daybreak,  when  the  boat's  shrieking  whistle 
summoned  him  to  embark. 

The  second  day  on  the  river  seemed  to  Jose  intolerable,  as 
he  shifted  about  the  creaking,  straining  tub  to  avoid  the  sun's 
piercing  rays  and  the  heat  which,  drifting  back  from  the  hot 
stack  forward,  enveloped  the  entire  craft.  There  were  but  few 
passengers,  some  half  dozen  men  and  two  slatternly  attired 
women.  Whither  they  were  bound,  he  knew  not,  nor  cared; 
and,  though  they  saluted  him  courteously,  he  studiously 
avoided  being  drawn  into  their  conversations.  The  emotional 
appeal  of  the  great  river  and  its  forest-lined  banks  did  not  at 
first  affect  him.  Yet  he  sought  forgetfulness  of  self  by  con 
centrating  his  thought  upon  them. 

The  massed  foliage  constituted  an  impenetrable  wall  on 
either  side.  Everywhere  his  eyes  met  a  maze  of  lianas,  creep 
ing  plants,  begonias,  and  bizarre  vegetable  forms,  shapes  and 
hues  of  which  he  had  never  before  had  any  adequate  concep 
tion.  Often  he  caught  the  glint  of  great,  rare  butterflies  hover 
ing  in  the  early  sunlight  which  filtered  through  the  interlaced 
fronds  and  branches.  Often  when  the  boat  hugged  the  bank 
he  saw  indescribable  buds  and  blossoms,  and  multicolored 
orchids  clinging  to  the  drooping  bejucos  which  festooned  the 
enormous  trees.  As  the  afternoon  waned  and  the  sun  hung 
low,  the  magic  stillness  of  the  solitude  began  to  cast  its  spell 
about  him,  and  he  could  imagine  that  he  was  penetrating  a 
fairyland.  The  vast  stream,  winding,  broadening,  ramifying 
round  wooded  islets,  throwing  out  long,  dusky  lagoons  and 
swampy  arms,  incessantly  plying  its  numberless  activities,  at 
length  held  him  enraptured.  As  he  brooded  over  it  all,  his 
thought  wandered  back  to  the  exploits  of  the  intrepid  Quesada 
and  his  stalwart  band  who,  centuries  before,  had  forced  their 
perilous  way  along  this  same  river,  amid  showers  of  poisoned 

133 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


arrows  from  hostile  natives,  amid  the  assaults  of  tropical 
storms  and  malarial  fevers,  to  the  plateau  of  Cundinamarca, 
the  home  of  the  primitive  Muiscas;  and  there  gathering  fresh 
strength  and  inspiration,  had  pushed  on  to  the  site  of  Santa  Fe 
de  Bogota. 

A  cry  suddenly  rang  through  the  boat.     "Man  overboard!" 

The  clang  of  the  pilot's  bell  stopped  the  clumsy  craft;  but 
not  before  the  ragged  little  negro  boy  who  had  served  at  Jose's 
table  as  steward  had  been  swept  far  away  by  the  rapid  current. 

The  utmost  confusion  immediately  prevailed.  Every  one 
of  the  rabble  rout  of  stokers,  stewards,  and  stevedores  lost  his 
wits  and  set  up  a  frenzied  yell.  Some  who  remembered  that 
there  was  such  a  thing,  tore  at  the  ropes  which  held  the  single 
lifeboat.  But  the  boat  had  been  put  on  for  appearance's  sake, 
not  for  service,  and  successfully  resisted  all  efforts  at  removal. 
No  one  dared  risk  his  life  in  attempted  rescue,  for  the  river 
swarmed  with  crocodiles.  There  was  vain  racing,  counseling 
and  gesticulating;  but  at  length,  the  first  wave  of  excitement 
over,  passengers  and  crew  settled  down  to  wratch  the  outcome 
of  the  boy's  struggle  for  life,  while  the  pilot  endeavored  to 
turn  the  unwieldy  steamer  about. 

"Now  is  the  time  to  put  up  a  prayer  for  the  youngster, 
Padre,"  said  a  voice  behind  Jose. 

The  priest  turned.  The  speaker  was  evidently  a  native 
Colombian.  Jose  had  noticed  him  on  the  boat  when  he  em 
barked  at  Calamar,  and  surmised  that  he  had  probably  come 
up  from  Barranquilla. 

"An  excellent  opportunity  to  try  the  merits  of  a  prayer  to 
the  Virgin,  no?  If  she  can  fish  us  out  of  purgatory  she  ought 
to  pull  this  boy  out  of  the  river,  eh?"  continued  the  speaker 
with  a  cynical  smile. 

"I  would  rather  trust  to  a  canoe  and  a  pair  of  stout  arms 
than  a  prayer  at  present,"  returned  Jose  with  candor. 

"Corriente!"  replied  the  man;  "my  way  of  thinking,  ex 
actly!  But  if  I  had  a  good  rifle  now  I'd  put  that  little  fellow 
out  of  his  misery,  for  he's  going  down,  sure!" 

It  was  not  unkindly  said;  and  Jose  appreciated  the  man's 
rude  sentiment.  Minutes  passed  in  strained  silence. 

"Hombrel"  cried  the  man.     "He's  going!" 

The  lad  was  evidently  weakening.  The  rapid,  swirling  cur 
rent  continually  frustrated  his  efforts  to  reach  the  shore. 
Again  the  head  went  under. 

"Dios!"  Jose  exclaimed.     "Is  there  no  help?" 

Jesus  had  walked  the  waves.  Yet  here  his  earthly  repre 
sentative,  trained  in  all  the  learning  and  culture  of  Holy  Church 
to  be  an  Alter  Christus,  stood  helplessly  by  and  watched  a 

134 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


child  drown!  God  above!  what  avail  religious  creed  and 
churchly  dogma?  How  impotent  the  beliefs  of  men  in  such 
an  hour!  Could  the  Holy  Father  himself,  with  all  his  assump 
tions,  spiritual  and  temporal — with  all  his  power  to  loose  from 
sin  and  from  the  imaginary  torments  of  purgatory — save  this 
drowning  boy? 

Jose  turned  away  in  bitterness  of  heart.  As  he  did  so  a 
murmur  of  awe  arose  from  the  spectators.  The  priest  looked 
again  down  the  river.  Impelled  from  below,  the  body  of  the 
boy  was  hurled  out  of  the  water.  Then,  as  it  fell,  it  disap 
peared. 

"Cayman!"  gasped  the  horrified  crew. 

Jose  stood  spellbound,  as  the  ghastly  truth  dawned  upon 
him.  A  crocodile,  gliding  beneath  the  struggling  lad,  had  tossed 
him  upward,  and  caught  him  in  its  loathsome  jaws  when  he 
fell.  Then  it  had  dragged  him  beneath  the  yellow  waters, 
where  he  was  seen  no  more. 

Life  is  held  cheaply  by  the  Magdalena  negro — excepting  his 
own.  Shiftless  and  improvident  child  of  the  tropics,  his  animal 
wants  are  readily  satisfied  by  the  fruits  and  fish  which  nature 
provides  for  him  so  bountifully.  Spiritual  wants  he  has  none — 
until  calamity  touches  him  and  he  thinks  he  is  about  to  die. 
Then  witchcraft,  charm,  incantation,  the  priest — anything  that 
promises  help  is  hurriedly  pressed  into  requisition  to  prolong 
his  useless  existence.  If  he  recovers,  he  forgets  it  all  as  hur 
riedly.  The  tragedy  which  had  just  been  enacted  before  the 
Honda's  crew  produced  a  ripple  of  excitement — a  momentary 
stirring  of  emotion — and  was  then  speedily  forgotten,  while 
the  boat  turned  and  drove  its  way  up-stream  against  the  muddy 
waters. 

But  Jose  could  not  forget.  Nature  had  endowed  him  with  a 
memory  which  recorded  as  minutely  and  as  lastingly  as  the 
phonographic  cylinder.  The  violent  death  of  the  boy  haunted 
him,  and  mingled  with  the  recurrent  memories  of  the  sad  pass 
ing  of  the  little  Maria,  and  his  own  bitter  life  experience.  Oh, 
the  mystery  of  it  all!  The  tragedy  of  life!  The  sudden  blight 
ing  of  hopes!  The  ruthless  crushing  of  hearts!  What  did  it 
mean?  Did  this  infinite  variety  of  good  and  evil  which  we 
call  life  unite  to  manifest  an  infinite  Creator?  Nay,  for  then 
were  God  more  wicked  than  the  lowest  sinner!  Was  evil  as 
real  as  good,  and  more  powerful?  Yes.  Did  love  and  the  soul's 
desire  to  be  and  do  good  count  for  nothing  in  the  end?  No; 
for  the  end  is  death — always  death!  And  after  that — who 
knows? 

"We  are  coming  to  Banco,  Padre,"  said  the  man  who  had 
addressed  Jose  before,  rousing  him  from  his  doleful  medita- 

135 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


tions  and  pointing  to  the  lights  of  the  distant  town,  now  shim 
mering  through  the  gathering  dusk. 

As  the  boat  with  shrilly  shrieking  whistle  drew  near  the 
landing,  a  crowd  hurriedly  gathered  on  the  bank  to  receive  it. 
Venders  of  guava  jelly,  rude  pottery7,  and  straw  mats  hastily 
spread  out  their  merchandise  on  the  muddy  ground  and  began 
to  dilate  loudly  on  their  merits.  A  scantily  clad  man  held  aloft 
a  rare  leopard  skin,  which  he  vigorously  offered  for  two  pesos 
gold.  Slatternly  women,  peddling  queer  delectables  of  uncer 
tain  composition,  waved  their  thin,  bare  arms  and  shrilly  ad 
vertised  their  wares.  Black,  naked  children  bobbed  excitedly 
about;  and  gaunt  dogs  and  shrieking  pigs  scampered  recklessly 
through  the  crowd  and  added  to  the  general  confusion.  Here 
and  there  Jose  could  see  dignified  looking  men,  dressed  in 
white  cotton,  and  wearing  straw — jipijapa — hats.  These  were 
merchants,  patiently  awaiting  consignments  which  they  had 
perhaps  ordered  months  before.  Crazy,  ramshackle  dwellings, 
perched  unsteadily  upon  long,  slender  stilts,  rose  from  the 
water's  edge;  but  substantial  brick  buildings  of  fair  size,  with 
red-tile  roofs  and  whitewashed  walls,  mingled  at  intervals  with 
the  thatched  mud  huts  and  rude  hovels  farther  within  the  town. 
In  a  distant  doorway  he  descried  a  woman  nursing  a  babe  at 
one  breast  and  a  suckling  pig  at  the  other.  Convention  is  rigid 
in  these  Colombian  river  towns;  but  it  is  widely  inclusive. 

"Come  ashore  with  me,  Padre,  and  forget  what  is  worrying 
you,"  said  Jose's  new  acquaintance,  taking  him  by  the  arm. 
"I  have  friends  here — Hola!  Padre  Diego  Guillermo!"  he  sud 
denly  called,  catching  sight  of  a  black-frocked  priest  standing 
in  the  crowd  on  the  shore. 

The  priest  addressed,  a  short,  stout,  coarse-featured  man  of 
perhaps  forty,  waved  back  a  vigorous  salutation. 

"Hombre!"  the  man  ejaculated,  holding  Jose's  arm  and 
starting  down  the  gangplank.  "What  new  deviltry  is  the  rogue 
up  to  now!" 

The  man  and  the  priest  addressed  as  Diego  embraced 
warmly. 

"Padre  Diego  Guillermo  Polo,  I  have  the  extreme  honor  to 
present  my  friend,  the  eminent  Padre — "  ceremoniously  wav 
ing  a  hand  toward  Jose. 

"Jose  de  Rincon,"  supplied  the  latter,  bowing. 

"Rincon!"  murmured  the  priest  Diego.  •  Then,  abruptly, 
"Of  Cartagena?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Jose,  with  awakened  interest. 

"Not  of  Don  Ignacio — ?" 

"My  grandfather,"  Jose  replied  promptly,  and  with  a  touch 
of  pride. 

136 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Ha!  he  owned  much  property — many  fincas — about  here; 
and  farther  west,  in  the  Guamoco  country,  many  mines,  eh, 
Don  Jorge?"  exchanging  a  significant  look  with  the  latter. 

"But,"  he  added,  glancing  at  the  perspiring  Honda,  "this 
old  tub  is  going  to  hang  up  here  for  the  night.  So  do  me  the 
honor,  senores,  to  visit  my  little  cell,  and  we  will  fight  the 
cursed  mosquitoes  over  a  sip  of  red  rum.  I  have  some  of  very 
excellent  quality." 

Jose  and  Don  Jorge  bowed  their  acquiescence  and  followed 
him  up  the  muddy  road.  The  cell  referred  to  consisted  of  a 
suite  of  several  rooms,  commodiously  furnished,  and  looking 
out  from  the  second  story  of  one  of  the  better  colonial  houses 
of  the  town  upon  a  richly  blooming  interior  patio.  As  the 
visitors  entered,  a  comely  young  woman  who  had  just  lighted 
an  oil-burning  "student"  lamp  and  placed  it  upon  the  center 
table,  disappeared  into  one  of  the  more  remote  rooms. 

"My  niece,"  said  the  priest  Diego,  winking  at  Don  Jorge 
as  he  set  out  cigars  and  a  garrafon  of  Jamaica  rum.  "I  have 
ordered  a  case  of  American  beer,"  he  continued,  lighting  a 
cigar.  "But  that  was  two  months  ago,  and  it  hasn't  arrived 
yet.  Diablo!  but  the  good  medico  tells  me  I  drink  too  much 
rum  for  this  very  Christian  climate." 

Don  Jorge  swept  the  place  with  an  appraising  glance. 
"H'm,"  he  commented,  as  he  poured  himself  a  liberal  libation 
from  the  garrafon.  "The  Lord  surely  provides  for  His  faithful 
children." 

"Yes,  the  Lord,  that's  right,"  laughed  Padre  Diego;  "still  I 
am  daily  rendering  no  small  thanks  to  His  Grace,  Don  Wen- 
ceslas,  future  Bishop  of  Cartagena." 

"And  eminent  services  into  the  bargain,  I'll  venture,"  added 
Don  Jorge. 

Padre  Diego's  eyes  twinkled  merrily.  Jose  started.  Then 
even  in  this  remote  town  the  artful  Wenceslas  maintained  his 
agent! 

"But  our  friend  is  neither  drinking  nor  smoking,"  said 
Padre  Diego,  turning  inquiringly  to  Jose,  who  had  left  his  glass 
untouched. 

"With  your  permission,"  replied  the  latter;  "I  do  not  use 
liquor  or  tobacco." 

"Nor  women  either,  eh?"  laughed  Padre  Diego.  "Por  Diosl 
what  is  it  the  Dutchman  says? 

'Wer  nicht  liebt  Wein,  Weib  und  Gesang, 
Der  bleibt  ein  Narr  sein  Lebenlang.' 
Caramba!  but  my  German  has  all  slipped  from  me." 

"Don't  worry,"  commented  Don  Jorge  cynically;  "for  I'll 
wager  it  took  nothing  good  with  it." 

137 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Hombre!  but  you  are  hard  on  a  loyal  servant  of  the  Lord," 
exclaimed  Padre  Diego  in  a  tone  of  mock  injury,  as  he  drained 
another  glass  of  the  fiery  liquor. 

"Servant  of  the  Lord!"  guffawed  Don  Jorge.  "Of  the  Lord 
Pope,  Lord  Wenceslas,  or  the  Lord  God,  may  we  ask?" 

"Que  chisle!  Why,  stupid,  all  three.  I  do  not  put  all  my 
eggs  into  one  basket,  however  large.  But  tell  me,  now,"  he 
inquired,  turning  the  conversation  from  himself,  "what  is  it 
brings  you  into  this  region  forsaken  of  the  gods?" 

"Sepulcros,"  Don  Jorge  briefly  announced. 

"Ha!  Indian  graves  again!  But  have  you  abandoned  your 
.quest  of  La  Tumba  del  Diablo,  in  the  Sinu  valley?" 

"Naturally,  since  the  records  show  that  it  was  opened  centu 
ries  ago.  And  I  spent  a  good  year's  search  on  it,  too!  Dios! 
They  say  it  yielded  above  thirty  thousand  pesos  gold." 

"Diablo!" 

"But  I  am  on  the  track  of  others.  I  go  now  to  Medellin; 
then  to  Remedies;  and  there  outfit  for  a  trip  of  grave  hunting 
through  the  old  Guamoco  district." 

"Guamoco!  Then  you  will  naturally  come  down  the  Simiti 
trail,  which  brings  you  out  to  the  Magdalena." 

"Simiti?"  interrupted  Jose  eagerly,  turning  to  the  speaker. 
"Do  you  know7  the  place?" 

"Somewhat!"  replied  Padre  Diego,  laughing.  "I  had  charge 
of  that  parish  for  a  few  months — " 

"But  found  it  highly  convenient  to  leave,  no?"  finished  the 
merciless  Don  Jorge. 

"Caramba!  Would  you  have  me  die  of  ennui  in  such  a  hell 
hole?"  cried  Diego  with  some  aspersion. 

"Hell-hole!"  echoed  Jose.     "Is  it  so  bad  as  that?" 

"Hombre!  Yes — worse!  They  say  that  after  the  good  Lord 
created  heaven  and  earth  He  had  a  few  handfuls  of  dirt  left, 
and  these  He  threw  away.  But  crafty  Satan,  always  with  an 
eye  single  to  going  the  Lord  one  better,  slyly  gathered  this  dirt 
together  again  and  made  Simiti."  Diego  quickly  finished  an 
other  glass  of  rum,  as  if  he  would  drown  the  memory  of  the 
town. 

Jose's  heart  slowly  sank  under  the  words. 

"But  why  do  you  ask?  You  are  not  going  there?"  Padre 
Diego  inquired.  Jose  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"Diablo!     Assigned?" 

"Yes,"  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 

The  Padre  whistled  softly.  "Then  in  that  case,"  he  said, 
brightening,  "we  are  brother  sinners.  So  let  us  exchange  con 
fidences.  What  was  your  crime,  if  one  may  ask?" 

"Crime!"  exclaimed  Jose  in  amazement. 

138 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Aye;  who  was  she?  Rich?  Beautiful?  Native?  Or  for 
eign?  Come,  the  story.  We  have  a  long  night  before  us." 
And  the  coarse  fellow  settled  hack  expectantly  in  his  chair. 

Jose  paled.  "What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"Caramba!"  returned  the  Padre  impatiently.  "You  surely 
know  that  no  respectable  priest  is  ever  sent  to  Simiti !  That 
it  is  the  good  Bishop's  penal  colony  for  fallen  clergy — and,  I 
may  add,  the  refuge  of  political  offenders  of  this  and  adjacent 
countries.  Why,  the  present  schoolmaster  there  is  a  political 
outcast  from  Salvador!" 

"No,  I  did  not  know  it,"  replied  Jose. 

"For  Dios!  Then  you  are  being  jobbed,  amigo!  Did  Don 
Wenceslas  give  you  letters  to  the  Alcalde?" 

"Yes." 

"And — by  the  way,  has  Wenceslas  been  misbehaving  of 
late? — for  when  he  does,  somebody  other  than  himself  has  to 
settle  the  score." 

Jose  remained  silent. 

"Ah,"  mused  Diego,  "but  Don  Wenceslas  is  artful.  And 
yet,  I  think  I  see  the  direction  of  his  trained  hand  in  this." 
Then  he  burst  into  a  rude  laugh.  "Come,  amigo,"  he  said, 
noting  Jose's  dejected  mien;  "let  us  have  your  story.  We  may 
be  able  to  advise.  And  we've  had  experience — -eh,  Don  Jorge?" 

But  Jose  slowly  shook  his  head.  What  mattered  it  now? 
Simiti  would  serve  as  well  to  bury  him  as  any  other  tomb.  He 
knew  he  was  sent  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter.  But  it  was  his 
affair — and  his  God's.  Honor  and  conscience  had  presented 
the  score;  and  he  was  paying  in  full.  His  was  not  a  story  to 
be  bandied  about  by  lewd  priests  like  Padre  Diego. 

"No,"  he  replied  to  the  Padre's  insistent  solicitations;  "with 
your  permission,  we  will  talk  of  it  no  more." 

"But — Hombre!"  cried  the  Padre  at  last,  in  his  coarse  way 
stirred  by  Jose's  evident  truthfulness.  "Well — as  you  wish — I 
will  not  pry  into  your  secrets.  But,  take  a  bit  of  counsel  from 
one  who  knows:  when  you  reach  Simiti,  inquire  for  a  man  who 
hates  me,  one  Rosendo  Ariza — 

At  this  juncture  the  Honda's  diabolical  whistle  pierced  the 
murky  night  air. 

"Caramba!"  cried  Don  Jorge,  starting  up.  "Are  they  going 
to  try  the  river  to-night?"  And  the  men  hurried  back  to  the 
landing. 

The  moon  was  up,  and  the  boat  was  getting  under  way. 
Padre  Diego  went  aboard  to  take  leave  of  his  friends. 

"Bien,  amigo,"  he  said  to  Don  Jorge;  "I  am  sorry  your  stay 
is  so  short.  I  had  much  to  tell  you.  Interesting  developments 

139 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


are  forward,  and  I  hope  you  are  well  out  of  Guamoco  when  the 
trouble  starts.  For  the  rivals  of  Antioquia  and  Simiti  will  pay 
off  a  few  scores  in  the  next  revolution — a  few  left  over  from 
the  last;  and  it  would  be  well  not  to  get  caught  between  them 
when  they  come  together." 

"And  so  it  is  coming?"  said  Don  Jorge  thoughtfully. 

"Coming!  Hombre!  It  is  all  but  here!  The  Hercules  went 
up-river  yesterday.  You  will  pass  her.  She  has  gone  to  keep 
a  look-out  in  the  vicinity  of  Puerto  Berrio.  I  am  sorry  for  our 
friend,"  nodding  toward  Jose,  who  was  leaning  over  the  boat's 
rail  at  some  distance;  "but  there  is  a  job  there.  He  doesn't 
belong  in  this  country.  And  Simiti  will  finish  him." 

"Bah!  only  another  priest  less — and  a  weak-kneed  one  at 
that,"  said  Don  Jorge  with  contempt;  "and  we  have  too  many 
of  them  now,  Lord  knows!" 

"You  forget  that  I  am  a  priest,"  chuckled  Diego. 

"You!  Yes,  so  you  are,"  laughed  Don  Jorge;  "but  of  the 
diocese  of  hell!  Well,  we're  off.  I'll  send  a  runner  down  the 
trail  when  I  reach  the  Tigui  river;  and  if  you  will  have  a  letter 
in  Simiti  informing  me  of  the  status  of  things  political,  he  can 
bring  it  up.  Conque,  adios,  my  consummate  villain." 

The  Honda,  whistling  prodigiously,  swung  out  into  mid 
stream  and  set  her  course  up-river,  warily  feeling  through  the 
velvety  darkness  for  the  uncertain  channel.  Once  she  grated 
over  a  hidden  bar  and  hung  for  a  few  moments,  while  her  stack 
vomited  torrents  of  sparks  and  her  great  wheel  angrily  churned 
the  water  into  creamy  foam  in  the  clear  moonlight.  Once, 
rounding  a  sharp  bend,  she  collided  squarely  with  a  huge  ma 
hogany  tree,  rolling  and  plunging  menacingly  in  the  seaward 
rushing  waters. 

"Diablo!"  muttered  Don  Jorge,  as  he  helped  Jose  swing  his 
hammock  and  adjust  the  mosquito  netting.  "I  shall  offer  a 
candle  a  foot  thick  to  the  blessed  Virgin  if  I  reach  Puerto 
Berrio  safely!  Santo  Dios!"  as  the  boat  grazed  another  sand 
bar.  "I've  heard  tell  of  steamers  hanging  up  on  bars  in  this 
river  for  six  weeks!  And  look!"  pointing  to  the  projecting 
smoke-stack  of  a  sunken  steamer.  "Carambal  That  is  what 
we  just  escaped!" 

But  Jose  manifested  slight  interest  in  the  dangers  of  river 
navigation.  His  thoughts  were  revolving  about  the  incidents 
of  the  past  few  days,  and,  more  especially,  about  Padre  Diego 
and  his  significant  words.  Don  Jorge  had  volunteered  no 
further  explanation  of  the  man  or  his  conversation;  and  Jose's 
reticence  would  not  permit  him  to  make  other  inquiry.  But, 
after  all,  his  thought-processes  always  evolved  the  same  con 
clusion:  What  mattered  it  now?  His  interest  in  life  was  at 

140 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


an  end.  He  had  not  told  Don  Jorge  of  his  experience  with  the 
leper  in  Maganguey.  He  was  trying  to  forget  it.  But  his  hand 
ached  cruelly;  and  the  pain  was  always  associated  with  loath 
some  and  repellant  thoughts  of  the  event. 

****** 

The  eastern  sky  was  blushing  at  the  approach  of  the  amor 
ous  sun  when  Jose  left  his  hammock  and  prepared  to  endure 
another  day  on  the  river.  To  the  south  the  deep  blue  vault  of 
heaven  was  dotted  with  downy  clouds.  Behind  the  laboring 
steamer  the  river  glittered  through  a  dazzling  white  haze. 
Ahead,  its  course  was  traceable  for  miles  by  the  thin  vapor 
always  rising  from  it.  The  jungle  on  either  side  was  brilliant 
with  color  and  resonant  with  the  songs  of  forest  lyrists.  In 
the  lofty  fronds  of  venerable  palms  and  cedars  noisy  macaws 
gossiped  and  squabbled,  and  excited  monkeys  discussed  the 
passing  boat  and  commented  volubly  on  its  character.  In  the 
shallow  water  at  the  margin  of  the  river  blue  herons  and  spin 
dle-legged  cranes  were  searching  out  their  morning  meal.  Croc 
odiles  lay  dozing  on  the  playas,  with  mouths  opened  invitingly 
to  the  stupid  birds  which  were  sure  to  yield  to  the  mesmerism. 
Far  in  the  distance  up-stream  a  young  deer  was  drinking  at 
the  water's  edge. 

The  charm  of  the  rare  scene  held  the  priest  spellbound.  As 
he  gazed  upon  it  a  king  vulture — called  by  the  natives  the  Vul 
ture  Papa,  or  Pope  Vulture — suddenly  swooped  down  from  the 
depths  of  heaven  and,  lighting  upon  the  carcass  of  a  monster 
crocodile  floating  down  the  river,  began  to  feast  upon  the  choic 
est  morsels,  while  the  buzzards  which  had  been  circling  about 
the  carrion  and  feeding  at  will  respectfully  withdrew  until  the 
royal  appetite  should  be  satiated. 

"Holy  graft,  eh,  Padre?"  commented  Don  Jorge,  coming  up. 
"Those  brainless  buzzards,  if  they  only  knew  it  and  had  sense 
enough  to  unite,  could  strip  every  feather  off  that  swaggering 
vulture  and  send  him  packing.  Fools!  And  we  poor  Colom 
bians,  if  we  had  the  courage,  could  as  easily  throw  the  Church 
into  the  sea,  holy  candles,  holy  oils,  holy  incense  and  all! 
Diablo!  But  we  are  fleeced  like  sheep!" 

To  Jose  it  did  not  seem  strange  that  this  man  should  speak 
so  frankly  to  him,  a  priest.  He  felt  that  Don  Jorge  was  not  so 
much  lacking  in  courtesy  and  delicate  respect  for  the  feelings 
and  opinions  of  others  as  he  was  ruggedly  honest  and  fearlessly 
sincere  in  his  hatred  of  the  dissimulation  and  graft  practiced 
upon  the  ignorant  and  unsuspecting.  For  the  rest  of  the  day 
Don  Jorge  was  busy  with  his  maps  and  papers,  and  Jose  was 
left  to  himself. 

The  character  of  the  landscape  had  altered  with  the  nar- 

141 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


rowing  of  the  stream,  and  the  river-plain  now  lay  in  a  great 
volcanic  basin  Hanked  by  distant  verdure-clad  hills.  Far  to  the 
southwest  Jose  could  see  the  faint  outlines  of  the  lofty  Cordil 
leras.  Somewhere  in  that  direction  lay  Simiti.  And  back  of  it 
lay  the  ancient  treasure  house  of  Spain,  where  countless  thou 
sands  of  sweating  slaves  had  worn  out  their  straining  bodies 
under  the  goad  and  lash,  that  the  monarchs  of  Castile  might 
carry  on  their  foolish  religious  wars  and  attempt  their  vain 
projects  of  self-aggrandizement. 

The  day  wore  on  without  interest,  and  darkness  closed  in 
quickly  when  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  Sierras.  It  was  to  be 
Jose's  last  night  on  the  Magdalena,  for  the  captain  had  told  him 
that,  barring  disaster,  the  next  afternoon  should  find  them  at 
Badillo.  After  the  evening  meal  the  priest  took  his  chair  to  the 
bow  of  the  steamer  and  gave  himself  over  to  the  gentle  influ 
ences  of  the  rare  and  soothing  environment.  The  churning  of 
the  boat  was  softly  echoed  by  the  sleeping  forest.  The  late  moon 
shimmered  through  clouds  of  murky  vapor,  and  cast  ghostly 
relleclions  along  the  broad  river.  The  balmy  air,  trembling 
with  the  radiating  heat,  was  impregnated  with  sweetest  odors 
from  the  myriad  buds  and  balsamic  plants  of  the  dark  jungle 
wilderness  on  either  hand,  wThere  impervious  walls  rose  in 
majestic,  deterrant,  awesome  silence  from  the  low  shore  line, 
and  tangled  shrubs  and  bushes,  rioting  in  wild  profusion,  jeal 
ously  hung  to  the  water's  edge  that  they  might  hide  every  trace 
of  the  muddy  banks.  What  shapes  and  forms  the  black  depths 
of  that  untrodden  bush  hid  from  his  eyes,  Jose  might  only 
imagine.  But  he  felt  their  presence — crawling,  creeping  things 
that  lay  in  patient  ambush  for  their  unwitting  prey — slimy 
lizards,  gorgeously  caparisoned — dank,  twisting  serpents — -ele 
phantine  tapirs — dull-witted  sloths — sleek,  wary  jaguars- 
fierce  formicidae,  poisonous  and  carnivorous.  He  might  not 
see  them,  but  he  felt  that  he  was  the  cynosure  of  hundreds  of 
keen  eyes  that  followed  him  as  the  boat  glided  close  to  the 
shore  and  silently  crept  through  the  shadows  which  lay  thick 
upon  the  river's  edge.  And  the  matted  jungle,  with  its  colossal 
vegetation,  he  felt  was  peopled  with  other  things — influences 
intangible,  and  perhaps  still  unreal,  but  mightily  potent  with 
the  symbolized  presence  of  the  great  Unknown,  which  stands 
back  of  all  phenomena  and  eagerly  watches  the  movements  of 
its  children.  These  influences  had  already  cast  their  spell  upon 
him.  He  was  yielding,  slowly,  to  the  "lure  of  the  tropics," 
which  few  who  come  under  its  attachment  ever  find  the  strength 
to  dispel. 

No  habitations  were  visible  on  the  dark  shores.  Only  here 
and  there  in  the  yellow  glow  of  the  boat's  lanterns  appeared  the 

142 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


customary  piles  of  wood  which  the  natives  sell  to  the  passing 
steamers  for  boiler  fuel,  and  which  are  found  at  frequent  in 
tervals  along  the  river.  At  one  of  these  the  Honda  halted  to 
replenish  its  supply.  The  usual  bickering  between  the  negro 
owner  and  the  boat  captain  resulted  in  a  bargain,  and  the 
half-naked  stevedores  began  to  transfer  the  wood  to  the  vessel, 
carrying  it  on  their  shoulders  in  the  most  primitive  manner, 
held  in  a  strip  of  burlap.  The  rising  moon  had  at  last  thrown 
off  its  veil  of  murky  clouds,  and  was  shining  in  undimmed 
splendor  in  a  starry  sky.  Jose  went  ashore  with  the  passengers; 
for  the  boat  might  remain  there  for  hours  while  her  crew  la 
bored  leisurely,  with  much  bantering  and  singing,  and  no 
anxious  thought  for  the  morrow. 

The  strumming  of  a  tiple  in  the  distance  attracted  him.  Fol 
lowing  it,  he  found  a  small  settlement  of  bamboo  huts  hidden 
away  in  a  beautiful  grove  of  moriche  palms,  through  which  the 
moonbeams  filtered  in  silvery  stringers.  Little  gardens  lay  back 
of  the  dwellings,  and  the  usual  number  of  goats  and  pigs  were 
do/ing  in  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  scarcely  stirring  trees. 
Reserved  matrons  and  shy  doncellas  appeared  in  the  doorways; 
and  curious  children,  naked  and  chubby,  hid  in  their  mothers' 
scant  skirts  and  peeped  cautiously  out  at  the  newcomers.  The 
tranquil  night  was  sweet  with  delicate  odors  wafted  from  num 
berless  plants  and  blossoms  in  the  adjacent  forest,  and  with  the 
fragrance  breathed  from  the  roses,  gardenias  and  dahlias  with 
which  these  unpretentious  dwellings  were  fairly  embowered. 
A  spirit  of  calm  and  peaceful  contentment  hovered  over  the 
spot,  and  the  round,  white  moon  smiled  down  in  holy  benedic 
tion  upon  the  gentle  folk  who  passed  their  simple  lives  in  this 
bower  of  delight,  free  from  the  goad  of  human  ambition,  un- 
trammeled  by  the  false  sense  of  wealth  and  its  entailments, 
and  unspoiled  by  the  artificialities  of  civilization. 

One  of  the  passengers  suggested  a  dance,  while  waiting  for 
the  boat  to  take  on  its  fuel.  The  owner  of  the  wood,  apparently 
the  chief  authority  of  the  little  settlement,  immediately  pro 
cured  a  tom-tom,  and  gave  orders  for  the  baile.  At  his  direc 
tion  men,  women  and  children  gathered  in  the  moonlit  clearing 
on  the  river  bank  and,  while  the  musician  beat  a  monotonous 
tattoo  on  the  crude  drum,  circled  about  in  the  stately  and  digni 
fied  movements  of  their  native  dance. 

It  was  a  picture  that  Jose  would  not  forget.  The  balmy  air, 
soft  as  velvet,  and  laden  with  delicious  fragrance;  the  vast 
solitude,  stretching  in  trackless  wilderness  to  unknown  reaches 
on  either  hand;  the  magic  stillness  of  the  tropic  night;  the  fig 
ures  of  the  dancers  weirdly  silhouetted  in  the  gorgeous  moon 
light;  with  the  low,  unvaried  beat  of  the  tom-tom  rising  dully 

10  143 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


through  the  warm  air — all  merged  into  a  scene  of  exquisite 
beauty  and  delight,  which  made  an  indelible  impression  upon 
the  priest's  receptive  mind. 

And  when  the  sounds  of  simple  happiness  had  again  died 
into  silence,  and  he  lay  in  his  hammock,  listening  to  the  spirit 
of  the  jungle  sighing  through  the  night-blown  palms,  as  the  boat 
glided  gently  through  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  quiet  river, 
his  soul  voiced  a  nameless  yearning,  a  vague,  unformed  longing 
for  an  approach  to  the  life  of  simple  content  and  childlike  hap 
piness  of  the  kind  and  gentle  folk  with  whom  he  had  been  priv 
ileged  to  make  this  brief  sojourn. 

****** 

The  crimson  flush  of  the  dawn-sky  heralded  another  day  of 
implacable  heat.  The  emerald  coronals  of  palms  and  tower 
ing  caobas  burned  in  the  early  beams  of  the  torrid  sun.  Light 
fogs  rose  reluctantly  from  the  river's  bosom  and  dispersed  in 
delicate  vapors  of  opal  and  violet.  The  tangled  banks  of  drip 
ping  bush  shone  freshly  green  in  the  misty  light.  The  wilder 
ness,  grim  and  trenchant,  reigned  in  unchallenged  despotism. 
Solitude,  soul-oppressing,  unbroken  but  for  the  calls  of  feath 
ered  life,  brooded  over  the  birth  of  Jose's  last  day  on  the  Mag- 
dalena.  About  midday  the  steamer  touched  at  the  little  vil 
lage  of  Bodega  Central;  but  the  iron-covered  warehouse  and 
the  whitewashed  mud  hovels  glittered  garishly  in  the  fierce  heat 
and  stifled  all  desire  to  go  ashore.  The  call  was  brief,  and  the 
boat  soon  resumed  its  course  through  the  solitude  and  heat  of 
the  mighty  river. 

Immediately  after  leaving  Bodega  Central,  Don  Jorge  ap 
proached  Jose  and  beckoned  him  to  an  unoccupied  corner  of 
the  boat. 

"Amigo,"  he  began,  after  assuring  himself  that  his  words 
would  not  carry  to  the  other  passengers,  "the  captain  tells  me 
the  next  stop  is  Badillo,  where  you  leave  us.  If  all  goes  well 
you  will  be  in  Simiti  to-night.  No  doubt  a  report  of  our  meeting 
with  Padre  Diego  has  already  reached  Don  Wenceslas,  who, 
you  may  be  sure,  has  no  thought  of  forgetting  you.  I  have  no 
reason  to  tell  you  this  other  than  the  fact  that  I  think,  as 
Padre  Diego  put  it,  you  are  being  jobbed — not  by  the  Church, 
but  by  Wenceslas.  I  want  to  warn  you,  that  is  all.  I  hate 
priests!  They  got  me  early — got  my  wife  and  girl,  too!  I  hate 
the  Church,  and  the  whole  ghastly  farce  which  it  puts  over  on 
the  ignorant  people  of  this  country !  But — ,"  eying  him  sharply, 
"I  would  hardly  class  you  as  a  real  priest.  There,  never  mind !" 
as  Jose  was  about  to  interrupt.  "I  think  I  understand.  You 
simply  went  wrong.  You  meant  well,  but  something  happened 
—as  always  does  when  one  means  well  in  this  world.  But  now 
to  the  point." 

144 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Shifting  his  chair  closer  to  Jose,  the  man  resumed  earnestly. 

"Your  grandfather,  Don  Ignacio,  was  a  very  rich  man.  The 
war  stripped  him.  He  got  just  what  he  deserved.  His  fincas 
and  herds  and  mines  melted  away  from  him  like  grease  from 
a  holy  candle.  And  nobody  cared — any  more  than  the  Lord 
cares  about  candle  grease.  Most  of  his  property  fell  into  the 
hands  of  his  former  slaves — and  he  had  hundreds  of  them  here 
abouts.  But  his  most  valuable  possession,  the  great  mine  of 
La  Libertad,  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  blotted  from  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

"That  mine — no,  not  a  mine,  but  a  mountain  of  free  gold — - 
was  located  somewhere  in  the  Guamoco  district.  After  the  war 
this  whole  country  slipped  back  into  the  jungle,  and  had  to  be 
rediscovered.  The  Guamoco  region  is  to-day  as  unknown  as  it 
was  before  the  Spaniards  came.  Somewhere  in  the  district, 
but  covered  deep  beneath  brush  and  forest  growth,  is  that 
mine,  the  richest  in  Colombia. 

"Now,  as  you  know,  Don  Ignacio  left  this  country  in  con 
siderable  of  a  hurry.  But  I  think  he  always  intended  to  come 
back  again.  Death  killed  that  ambition.  I  don't  know  about 
his  sons.  But  the  fact  remains  that  La  Libertad  has  never  been 
rediscovered  since  Don  Ignacio's  day.  The  old  records  in  Car 
tagena  show  the  existence  of  such  a  mine  in  Spanish  times,  and 
give  a  more  or  less  accurate  statement  of  its  production. 
Diablo!  I  hesitate  to  say  how  much!  The  old  fellow  had 
arrastras,  mills,  and  so  on,  in  which  slaves  crushed  the  ore.  The 
bullion  was  melted  into  bars  and  brought  down  the  trail  to 
Simiti,  where  he  had  agents  and  warehouses  and  a  store  or  two. 
From  there  it  was  shipped  down  the  river  to  Cartagena.  But 
the  war  lasted  thirteen  years.  And  during  that  time  everything 
was  in  a  state  of  terrible  confusion.  The  existence  of  mines 
was  forgotten.  The  plantations  were  left  unworked.  The  male 
population  was  all  but  killed  off.  And  the  country  sank  back 
into  wilderness. 

"Bueno;  so  much  for  history.  Now  to  your  friends  on  the 
coast — and  elsewhere.  Don  Wenceslas  is  quietly  searching  for 
that  mine — has  been  for  years.  He  put  his  agent,  Padre  Diego, 
in  Simiti  to  learn  what  he  might  there.  But  the  fool  priest  was 
run  out  after  he  had  ruined  a  woman  or  two.  However,  Padre 
Diego  is  still  in  close  touch  with  the  town,  and  is  on  the  keen 
search  for  La  Libertad.  Wenceslas  thinks  there  may  be  de 
scendants  of  some  of  Don  Ignacio's  old  slaves  still  living  in 
Simiti,  or  near  there,  and  that  they  know  the  location  of  the 
lost  mine.  And,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  figures  that  you  will  learn 
the  secret  from  them  in  some  way,  and  that  the  mine  will  again 
come  to  light.  Now,  if  you  get  wind  of  that  mine  and  attempt 

145 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


to  locate  it,  or  purchase  it  from  the  natives,  you  will  be  beaten 
out  of  it  in  a  hurry.  And  you  may  be  sure  Don  Wenceslas  will 
be  the  one  who  will  eventually  have  it,  for  there  is  no  craftier, 
smoother,  brighter  rascal  in  Colombia  than  he.  And  so,  take 
it  from  me,  if  you  ever  get  wind  of  the  location  of  that  famous 
property — which  by  rights  is  yours,  having  belonged  to  your 
grandfather — keep  the  information  strictly  to  yourself  I 

"I  do  not  know  Simiti.  But  1  shall  be  working  in  the  Gua- 
moco  district  for  many  months  to  come,  hunting  Indian  graves. 
I  shall  have  my  runners  up  and  down  the  Simiti  trail  frequently, 
and  may  get  in  touch  with  you.  It  may  be  that  you  will  need  a 
friend.  There!  The  boat  is  whistling  for  Badillo.  A  last  word: 
Keep  out  of  the  way  of  both  Wenceslas  and  Diego — cultivate 
the  people  of  Simiti — and  keep  your  mouth  closed." 

A  few  minutes  later  Jose  stood  on  the  river  bank  beside  his 
little  haircloth  trunk  and  traveling  bag,  sadly  watching  the 
steamer  draw  away  and  resume  her  course  up-stream.  He 
watched  it  until  it  disappeared  around  a  bend.  And  then  he 
stood  watching  the  smoke  rise  above  the  treetops,  until  that, 
too,  faded  in  the  distance.  No  one  had  waved  him  a  farewell 
from  the  boat.  No  one  met  him  with  a  greeting  of  welcome  on 
the  shore.  He  was  a  stranger  among  strangers. 

He  turned,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  note  his  environment.  It 
was  a  typical  riverine  point.  A  single  street,  if  it  might  be  so 
called;  a  half  dozen  bamboo  dwellings,  palm-thatched;  and  a 
score  of  natives,  with  their  innumerable  gaunt  dogs  and  por 
cine  companions — this  was  Badillo. 

"Scnor  Padre."  A  tall,  finely  built  native,  clad  in  soiled 
white  cotton  shirt  and  trousers,  approached  and  addressed  him 
in  a  kindly  tone.  "Where  do  you  go?" 

"To  Simiti,"  replied  the  priest,  turning  eagerly  to  the  man. 
"But,"  in  bewilderment,  "where  is  it?" 

"Over  there,"  answered  the  native,  pointing  to  the  jungle 
on  the  far  side  of  the  river.  "Many  leagues." 

The  wearied  priest  sat  down  on  his  trunk  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Faintness  and  nausea  seized  him.  It  was  the 
after-effect  of  his  long  and  difficult  river  experience.  Or,  per 
haps,  the  deadly  malaria  was  beginning  its  insidious  poisoning. 
The  man  approached  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Padre,  why  do  you  go  to  Simiti?" 

Jose  raised  his  head  and  looked  more  closely  at  his  inter 
locutor.  The  native  was  a  man  of  perhaps  sixty  years.  His 
figure  was  that  of  an  athlete.  He  stood  well  over  six  feet  high, 
with  massive  shoulders,  and  a  waist  as  slender  as  a  woman's. 
His  face  was  almost  black  in  color,  and  mottled  with  patches  of 
white,  so  common  to  the  natives  of  the  hot  inlands.  But  there 

146 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


was  that  in  its  expression,  a  something  that  looked  out  through 
those  kindly  black  eyes,  that  assured  Jose  and  bespoke  his 
confidence. 

The  man  gravely  repeated  his  question. 

"I  have  been  sent  there  by  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena.  I  am 
to  have  charge  of  the  parish,"  Jose  replied. 

The  man  slowly  shook  his  finely  shaped  head. 

"We  want  no  priest  in  Simiti,"  he  said  with  quiet  firmness. 
His  manner  of  speaking  was  abrupt,  yet  not  ungracious. 

"But — do  you  live  there?"  inquired  Jose  anxiously. 

"Yes,  Padre." 

"Then  you  must  know  a  man — Rosendo,  I  think  his 
name — 

"I  am  Rosendo  Ariza." 

Jose  looked  eagerly  at  the  man.  Then  he  wearily  stretched 
out  a  hand. 

"Rosendo — I  am  sick — I  think.  And — I  have— no  friends — 

Rosendo  quickly  grasped  his  hand  and  slipped  an  arm  about 
his  shoulders. 

"I  am  your  friend,  Padre —  He  stopped  and  appeared  to 
reflect  for  a  moment.  Then  he  added  quickly,  "My  canoe  is 
ready;  and  we  must  hurry,  or  night  will  overtake  us." 

The  priest  essayed  to  rise,  but  stumbled.  Then,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child,  the  man  Rosendo  picked  him  up  and  carried  him 
down  the  bank  to  a  rude  canoe,  where  he  deposited  him  on  a 
pile  of  empty  bags  in  the  keel. 

"Escolastico!"  he  called  back  to  a  young  man  who  seemed 
to  be  the  chief  character  of  the  village.  "Sell  the  panela  and 
yuccas  a  buen  prccio;  and  remind  Captain  Julio  not  to  forget 
on  the  next  trip  to  bring  the  little  Carmen  a  doll  from  Bar- 
ranquilla.  I  will  be  over  again  next  month.  And  Juan,"  ad 
dressing  the  sturdy  youth  who  was  preparing  to  accompany 
him,  "set  in  the  Padre's  baggage;  and  do  you  take  the  paddle, 
and  I  will  pole.  Conque,  adioscito!"  waving  his  battered  straw 
hat  to  the  natives  congregated  on  the  bank,  while  Juan  pushed 
the  canoe  from  the  shore  and  paddled  vigorously  out  into  the 
river. 

"Adioscito!  adioscito!  Don  Rosendo  y  Juan!"  The  hearty 
farewells  of  the  natives  followed  the  canoe  far  out  into  the  broad 
stream. 

Across  the  open  river  in  the  livid  heat  of  the  early  afternoon 
the  canoe  slowly  made  its  way.  The  sun  from  a  cloudless  sky 
viciously  poured  down  its  glowing  rays  like  molten  metal.  The 
boat  burned;  the  river  steamed;  the  water  was  hot  to  his  touch, 
when  the  priest  feebly  dipped  his  hands  into  it  and  bathed  his 
throbbing  brow.  Badillo  faded  from  view  as  they  rounded  a 

147 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


densely  wooded  island  and  entered  a  long  lagoon.  Here  they 
lost  the  slight  breeze  which  they  had  had  on  the  main  stream. 
In  this  narrow  channel,  hemmed  in  between  lofty  forest  walls 
of  closely  woven  vines  and  foliage,  it  seemed  to  Jose  that  they 
had  entered  a  flaming  inferno.  The  two  boatmen  sat  silent 
and  inscrutable,  plying  their  paddles  without  speaking. 

Down  the  long  lagoon  the  canoe  drifted,  keeping  within  what 
scant  shade  the  banks  afforded,  for  the  sun  stood  now  directly 
overhead.  The  heat  was  everywhere,  insistent,  unpitying.  It 
burned,  scalded,  warped.  The  foliage  on  either  side  of  the 
channel  merged  into  the  hot  waves  that  rose  trembling  about 
them.  The  thin,  burning  air  enveloped  the  little  craft  with 
fire.  Jose  gasped  for  breath.  His  tongue  swelled.  His  pulse 
throbbed  violently.  His  skin  cracked.  The  quivering  appear 
ance  of  the  atmosphere  robbed  him  of  confidence  in  his  own 
vision.  A  cloud  of  insects  hung  always  before  his  sight.  Dead 
silence  lay  upon  the  scene.  Not  a  sound  issued  from  the  jun 
gle.  Not  a  bird  or  animal  betrayed  its  presence.  The  canoe 
was  edging  the  Colombian  "hells,"  where  even  the  denizens  of 
the  forest  dare  not  venture  forth  on  the  low,  open  savannas  in 
the  killing  heat  of  midday. 

Jose  sank  down  in  the  boat,  wilting  and  semi-delirious. 
Through  his  dimmed  eyes  the  boatmen  looked  like  glowing  in 
human  things  set  in  flames.  Rosendo  came  to  him  and  placed 
his  straw  hat  over  his  face.  Hours,  interminable  and  torturing, 
seemed  to  pass  on  leaden  wings.  Then  Juan,  deftly  swerving 
his  paddle,  shot  the  canoe  into  a  narrow  arm,  and  the  garish 
sunlight  was  suddenly  lost  in  the  densely  intertwined  branches 
overhanging  the  little  stream. 

"The  outlet  of  La  Cienaga,  Padre,"  Rosendo  offered,  laying 
aside  his  paddle  and  taking  his  long  boat  pole.  "Lake  Simiti 
flows  through  this  and  into  the  Magdalena."  For  a  few  mo 
ments  he  held  the  canoe  steady,  while  from  his  wallet  he  drew  a 
few  leaves  of  tobacco  and  deftly  rolled  a  long,  thick  cigar. 

The  real  work  of  the  boga  now  began,  and  Rosendo  with  his 
long  punter  settled  down  to  the  several  hours'  strenuous  grind 
which  was  necessary  to  force  the  heavy  canoe  up  the  little  out 
let  and  into  the  distant  lake  beyond.  ^Back  and  forth  he  trav 
eled  through  the  half-length  of  the  boat,  setting  the  pole  well 
forward  in  the  soft  bank,  or  out  into  the  stream  itself,  and 
then,  with  its  end  against  his  shoulder,  urging  and  teasing  the 
craft  a  few  feet  at  a  time  against  the  strong  current.  Jose 
imagined,  as  he  dully  watched  him,  that  he  could  see  death  in 
the  pestiferous  effluvia  which  emanated  from  the  black,  slimy 
mud  which  every  plunge  of  the  long  pole  brought  to  the  sur 
face  of  the  narrow  stream. 

148 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  afternoon  slowly  waned,  and  the  temperature  lowered 
a  few  degrees.  A  warm,  animal-like  breath  drifted  languidly 
out  from  the  moist  jungle.  The  outlet,  or  cafio,  was  heavily 
shaded  throughout  its  length.  Crocodiles  lay  along  its  muddy 
banks,  and  slid  into  the  water  at  the  approach  of  the  canoe. 
Huge  iguanas,  the  gorgeously  colored  lizards  of  tropical  America, 
scurried  noisily  through  the  overarching  branches.  Here  and 
there  monkeys  peeped  curiously  at  the  intruders  and  chattered 
excitedly  as  they  swung  among  the  lofty  treetops.  But  for  his 
exhaustion,  Jose,  as  he  lay  propped  up  against  his  trunk,  gazing 
vacantly  upon  the  slowly  unrolling  panorama  of  marvelous 
plant  and  animal  life  on  either  hand,  might  have  imagined  him 
self  in  a  realm  of  enchantment. 

At  length  the  vegetation  abruptly  ceased;  the  stream  wid 
ened;  and  the  canoe  entered  a  broad  lake,  at  the  far  end  of 
which,  three  miles  distant,  its  two  whitewashed  churches  and 
its  plastered  houses  reflecting  the  red  glow  of  the  setting  sun, 
lay  the  ancient  and  decayed  town  of  Simiti,  the  northern  outlet 
of  Spain's  mediaeval  treasure  house,  at  the  edge  of  the  for 
gotten  district  of  Guamoco. 

Paddling  gently  across  the  unruffled  surface  of  the  tepid 
waters,  Rosendo  and  Juan  silently  urged  the  canoe  through  the 
fast  gathering  dusk,  and  at  length  drew  up  on  the  shaly  beach 
of  the  old  town.  As  they  did  so,  a  little  girl,  bare  of  feet  and 
with  clustering  brown  curls,  came  running  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Oh,  padre  Rosendo,"  she  called,  "what  have  you  brought 
me?" 

Then,  as  she  saw  Rosendo  and  Juan  assisting  the  priest  from 
the  boat,  she  drew  back  abashed. 

"Look,  Carmencita,"  whispered  Juan  to  the  little  maid; 
"we've  brought  you  a  big  doll,  haven't  we?" 

Night  fell  as  the  priest  stepped  upon  the  shore  of  his  new 
home. 


149 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


BOOK  2 

Ar,  to  save  and   redeem  and  restore,  snatch   Saul,  the  mis 
take,  Saul,  the  failure,  the  ruin  he  seems  now, — and  bid 
him  awake  from  the  dream,  the  probation,  the  prelude,  to 
find  himself  set  clear  and  safe  in  new  light  and  new  life, — a 
new  harmony  yet  to  be  run  and  continued  and  ended. 

— Browning. 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


CHAPTER  1 

JOSE  DE  RINCON  opened  his  eyes  and  turned  painfully  on 
his  hard  bed.  The  early  sun  streamed  through  the  wooden 
grating  before  the  unglazed  window.  A  slight,  tepid  breeze 
stirred  the  mosquito  netting  over  him.  He  was  in  the  single 
sleeping  room  of  the  house.  It  contained  another  bed  like  his 
own,  of  rough  macana  palm  strips,  over  which  lay  a  straw  mat 
and  a  thin  red  blanket.  Bed  springs  were  unknown  in  Simiti. 
On  the  rude  door,  cobwebbed  and  dusty,  a  scorpion  clung  tor 
pidly.  From  the  room  beyond  he  heard  subdued  voices.  His 
head  and  limbs  ached  dully;  and  frightful  memories  of  the 
river  trip  and  the  awful  journey  from  Badillo  sickened  him. 
With  painful  exertion  he  stood  upon  the  moist  dirt  floor  and 
drew  on  his  damp  clothes.  He  had  only  a  vague  recollection  of 
the  preceding  night,  but  he  knew  that  Rosendo  had  half  led, 
half  dragged  him  past  rows  of  dimly  lighted,  ghostly  white 
houses  to  his  own  abode,  and  there  had  put  him  to  bed. 

"Muy  buenos  dias,  Sefior  Padre,"  Rosendo  greeted  him,  as 
the  priest  dragged  himself  out  into  the  living  room.  "You  have 
slept  long.  But  the  senora  will  soon  have  your  breakfast.  Sit 
here — not  in  the  sun!" 

Rosendo  placed  one  of  the  rough  wooden  chairs,  with 
straight  cowhide  back  and  seat,  near  the  table. 

"Carmencita  has  gone  to  the  boat  for  fresh  water.  But — 
here  she  comes.  Pour  the  Sefior  Padre  a  cup,  carita,"  address 
ing  a  little  girl  who  at  that  moment  entered  the  doorway,  car 
rying  a  large  earthen  bottle  on  her  shoulder.  It  was  the  child 
who  had  met  the  boat  when  the  priest  arrived  the  night  before. 

"Fill  the  basin,  too,  chiquita,  that  the  Padre  may  wash  his 
hands,"  added  Rosendo. 

The  child  approached  Jose,  and  with  a  dignified  little  cour 
tesy  and  a  frank  smile  offered  him  a  cup  of  the  lukewarm 
water.  The  priest  accepted  it  languidly.  But,  glancing  into 
her  face,  his  eyes  suddenly  widened,  and  the  hand  that  was 
carrying  the  tin  cup  to  his  lips  stopped. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  barefoot  girl,  clad  only  in  a  short,  sleeveless  calico 
gown,  stood  before  him  like  a  portrait  from  an  old  master.  Her 
skin  was  almost  white,  with  but  a  tinge  of  olive.  Her  dark 
broxvn  hair  hung  in  curls  to  her  shoulders  and  framed  a  face 
of  rarest  beauty.  Innocence,  purity,  and  love  radiated  from  her 
fair  features,  from  her  beautifully  rounded  limbs,  from  her 
soft,  dark  eyes  that  looked  so  fearlessly  into  his  own. 

Jose  felt  himself  strangely  moved.  Somewhere  deep  within 
his  soul  a  chord  had  been  suddenly  struck  by  the  little  pres 
ence;  and  the  sound  was  unfamiliar  to  him.  Yet  it  awakened 
memories  of  distant  scenes,  of  old  dreams,  and  forgotten  long 
ings.  It  seemed  to  echo  from  realms  of  his  soul  that  had  never 
been  penetrated.  The  tumult  within  died  away.  The  raging 
thought  sank  into  calm.  The  man  forgot  himself,  forgot  that 
he  had  come  to  Simili  to  die.  His  sorrow  vanished.  His  suf 
ferings  faded.  He  remained  conscious  only  of  something  that 
he  could  not  outline,  something  in  the  soul  of  the  child,  a  thing 
that  perhaps  he  once  possessed,  and  that  he  knew  he  yet  prized 
above  all  else  on  earth. 

He  heard  Rosendo's  voice  through  an  immeasurable  dis 
tance — 

"Leave  us  now,  chiquita;  the  Padre  wishes  to  have  his 
breakfast." 

The  child  without  speaking  turned  obediently;  and  the 
priest's  eyes  followed  her  until  she  disappeared  into  the  kitchen. 

"We  call  her  'the  smile  of  God,'  "  said  Rosendo,  noting  the 
priest's  absorption,  "because  she  is  always  happy." 

Jose  remained  sunk  in  thought.     Then— 

"A  beautiful  child!"  he  murmured.  "A  wonderfully  beau 
tiful  child!  I  had  no  idea — -!" 

"Yes,  Padre,  she  is  heaven's  gift  to  us  poor  folk.  I  some 
times  think  the  angels  themselves  left  her  on  the  river  bank." 

"On  the  river  bank!"  Jose  was  awake  now.  "Why — she 
was  not  born  here?" 

"Oh,  no,  Padre,  but  in  Badillo." 

"Ah,  then  you  once  lived  in  Badillo?" 

"Na,  Senor  Padre,  she  is  not  my  child — except  that  the  good 
God  has  given  her  to  me  to  protect." 

"Not  your  child!  Then  whose  is  she?"  The  priest's  voice 
was  unwontedly  eager  and  his  manner  animated. 

But  Rosendo  fell  suddenly  quiet  and  embarrassed,  as  if  he 
realized  that  already  he  had  said  too  much  to  a  stranger.  A 
shade  of  suspicion  seemed  to  cross  his  face,  and  he  rose  hur 
riedly  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen.  A  moment  later  he  re 
turned  with  the  priest's  breakfast — two  fried  eggs,  a  hot  corn 
are  pa,  fried  platanos,  dried  fish,  and  coffee  sweetened  with 
panela. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"When  you  have  finished,  Padre,  we  will  visit  the  Alcalde," 
he  said  quietly.  "I  must  go  down  to  the  lake  now  to  speak  with 
Juan  before  he  goes  out  to  fish." 

Jose  finished  his  meal  alone.  The  interest  which  had  been 
aroused  by  the  child  continued  to  increase  without  reaction. 
His  torpid  soul  had  been  profoundly  stirred.  For  the  moment, 
though  he  knew  not  why,  life  seemed  to  hold  a  vague,  unshaped 
interest  for  him.  He  began  to  notice  his  environment;  he  even 
thought  he  relished  the  coarse  food  set  before  him. 

The  house  he  was  in  was  a  typical  native  three-room  dwell 
ing,  built  of  strips  of  macana  palm,  set  upright  and  tied  to 
gether  with  pieces  of  slender,  tough  bejuco  vine.  The  inter 
stices  between  the  strips  were  filled  with  mud,  and  the  whole 
whitewashed.  The  floors  were  dirt,  trodden  hard;  the  steep- 
pitched  roof  was  thatched  with  palm.  A  few  chairs  like  the 
one  he  occupied,  the  rude,  uncovered  table,  some  cheap  prints 
and  a  battered  crucifix  on  the  wall,  were  the  only  furnishings  of 
the  living  room. 

While  he  was  eating,  the  people  of  the  town  congregated 
quietly  about  the  open  door.  Friendly  curiosity  to  see  the  new 
Padre,  and  sincere  desire  to  welcome  him  animated  their  sim 
ple  minds.  Naked  babes  crawled  to  the  threshold  and  peeped 
timidly  in.  Coarsely  clad  women  and  young  girls,  many  of  the 
latter  bedizened  with  bits  of  bright  ribbon  or  cheap  trinkets, 
smiled  their  gentle  greetings.  Black,  dignified  men,  bare  of 
feet,  and  wearing  white  cotton  trousers  and  black  ruanas — 
the  cape  affected  by  the  poor  males  of  the  inlands — respectfully 
doffed  their  straw  hats  and  bowed  to  him.  Rosendo's  wife  ap 
peared  from  the  kitchen  and  extended  her  hand  to  him  in  un 
feigned  hospitality.  Attired  in  a  fresh  calico  gown,  her  black 
hair  plastered  back  over  her  head  and  tied  with  a  clean  black 
ribbon,  her  bare  feet  encased  in  hemp  sandals,  she  bore  herself 
\vith  that  grace  and  matronly  dignity  so  indicative  of  her 
Spanish  forbears,  and  so  particularly  characteristic  of  the  in 
habitants  of  this  "valley  of  the  pleasant  'yes.'  " 

Breakfast  finished,  the  priest  stepped  to  the  doorway  and 
raised  his  hand  in  the  invocation  that  was  evidently  expected 
from  him. 

"Dominus  v  obis  cum,"  he  repeated,  not  mechanically,  not  in 
sincerely,  but  in  a  spirit  of  benevolence,  of  genuine  well-wish 
ing,  which  his  contact  with  the  child  a  few  minutes  before 
seemed  to  have  aroused. 

The  people  bent  their  heads  piously  and  murmured,  "Et 
cum  spiritu  tuo." 

The  open  door  looked  out  upon  the  central  plaza,  where 
stood  a  large  church  of  typical  colonial  design  and  construe- 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


tion,  and  with  a  single  lateral  bell  tower.  The  building  was 
set  well  up  on  a  platform  of  shale,  with  broad  shale  steps, 
much  broken  and  worn,  leading  up  to  it  on  all  sides.  Jose 
stepped  out  and  mingled  with  the  crowd,  first  regarding  the  old 
church  curiously,  and  then  looking  vainly  for  the  little  girl,  and 
sighing  his  disappointment  when  he  did  not  see  her. 

In  the  plaza  he  was  joined  by  Rosendo;  and  together  they 
went  to  the  house  of  the  Alcalde.  On  the  way  the  priest  gazed 
about  him  with  growing  curiosity.  To  the  north  of  the  town 
stretched  the  lake,  known  to  the  residents  only  by  the  name  of 
La  Cienaga.  It  was  a  body  of  water  of  fair  size,  in  a  setting  of 
exquisite  tropical  beauty.  In  a  temperate  climate,  and  a  region 
more  densely  populated,  this  lake  would  have  been  priceless. 
Here  in  forgotten  Guamoco  it  lay  like  an  undiscovered  gem, 
known  only  to  those  few  inert  and  passive  folk,  who  enjoyed 
it  with  an  inadequate  sense  of  its  rare  beauty  and  immeasura 
ble  worth.  Several  small  and  densely  wooded  isles  rose  from 
its  unrippled  bosom;  and  tropical  birds  of  brilliant  color  hov 
ered  over  it  in  the  morning  sun.  Near  one  of  its  margins  Jose 
distinguished  countless  white  garzas,  the  graceful  herons  whose 
plumes  yield  the  coveted  aigrette  of  northern  climes.  They  fed 
undisturbed,  for  this  region  sleeps  unmolested,  far  from  the 
beaten  paths  of  tourist  or  vandal  huntsman.  To  the  west  and 
south  lay  the  hills  of  Guamoco,  and  the  lofty  Cordilleras,  pur 
pling  in  the  light  mist.  Over  the  entire  scene  spread  a  damp 
warmth,  like  the  atmosphere  of  a  hot-house.  By  midday  Jose 
knew  that  the  heat  would  be  insufferable. 

The  Alcalde,  Don  Mario  Arvila,  conducted  his  visitors 
through  his  shabby  little  store  and  into  the  patio  in  the  rear, 
exclaiming  repeatedly,  "Ah,  Senor  Padre,  we  welcome  you !  All 
Simiti  welcomes  you  and  kisses  your  hand!"  In  the  shade  of 
his  arbor  he  sat  down  to  examine  Jose's  letters  from  Cartagena. 

Don  Mario  was  a  large,  florid  man,  huge  of  girth,  with  brown 
skin,  heavy  jowls,  puffed  eyes,  and  bald  head.  As  he  read,  his 
eyes  snapped,  and  at  times  he  paused  and  looked  up  curiously 
at  the  priest.  Then,  without  comment,  he  folded  the  letters  and 
put  them  into  a  pocket  of  his  crash  coat. 

"Bien"  he  said  politely,  "we  must  have  the  Padre,  meet  Don 
Felipe  Alcozer  as  soon  as  he  returns.  Some  repairs  are  needed 
on  the  church;  a  few  of  the  roof  tiles  have  slipped,  and  the  rain 
enters.  Perhaps,  Senor  Padre,  you  may  say  the  Mass  there  next 
Sunday.  We  will  see.  A — a — you  had  illustrious  ancestors, 
Padre,"  he  added  with  hesitation. 

"Do  the  letters  mention  my  ancestry?"  asked  Jose  with 
something  of  mingled  surprise  and  pride. 

"They  speak  of  your  family,  which  was,  as  we  all  know, 
quite  renowned,"  replied  the  Alcalde  courteously. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Very,"  agreed  Jose,  wondering  how  much  the  Alcalde  knew 
of  his  family. 

"Don  Ignacio  was  not  unknown  in  this  pueblo."  affably  con 
tinued  the  Alcalde. 

At  these  words  Rosendo  started  visibly  and  looked  fixedly  at 
the  priest. 

"The  family  name  of  Rincon,"  the  Alcalde  went  on,  "appears 
on  the  old  records  of  Simiti  in  many  places,  and  it  is  said  that 
Don  Ignacio  himself  came  here  more  than  once.  Perhaps  you 
know,  Senor  Padre,  that  the  Rincon  family  erected  the  church 
which  stands  in  the  plaza?  And  so  it  is  quite  appropriate  that 
their  son  should  officiate  in  it  after  all  these  centuries,  is  it 
not?" 

No,  Jose  had  not  known  it.  He  could  not  have  imagined 
such  a  thing.  He  knew  little  of  his  family's  history.  Of  their 
former  vast  wealth  he  had  a  vague  notion.  But  here  in  this 
land  of  romance  and  tragedy  he  seemed  to  be  running  upon 
their  reliques  everywhere. 

The  conversation  drifted  to  parish  matters;  and  soon  Ro 
sendo  urged  their  departure,  as  the  sun  was  mounting  high. 

Seated  at  the  table  for  the  midday  lunch,  Jose  again  became 
lost  in  contemplation  of  the  child  before  him.  Her  fair  face 
flushed  under  his  searching  gaze;  but  she  returned  a  smile  of 
confidence  and  sweet  innocence  that  held  him  spellbound.  Her 
great  brown  eyes  were  of  infinite  depth.  They  expressed  a 
something  that  he  had  never  seen  before  in  human  eyes.  What 
manner  of  soul  lay  behind  them?  What  was  it  that  through 
them  looked  out  into  this  world  of  evil?  Childish  innocence 
and  purity,  yes;  but  vastly  more.  Was  it — God  Himself?  Jose 
started  at  his  own  thought.  Through  his  meditations  he  heard 
Rosendo's  voice. 

"Simiti  is  very  old,  Padre.  In  the  days  of  the  Spaniards  it 
was  a  large  town,  with  many  rich  people.  The  Indians  were 
all  slaves  then,  and  they  worked  in  the  mines  up  there,"  indi 
cating  the  distant  mountains.  "Much  gold  was  brought  down 
here  and  shipped  down  the  Magdalena,  for  the  cano  was  wider 
in  those  days,  and  it  was  not  so  hard  to  reach  the  river.  This 
is  the  end  of  the  Guamoco  trail,  which  was  called  in  those  days 
the  Camino  Real." 

"You  say  the  mines  were  very  rich?"  interrogated  Jose;  not 
that  the  question  expressed  a  more  than  casual  interest,  but 
rather  to  keep  Rosendo  talking  while  he  studied  the  child. 

But  at  this  question  Rosendo  suddenly  became  less  loqua 
cious.  Jose  then  felt  that  he  was  suspected  of  prying  into  mat 
ters  which  Rosendo  did  not  wish  to  discuss  with  him,  and  so 
he  pressed  the  topic  no  further. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"How  many  people  did  Don  Mario  say  the  parish  con 
tained?"  he  asked  by  way  of  diverting  the  conversation. 

"About  two  hundred,  Padre." 

"And  it  has  been  vacant  long?" 

"Four  years." 

"Four  years  since  Padre  Diego  was  here,"  commented  Jose 
casually. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  remark.  At  the  mention  of  the 
former  priest's  name  Dona  Maria  hurriedly  left  the  table. 
Rosendo's  black  face  grew  even  darker,  and  took  on  a  look  of 
ineffable  contempt.  He  did  not  reply.  And  the  meal  ended  in 
silence. 

It  was  now  plain  to  Jose  that  Rosendo  distrusted  him.  But 
it  mattered  little  to  the  priest,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  had  no 
wish  to  offend  any  one.  What  interest  had  he  in  boorish  Simiti, 
or  Guamoco?  The  place  was  become  his  tomb — he  had  entered 
it  to  die.  The  child — the  girl !  Ah,  yes,  she  had  touched  a 
strange  chord  within  him;  and  for  a  time  he  had  seemed  to 
live  again.  But  as  the  day  waned,  and  pitiless  heat  and  deadly 
silence  brooded  over  the  decayed  town,  his  starving  soul  sank 
again  into  its  former  depression,  and  revived  hope  and  interest 
died  within  him. 

The  implacable  heat  burned  through  the  noon  hour;  the 
dusty  streets  were  like  the  floor  of  a  stone  oven;  the  shale  beds 
upon  which  the  old  town  rested  sent  up  fiery,  quivering  waves; 
the  houses  seethed;  earth  and  sky  were  ablaze.  How  long  could 
he  endure  it? 

And  the  terrible  ennui,  the  isolation,  the  utter  lack  of  every 
trace  of  culture,  of  the  varied  interests  that  feed  the  educated, 
trained  mind  and  minister  to  its  comfort  and  growth — could 
he  support  it  patiently  while  awaiting  the  end?  Would  he  go 
mad  before  the  final  release  came?  He  did  not  fear  death;  but 
he  was  horror-stricken  at  the  thought  of  madness!  Of  losing 
that  rational  sense  of  the  Ego  which  constituted  his  normal 
individuality! 

Rosendo  advised  him  to  retire  for  the  midday  siesta. 
Through  the  seemingly  interminable  afternoon  he  lay  upon  his 
hard  bed  with  his  brain  afire,  while  the  events  of  his  warped 
life  moved  before  him  in  spectral  review.  The  week  which  had 
passed  since  he  left  Cartagena  seemed  an  age.  When  he  might 
hope  to  receive  word  from  the  outside  world,  he  could  not 
imagine.  His  isolation  was  now  complete.  Even  should  let 
ters  succeed  in  reaching  Simiti  for  him,  they  must  first  pass 
through  the  hands  of  the  Alcalde. 

And  what  did  the  Alcalde  know  of  him?  And  then,  again, 
what  did  it  matter?  He  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  his 

8 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


interest  in  the  outside  world — nay,  his  interest  in  all  things — 
had  ceased.  This  was  the  end.  He  had  yielded,  after  years  of 
struggle,  to  pride,  fear,  doubt.  He  had  bowed  before  his  morbid 
sense  of  honor — a  perverted  sense,  he  now  admitted,  but  still 
one  which  bound  him  in  fetters  of  steel.  His  life  had  been  one 
of  grossest  inconsistency.  He  was  utterly  out  of  tune  with  the 
universe.  His  incessant  clash  with  the  world  of  people  and 
events  had  sounded  nothing  but  agonizing  discord.  And  his 
confusion  of  thought  had  become  such  that,  were  he  asked  why 
he  was  in  Simiti,  he  could  scarcely  have  told.  At  length  he 
dropped  into  a  feverish  sleep. 

The  day  drew  to  a  close,  and  the  flaming  sun  rested  for  a 
brief  moment  on  the  lofty  tip  of  Tolima.  Jose  awoke,  dripping 
with  perspiration,  his  steaming  blood  rushing  wildly  through 
its  throbbing  channels.  Blindly  he  rose  from  his  rough  bed 
and  stumbled  out  of  the  stifling  chamber.  The  living  room  was 
deserted.  Who  might  be  in  the  kitchen,  he  did  not  stop  to  see. 
Dazed  by  the  garish  light  and  fierce  heat,  he  rushed  from  the 
house  and  over  the  burning  shales  toward  the  lake. 

What  he  intended  to  do,  he  knew  not.  His  weltering  thought 
held  but  a  single  concept — water!  The  lake  would  cool  his 
burning  skin — he  would  wade  out  into  it  until  it  rose  to  his 
cracking  lips — he  would  lie  down  in  it,  till  it  quenched  the  fire 
in  his  head — he  would  sleep  in  it — he  would  never  leave  it — it 
was  cool — perhaps  cold!  What  did  the  word  mean?  Was  there 
aught  in  the  world  but  fire — flames — fierce,  withering,  smother 
ing,  consuming  heat?  He  thought  the  shales  crackled  as  they 
melted  beneath  him !  He  thought  his  feet  sank  to  the  ankles  in 
molten  lava,  and  were  so  heavy  he  scarce  could  drag  them!  He 
thought  the  blazing  sun  shot  out  great  tongues  of  flame,  like 
the  arms  of  a  monster  devilfish,  which  twined  about  him,  trans 
forming  his  blood  to  vapor  and  sucking  it  out  through  his 
gaping  pores! 

A  blinding  light  flashed  before  him  as  he  reached  the  margin 
of  the  lake.  The  universe  burst  into  a  ball  of  fire.  He  clasped 
his  head  in  his  hands — stumbled — and  fell,  face  down,  in  the 
tepid  waters. 

CHAPTER  2 

"TT  was  the  little  Carmen,  Padre,  who  saw  you  run  to  the  lake. 

She  was  sitting  at  the  kitchen  door,  studying  her  writing 

lesson." 

The  priest  essayed  to  rise  from  his  bed.  Night  had  fallen, 
and  the  feeble  light  of  the  candle  cast  heavy  shadows  over  the 

11  9 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


room,  and  made  grotesque  pictures  of  the  black,  anxious  faces 
looking  in  at  the  grated  window. 

"But,  Rosendo,  it — was — a  dream — a  terrible  dream!" 

"Na,  Padre,  it  was  true,  for  I  myself  took  you  from  the  lake," 
replied  Rosendo  tenderly. 

Jose  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  but  would  have  fallen 
back  again  had  not  Rosendo's  strong  arm  supported  him.  He 
passed  his  hand  slowly  across  his  forehead,  as  if  to  brush  the 
mental  cobwebs  from  his  awakening  brain.  Then  he  inquired 
feebly : 

"What  does  the  doctor  say?" 

"Padre,  there  is  no  doctor  in  Simiti,"  Rosendo  answered 
quietly. 

"No  doctor!" 

Jose  kept  silence  for  a  few  moments.    Then— 

"But  perhaps  I  do  not  need  one.    What  time  did  it  occur?" 

"It  did  not  happen  to-day,  Padre,"  said  Rosendo  with  pitying 
compassion.  "It  was  nearly  a  week  ago." 

"Nearly  a  week!     And  have  I  lain  here  so  long?" 

"Yes,  Padre." 

The  priest  stared  at  him  uncomprehendingly.     Then — 

"The  dreams  were  frightful!  I  must  have  talked — raved! 
Rosendo — you  heard  me — ?"  His  voice  betrayed  anxiety. 

"There,  Padre,  think  no  more  about  it.  You  were  wild — 1 
fought  to  keep  you  in  bed — we  thought  you  must  die— all  but 
Carmen — but  you  have  your  senses  now — and  you  must  forget 
the  past." 

Forget  the  past!  Then  his  wild  delirium  had  laid  bare  his 
soul!  And  the  man  who  had  so  faithfully  nursed  him  through 
the  crisis  now  possessed  the  sordid  details  of  this  wretched 
life! 

Jose  struggled  to  orient  his  undirected  mind.  A  hot  wave 
of  anger  swept  over  him  at  the  thought  that  he  was  still  living, 
that  his  battered  soul  had  not  torn  itself  from  earth  during  his 
delirium  and  taken  flight.  Was  he  fated  to  live  forever,  to  drag 
out  an  endless  existence,  with  his  heart  written  upon  his  sleeve 
for  the  world  to  read  and  turn  to  its  own  advantage?  Rosendo 
had  stood  between  him  and  death — but  to  what  end?  Had  he 
not  yet  paid  the  score  in  full — good  measure,  pressed  down  and 
running  over?  His  thoughts  ran  rapidly  from  one  topic  to  an 
other.  Again  they  reverted  to  the  little  girl.  He  had  dreamed 
of  her  in  that  week  of  black  night.  He  wondered  if  he  had  also 
talked  of  her.  He  had  lain  at  death's  door — Rosendo  had  said 
so — but  he  had  had  no  physician.  Perhaps  these  simple  folk 
brewed  their  own  homely  remedies — he  wondered  what  they 
had  employed  in  his  case.  Above  the  welter  of  his  thoughts 
this  question  pressed  for  answer. 

10 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"What  medicine  did  you  give  me,  Rosendo?"  he  feebly 
queried. 

"None,  Padre." 

Jose's  voice  rose  querulously  in  a  little  excess  of  excitement. 
"What!  You  left  me  here  without  medical  aid,  to  live  or  die, 
as  might  be?" 

The  gentle  Rosendo  laid  a  soothing  hand  upon  the  priest's 
feverish  brow.  "Ara,  Padre," — there  was  a  hurt  tone  in  the  soft 
answer — "we  did  all  we  could  for  you.  We  have  neither  doctors 
nor  medicines.  But  we  cared  for  you — and  we  prayed  daily  for 
your  recovery.  The  little  Carmen  said  our  prayers  would  be 
answered — and,  you  see,  they  were." 

Again  the  child! 

"And  what  had  she  to  do  with  my  recovery?"  Jose  de 
manded  fretfully. 

"Quien  sabe?  It  is  sometimes  that  way  when  the  little  Car 
men  says  people  shall  not  die.  And  then,"  he  added  sadly, 
"sometimes  they  do  die  just  the  same.  It  is  strange;  we  do  not 
understand  it."  The  gentle  soul  sighed  its  perplexity. 

Jose  looked  up  at  him  keenly.  "Did  the  child  say  I  should 
not  die?"  he  asked  softly,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,  Padre;  she  says  God's  children  do  not  die,"  returned 
Rosendo. 

The  priest's  blood  stopped  in  its  mad  surge  and  slowly  began 
to  chill.  God's  children  do  not  die!  What  uncanny  influence 
had  he  met  with  here  in  this  crumbling,  forgotten  town?  He 
sought  the  index  of  his  memory  for  the  sensations  he  had  felt 
when  he  looked  into  the  girl's  eyes  on  his  first  morning  in 
Simili.  But  memory  reported  back  only  impressions  of  good 
ness — beauty — love. 

Then  a  dim  light — only  a  feeble  gleam — seemed  to  flash  be 
fore  him,  but  at  a  great  distance.  Something  called  him — not 
by  name,  but  by  again  touching  that  unfamiliar  chord  which 
had  vibrated  in  his  soul  when  the  child  had  first  stood  before 
him.  He  felt  a  strange  psychic  presentiment  as  of  things  soon 
to  be  revealed.  A  sentiment  akin  to  awe  stole  over  him,  as  if 
he  were  standing  in  the  presence  of  a  great  mystery — a  mystery 
so  transcendental  that  the  groveling  minds  of  mortals  have 
never  apprehended  it.  He  turned  again  to  the  man  sitting 
beside  his  bed. 

"Rosendo — where  is  she?" 

"Asleep,  Padre,"  pointing  to  the  other  bed.  "But  we  must 
not  wake  her,"  he  admonished  quickly,  as  the  priest  again 
sought  to  rise;  "we  will  talk  of  her  to-morrow.  I  think — " 

Rosendo  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  at  the  priest  as  if  he 
would  fathom  the  inmost  nature  of  the  man.  Then  he  continued 
uncertainly: 

11 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I — I  may  have  some  things  to  say  to  you  to-morrow — if  you 
are  well  enough  to  hear  them.  But  I  will  think  about  it  to 
night,  and — if — Bien!  I  will  think  about  it." 

Rosendo  rose  slowly,  as  if  weighted  with  heavy  thoughts, 
and  went  out  into  the  living  room.  Presently  he  returned  with 
a  rude,  home-made  broom  and  began  to  sweep  a  space  on  the 
dirt  floor  in  the  corner  opposite  Jose.  This  done,  he  spread  out 
a  light  straw  mat  for  his  bed. 

"The  senora  is  preparing  you  a  bowl  of  chicken  broth  and 
rice,  Padre,"  he  said.  "The  little  Carmen  saved  a  hen  for  you 
when  you  should  awake.  She  has  fed  it  all  the  week  on  rice 
and  goat's  milk.  She  said  she  knew  you  would  wake  up  hun 
gry." 

Jose's  eyes  had  closely  followed  Rosendo's  movements,  al 
though  he  seemed  not  to  hear  his  words.  Suddenly  he  broke 
forth  in  protest. 

"Rosendo,"  he  cried,  "have  I  your  bed?  And  do  you  sleep 
there  on  the  floor?  I  cannot  permit  this!" 

"Say  nothing,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  gently  forcing  Jos6 
back  again  upon  his  bed.  "My  house  is  yours." 

"But — the  senora,  your  wife — where  does  she  sleep?" 

"She  has  her  petate  in  the  kitchen,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

Only  the  two  poor  beds,  which  were  occupied  by  the  priest 
and  the  child!  And  Rosendo  and  his  good  wife  had  slept  on 
the  hard  dirt  floor  for  a  week!  Jose's  eyes  dimmed  when  he 
realized  the  extent  of  their  unselfish  hospitality.  And  would 
they  continue  to  sleep  thus  on  the  ground,  with  nothing  be 
neath  them  but  a  thin  straw  mat,  as  long  as  he  might  choose  to 
remain  with  them?  Aye,  he  knew  that  they  would,  uncom 
plainingly.  For  these  are  the  children  of  the  "valley  of  the 
pleasant  'yes.' ' 

Jose  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  song  echoing  in  his 
ears.  He  had  dreamed  of  singing;  and  as  consciousness  slowly 
returned,  the  dream-song  became  real.  It  floated  in  from  the 
living  room  on  a  clear,  sweet  soprano.  When  a  child  he  had 
heard  such  voices  in  the  choir  loft  of  the  great  Seville  cathedral, 
and  he  had  thought  that  angels  were  singing.  As  he  lay  now 
listening  to  it,  memories  of  his  childish  dreams  swept  over 
him  in  great  waves.  The  soft,  sweet  cadences  rose  and  fell. 
His  own  heart  swelled  and  pulsated  with  them,  and  his  barren 
soul  once  more  surged  under  the  impulse  of  a  deep,  potential 
desire  to  manifest  itself,  its  true  self,  unhampered  at  last  by 
limitation  and  convention,  unfettered  by  superstition,  human 
creeds  and  false  ambition.  Then  the  inevitable  reaction  set  in; 
a  sickening  sense  of  the  futility  of  his  longing  settled  over  him, 
and  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  while  hot  tears  streamed 
over  his  sunken  cheeks. 

12 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Again  through  his  wearied  brain  echoed  the  familiar  ad 
monition,  "Occupy  till  I  come."  Always  the  same  invariable 
response  to  his  strained  yearnings.  The  sweet  voice  in  the 
adjoining  room  floated  in  through  the  dusty  palm  door.  It 
spread  over  his  perturbed  thought  like  oil  on  troubled  waters. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  child  singing.  At  this  thought  the  sense  of 
awe  seemed  to  settle  upon  him  again.  A  child — a  babe — had 
said  that  he  should  live!  If  a  doctor  had  said  it  he  would  have 
believed.  But  a  child — absurd!  It  was  a  dream!  But  no; 
Rosendo  had  said  it;  and  there  was  no  reason  to  doubt  him. 
But  what  had  this  child  to  do  with  it?  Nothing!  And  yet — 
was  that  wholly  true?  Then  whence  his  sensations  when  first 
he  saw  her?  Whence  that  feeling  of  standing  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  mystery?  "Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  suck 
lings —  Foolishness!  To  be  sure,  the  child  may  have  said 
he  should  not  die;  but  if  he  were  to  live — which  God  forbid!  — 
his  own  recuperative  powers  would  restore  him.  Rosendo's 
lively  imagination  certainly  had  exaggerated  the  incident. 

Exhausted  by  his  mental  efforts,  and  lulled  by  the  low 
singing,  the  priest  sank  into  fitful  slumber.  As  he  slept  he 
dreamed.  He  was  standing  alone  in  a  great  desert.  Darkness 
encompassed  him,  and  a  fearful  loneliness  froze  his  soul.  About 
him  lay  bleaching  bones.  Neither  trees  nor  vegetation  broke 
the  dull  monotony  of  the  cheerless  scene.  Nothing  but  waste, 
unutterably  dreary  waste,  over  which  a  chill  wind  tossed  the 
tinkling  sand  in  fitful  gusts.  In  terror  he  cried  aloud.  The 
desert  mocked  his  hollow  cry.  The  darkness  thickened.  Again 
he  called,  his  heart  sinking  with  despair. 

Then,  over  the  desolate  waste,  through  the  heavy  gloom,  a 
voice  seemed  borne  faint  on  the  cold  air,  "Occupy  till  I  come!" 
He  sank  to  his  knees.  His  straining  eyes  caught  the  feeble 
glint  of  a  light,  but  at  an  immeasurable  distance.  Again  he 
called;  and  again  the  same  response,  but  nearer.  A  glow  began 
to  suffuse  the  blackness  about  him.  Nearer,  ever  nearer  drew 
the  gleam.  The  darkness  lifted.  The  rocks  began  to  bud. 
Trees  and  vines  sprang  from  the  waste  sand.  As  if  in  a  tre 
mendous  explosion,  a  dazzling  light  burst  full  upon  him,  shat 
tering  the  darkness,  fusing  the  stones  about  him,  and  blinding 
his  sight.  A  great  presence  stood  before  him.  He  struggled  to 
his  feet;  and  as  he  did  so  a  loud  voice  cried,  "Behold,  I  come 
quickly}" 

"Sefior  Padre,  you  have  been  dreaming!" 

The  priest,  sitting  upright  and  clutching  at  the  rough  sides 
of  his  bed,  stared  with  wooden  obliviousness  into  the  face  of 
the  little  Carmen. 

13 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


CHAPTER  3 

""\7"OU  are  well  now,  aren't  you,  Padre?" 

Y    It  was  not  so  much  an  interrogation  as  an  affirmation, 
an  assumption  of  fact. 

"Now  you  must  come  and  see  my  garden — and  Cucumbra, 
too.  And  Gantar-las-horas;  have  you  heard  him?  I  scolded 
him  lots;  and  I  know  he  wants  to  mind;  but  he  just  thinks  he 
can't  stop  singing  the  Vespers — the  old  stupid!" 

While  the  child  prattled  she  drew  a  chair  to  the  bedside 
and  arranged  the  bowl  of  broth  and  the  two  wrheat  rolls  she 
had  brought. 

"You  are  real  hungry,  and  you  are  going  to  eat  all  of  this 
and  get  strong  again.  Right  away!"  she  added,  emphatically 
expressing  her  confidence  in  the  assumption. 

Jose  made  no  reply.  He  seemed  again  to  be  trying  to  sound 
the  unfathomable  depths  of  the  child's  brown  eyes.  Mechanically 
he  took  the  spoon  she  handed  him. 

"See!"  she  exclaimed,  wrhile  her  eyes  danced.  "A  silver 
spoon!  Madre  Ariza  borrowed  it  from  Dona  Maria  Alcozer. 
They  have  lots  of  silver.  Now  eat." 

From  his  own  great  egoism,  his  years  of  heart-ache,  sorrows, 
and  shames,  the  priest's  heavy  thought  slowly  lifted  and  cen 
tered  upon  the  child's  beautiful  face.  The  animated  little 
figure  before  him  radiated  such  abundant  life  that  he  himself 
caught  the  infection;  and  with  it  his  sense  of  weakness  passed 
like  an  illusion. 

"And  look,  Padre!     The  broth— isn't  it  good?" 

Jose  tasted,  and  declared  it  delicious. 

"Well,  you  know" — the  enthusiastic  little  maid  clambered 
up  on  the  bed — "yesterday  it  was  Manuela — she  was  my  hen. 
I  told  her  a  week  ago  that  you  would  need  her — " 

"And  you  gave  up  your  hen  for  me,  little  one?"  he  inter 
rupted. 

"Why — yes,  Padre.  It  was  all  right.  I  told  her  how  it  was. 
And  she  clucked  so  hard,  I  knew  she  was  glad  to  help  the 
good  Cura.  And  she  was  so  happy  about  it!  I  told  her  she 
really  wouldn't  die.  You  know,  things  never  do — do  they?" 

The  priest  hesitated.  To  hide  his  confusion  and  gain  time 
he  began  to  eat  rapidly. 

"No,  they  don't,"  said  the  girl  confidently,  answering  her 
own  question.  "Because,"  she  added,  "God  is  everywhere — 
isn't  He?" 

What  manner  of  answer  could  he,  of  all  men,  make  to  such 

14 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


terribly  direct  questions  as  these!  And  it  was  well  that  Car 
men  evidently  expected  none — that  in  her  great  innocence  she 
assumed  for  him  the  same  beautiful  faith  which  she  herself 
held. 

"Dona  Jacinta  didn't  die  last  week.  But  they  said  she  did; 
and  so  they  took  her  to  the  cemetery  and  put  her  in  a  dark 
boueda.  And  the  black  buzzards  sat  on  the  wall  and  watched 
them.  Padre  Rosendo  said  she  had  gone  to  the  angels — that 
God  took  her.  But,  Padre,  God  doesn't  make  people  sick,  does 
He?  They  get  sick  because  they  don't  know  who  He  is.  Every 
day  I  told  God  I  knew  He  would  cure  you.  And  He  did,  didn't 
He?" 

While  the  girl  paused  for  breath,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and 
her  face  glowed  with  exaltation.  Child-like,  her  active  mind 
flew  from  one  topic  to  another,  with  no  thought  of  connecting 
links. 

"This  morning,  Padre,  two  little  green  parrots  flew  across 
the  lake  and  perched  on  our  roof.  And  they  sat  there  and 
watched  Cucumbra  eat  his  breakfast;  and  they  tried  to  steal 
his  fish;  and  they  scolded  so  loud!  Why  did  they  want  to 
steal  from  him,  when  there  is  so  much  to  eat  everywhere? 
But  they  didn't  know  any  better,  did  they?  I  don't  think 
parrots  love  each  other  very  much,  for  they  scold  so  hard. 
Padre,  it  is  so  dark  in  here;  come  out  and  see  the  sun  and  the 
lake  and  the  mountains.  And  my  garden — Padre,  it  is  beauti 
ful!  Esteban  said  next  time  he  went  up  the  trail  he  would 
bring  me  a  monkey  for  a  pet;  and  I  am  going  to  name  it  Hom- 
brecito.  And  Captain  Julio  is  going  to  bring  me  a  doll  from 
down  the  river.  But,"  with  a  merry,  musical  trill,  "Juan  said 
the  night  you  came  that  you  were  my  doll!  Isn't  he  funny!" 
And  throwing  back  her  little  head,  the  child  laughed  heartily. 

"Padre,  you  must  help  padre  Rosendo  with  his  arithmetic. 
Every  night  he  puts  on  his  big  spectacles  and  works  so  hard 
to  understand  it.  He  says  he  knows  Satan  made  fractions. 
But,  Padre,  that  isn't  so,  is  it?  Not  if  God  made  everything. 
Padre,  you  know  everything,  don't  you?  Padre  Rosendo  said 
you  did.  There  are  lots  of  things  I  want  you  to  tell  me — such 
lots  of  things  that  nobody  here  knows  anything  about.  Padre," 
- — the  child  leaned  toward  the  priest  and  whispered  low — "the 
people  here  don't  know  who  God  is;  and  you  are  going  to  teach 
them!  There  was  a  Cura  here  once,  when  I  was  a  baby;  but 
I  guess  he  didn't  know  God,  either." 

She  lapsed  into  silence,  as  if  pondering  this  thought.  Then, 
clapping  her  hands  with  unfeigned  joy,  she  cried  in  a  shrill 
little  voice,  "Oh,  Padre,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  to  Simiti! 
I  just  knew  God  would  not  forget  us!" 

15 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Jose  had  no  reply  to  make.  His  thought  was  busy  with 
the  phenomenon  before  him:  a  child  of  man,  but  one  who,  like 
Israel  of  old,  saw  God  and  heard  His  voice  at  every  turn  of 
her  daily  walk.  Untutored  in  the  ways  of  men,  without  trace 
of  sophistication  or  cant,  unblemished  as  she  moved  among 
the  soiled  vessels  about  her,  shining  with  celestial  radiance  in 
this  unknown,  moldering  town  so  far  from  the  world's  beaten 
paths. 

The  door  opened  softly  and  Rosendo  entered,  preceded  by 
a  cheery  greeting. 

"Hombre!"  he  exclaimed,  surveying  the  priest,  "but  you 
mend  fast!  You  have  eaten  all  the  broth!  But  I  told  the  good 
wife  that  the  little  Carmen  would  be  better  than  medicine  for 
you,  and  that  you  must  have  her  just  as  soon  as  you  should 
awake." 

Jose's  eyes  dilated  with  astonishment.  Absorbed  in  the 
child,  he  had  consumed  almost  his  entire  breakfast. 

"He  is  well,  padre  Rosendo,  he  is  well!"  cried  the  girl, 
bounding  up  and  down  and  dancing  about  the  tall  form  of  her 
foster-father.  Then,  darting  to  Jose,  she  seized  his  hand  and 
cried,  "Now  to  see  my  garden!  And  Cucumbra!  And — !" 

"Quiet,  child!"  commanded  Rosendo,  taking  her  by  the 
arm.  "The  good  Cura  is  ill,  and  must  rest  for  several  days 
yet." 

"No,  padre  Rosendo,  he  is  well — all  well!  Aren't  you, 
Padre?"  appealing  to  Jose,  and  again  urging  him  forth. 

The  rapidity  of  the  conversation  and  the  animation  of  the 
beautiful  child  caused  complete  forgetfulness  of  self,  and,  to 
gether  with  the  restorative  effect  of  the  wholesome  food,  acted 
upon  the  priest  like  a  magical  tonic.  Weak  though  he  was,  he 
clung  to  her  hand  and,  struggling  out  of  the  bed,  stood  uncer 
tainly  upon  the  floor.  Instantly  Rosendo's  arm  was  about  him. 

"Don't  try  it,  Padre,"  the  latter  urged  anxiously.  "The 
heat  will  be  too  much  for  you.  Another  day  or  two  of  rest  will 
make  you  right." 

But  the  priest,  heedless  of  the  admonition,  suffered  himself 
to  be  led  by  the  child;  and  together  they  passed  slowly  out  into 
the  living  room,  through  the  kitchen,  and  thence  into  the 
diminutive  rose  garden,  the  pride  of  the  little  Carmen. 

Dona  Maria,  wife  of  Rosendo,  was  bending  over  the  primi 
tive  fireplace,  busy  with  her  matutinal  duties,  having  just 
dusted  the  ashes  from  a  corn  arepa  which  she  had  prepared 
for  her  consort's  simple  luncheon.  She  was  a  woman  well 
into  the  autumn  of  life;  but  her  form- possessed  something  of 
the  elegance  of  the  Spanish  dames  of  the  colonial  period;  her 
countenance  bore  an  expression  of  benevolence,  which  ema- 

16 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


nated  from  a  gentle  and  affectionate  heart;  and  her  manner 
combined  both  dignity  and  suavity.  She  greeted  the  priest 
tenderly,  and  expressed  mingled  surprise  and  joy  that  he  felt 
able  to  leave  his  bed  so  soon.  But  as  her  eyes  caught  Rosendo's 
meaning  glance,  and  then  turned  to  the  child,  they  seemed  to 
indicate  a  full  comprehension  of  the  situation. 

The  rose  garden  consisted  of  a  few  square  feet  of  black 
earth,  bordered  by  bits  of  shale,  and  seemingly  scarce  able  to 
furnish  nourishment  for  the  three  or  four  little  bushes.  But, 
though  small,  these  were  blooming  in  profusion. 

"Padre  Rosendo  did  this!"  exclaimed  the  delighted  girl. 
"Every  night  he  brings  water  from  La  Cienaga  for  them!" 

Rosendo  smiled  patronizingly  upon  the  child;  but  Jose  saw 
in  the  glance  of  his  argus  eyes  a  tenderness  and  depth  of  affec 
tion  for  her  which  bespoke  nothing  short  of  adoration. 

Carmen  bent  over  the  roses,  fondling  and  kissing  them,  and 
addressing  them  endearing  names. 

"She  calls  them  God's  kisses,"  whispered  Rosendo  to  the 
priest. 

At  that  moment  a  low  growl  was  heard.  Jose  turned  quick 
ly  and  confronted  a  gaunt  dog,  a  wild  breed,  with  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  priest  and  white  fangs  showing  menacingly  beneath 
a  curling  lip. 

"Oh,  Cucumbra!"  cried  the  child,  rushing  to  the  beast  and 
throwing  her  arms  about  its  shaggy  neck.  "Haven't  I  told  you 
to  love  everybody?  And  is  that  the  way  to  show  it?  Now 
kiss  the  Cura's  hand,  for  he  loves  you." 

The  brute  sank  at  her  feet.  Then  as  she  took  the  priest's 
hand  and  held  it  to  the  dog's  mouth,  he  licked  it  with  his 
rough  tongue. 

The  priest's  brain  was  now  awhirl.  He  stood  gazing  at  the 
child  as  if  fascinated.  Through  his  jumbled  thought  there  ran 
an  insistent  strain,  "He  that  hath  seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father. 
The  Father  dwelleth  in  me  and  I  in  Him."  He  did  not  associate 
these  words  with  the  Nazarene  now,  but  with  the  barefoot  girl 
before  him.  Again  within  the  farthest  depths  of  his  soul  he 
heard  the  soft  note  of  a  vibrating  chord — that  chord  which  all 
the  years  of  his  unhappy  life  had  hung  mute,  until  here,  in  this 
moldering  town,  in  the  wilderness  of  forgotten  Guamoco,  the 
hand  of  Love  had  swept  it. 

The  sun  stood  at  the  zenith.  The  day  was  white-hot.  Doiia 
Maria  summoned  her  little  family  to  the  midday  repast.  Ro 
sendo  brought  a  chair  for  Jose  and  placed  it  near  the  rose 
garden  in  the  shade  of  the  house,  for,  despite  all  protest,  the 
priest  had  stubbornly  refused  to  return  to  his  bed.  Left  now  to 
himself,  his  thought  hovered  about  the  child,  and  then  drifted 

17 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


out  across  the  incandescent  shales  to  the  beautiful  lake  beyond. 
The  water  lay  like  shimmering  glass.  In  the  distance  the 
wooded  slopes  of  the  San  Lucas  mountains  rose  like  green  bil 
lows.  Brooding  silence  spread  over  the  scene.  It  was  Nature's 
hour  of  siesta.  In  his  own  heart  there  was  a  great  peace — and 
a  strange  expectancy.  He  seemed  to  be  awaiting  a  revelation 
of  things  close  at  hand.  In  a  way  he  felt  that  he  had  accom 
plished  his  purpose  of  coming  to  Simiti  to  die,  and  that  he  was 
now  awaiting  the  resurrection. 

The  peaceful  revery  was  interrupted  by  Rosendo.  "Padre, 
if  you  will  not  return  to  your  bed—  He  regarded  the  priest 
dubiously. 

"No,  Rosendo.  I  grow  stronger  every  minute.  But — where 
is  Carmen?" 

"She  must  help  her  mother." 

A  long  pause  ensued,  while  Jose  impatiently  waited  for 
Rosendo  to  continue.  The  child  was  becoming  his  obsession. 
He  was  eager  to  talk  of  her,  to  learn  her  history,  to  see  her, 
for  her  presence  meant  complete  obliteration  of  self. 

"Padre,"  Rosendo  at  length  emerged  from  his  meditation. 
"I  would  like  to  speak  of  the  little  Carmen." 

"Yes,"  responded  Jose  with  animation.  Life  and  strength 
seemed  to  return  to  him  with  a  bound. 

"But — what  say  you?  Shall  we  visit  the  church,  which  is 
only  across  the  road?  There  we  can  talk  without  interruption. 
No  one  will  be  in  the  streets  during  the  heat.  And  I  will 
carry  you  over." 

"Let  us  go  to  the  church,  yes;  but  I  can  walk.  It  is  only  a 
step." 

Jose  leaned  upon  Rosendo,  the  latter  supporting  him  with 
his  great  arm,  and  together  they  crossed  the  road  and  mounted 
the  shale  platform  on  which  stood  the  ancient  edifice.  Rosendo 
produced  a  huge  key  of  antique  pattern;  and  the  rusty  lock, 
after  much  resistance,  yielded  with  a  groan,  and  the  heavy 
door  creaked  open,  emitting  an  odor  of  dampness  and  must. 
Doffing  their  hats,  the  men  entered  the  long,  barn-like  room. 
Rosendo  carefully  closed  and  locked  the  door  behind  them,  a 
precaution  necessary  in  a  drowsing  town  of  this  nature,  where 
the  simple  folk  who  see  day  after  day  pass  without  concern  or 
event  to  break  the  deadening  monotony,  assemble  in  eager, 
buzzing  multitudes  at  the  slightest  prospect  of  extraordinary 
interest. 

The  room  was  dimly  lighted,  and  was  open  to  the  peak  of 
the  roof.  From  the  rough-hewn  rafters  above  hung  hundreds 
of  hideous  bats.  At  the  far  end  stood  the  altar.  It  was 
adorned  with  decrepit  images,  and  held  a  large  wooden  statue 

18 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  the  Virgin.  This  latter  object  was  veiled  with  two  flimsy 
curtains,  which  were  designed  to  be  raised  and  lowered  with 
great  pomp  and  the  ringing  of  a  little  bell  during  service.  The 
image  was  attired  in  real  clothes,  covered  with  tawdry  finery, 
gilt  paper,  and  faded  ribbons.  The  head  bore  a  wig  of  hair; 
and  the  face  was  painted,  although  great  sections  of  the  paint 
had  fallen  away,  leaving  the  suggestion  of  pockmarks.  Beneath 
this  image  was  located  the  sagrario,  the  little  cupboard  in  which 
the  hostia,  the  sacred  wafer,  was  wont  to  be  kept  exposed  in 
the  custodia,  a  cheap  receptacle  composed  of  two  watch  crys 
tals.  At  either  side  of  this  stood  half  consumed  wax  tapers.  A 
few  rough  benches  were  strewn  about  the  floor;  and  dust  and 
green  mold  lay  thick  over  all. 

At  the  far  right-hand  corner  of  the  building  a  lean-to  had 
been  erected  to  serve  as  the  sacristia,  or  vestry.  In  the  worm- 
eaten  wardrobe  within  hung  a  few  vestments,  adorned  with 
cheap  finery,  and  heavily  laden  with  dust,  over  which  scam 
pered  vermin  of  many  varieties.  An  air  of  desolation  and 
abandon  hung  over  the  whole  church,  and  to  Jose  seemed  to 
symbolize  the  decay  of  a  sterile  faith. 

Rosendo  carefully  dusted  off  a  bench  near  one  of  the  win 
dows  and  bade  Jose  be  seated. 

"Padre,"  he  began,  after  some  moments  of  deep  reflection, 
"the  little  Carmen  is  not  an  ordinary  child." 

"I  have  seen  that,  Rosendo,"  interposed  Jose. 

"We — we  do  not  understand  her,"  Rosendo  went  on,  care 
fully  weighing  his  words;  "and  we  sometimes  think  she  is  not 
—not  altogether  like  us — that  her  coming  was  a  miracle.  But 
you  do  not  believe  in  miracles,"  he  added  quizzically. 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  Rosendo?"  Jose  returned  in  sur 
prise. 

Rosendo  paused  before  replying. 

"You  were  very  sick,  Padre;  and  in  the  fever  you—  '  the 
impeccably  honest  fellow  hesitated. 

"Yes,  I  thought  so,"  said  Jose  with  an  air  of  weary  resigna 
tion.  "And  what  else  did  I  say,  Rosendo?" 

The  faultless  courtesy  of  the  artless  Rosendo,  a  courtesy 
so  genuine  that  Jose  knew  it  came  right  from  the  heart,  made 
conversation  on  this  topic  a  matter  of  extreme  difficulty  to  him. 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,  Padre,"  he  said  reassuringly.  "I  alone 
heard  you.  Whenever  you  began  to  talk  I  would  not  let  others 
listen;  and  I  stayed  with  you  every  day  and  night.  But — it  is 
just  because  of  what  you  said  in  the  calentura  that  I  am  speak 
ing  to  you  now  of  the  little  Carmen." 

Because  of  what  he  had  said  in  his  delirium!  Jose's  aston 
ishment  grew  apace. 

19 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre,  many  bad  priests  have  been  sent  to  Simiti.  It  has 
been  our  curse.  Priests  who  stirred  up  revolution  elsewhere, 
who  committed  murder,  and  ruined  the  lives  of  fair  women, 
have  been  put  upon  us.  And  when  in  Badillo  I  learned  that 
you  had  been  sent  to  our  parish,  I  was  filled  with  fear.  I — I 
lost  a  daughter,  Padre— 

The  good  man  hesitated  again.  Then,  as  a  look  of  stern 
resolution  spread  over  his  strong,  dark  face,  he  continued: 

"It  was  Padre  Diego!  We  drove  him  out  of  Simiti  four 
years  ago.  But  my  daughter,  my  only  child,  went  with  him." 
The  great  frame  shook  with  emotion,  while  he  hurried  on 
disconnectedly. 

"Padre,  the  priest  Diego  said  that  the  little  Carmen  should 
become  a  Sister — a  nun — that  she  must  be  sent  to  the  convent 
in  Mompox — that  she  belonged  to  the  Church,  and  the  Church 
would  some  day  have  her.  But,  by  the  Holy  Virgin,  the  Church 
shall  not  have  her!  And  I  myself  will  slay  her  before  this 
altar  rather  than  let  such  as  Padre  Diego  lay  their  slimy  paws 
upon  the  angel  child!" 

Rosendo  leaped  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  with 
great  strides.  The  marvelous  frame  of  the  man,  in  which  beat 
a  heart  too  big  for  the  sordid  passions  of  the  flesh,  trembled  as 
he  walked.  Jose  watched  him  in  mute  admiration,  mingled 
writh  astonishment  and  a  heightened  sense  of  expectancy.  Pres 
ently  Rosendo  returned  and  seated  himself  again  beside  the 
priest. 

"Padre,  I  have  lived  in  terror  ever  since  Diego  left  Simiti. 
For  myself  I  do  not  fear,  for  if  ever  I  meet  with  the  wretch  I 
shall  wring  his  neck  with  my  naked  hands!  But — for  the  little 
Carmen — Dios!  they  might  steal  her  at  any  time!  There  are 
men  here  who  would  do  it  for  a  few  pesos!  And  how  could 
I  prevent  it?  I  pray  daily  to  the  Virgin  to  protect  her.  She- 
she  is  the  light  of  my  life.  I  watch  over  her  hourly.  I  neglect 
my  hacienda,  that  I  may  guard  her — and  I  am  a  poor  man, 
and  cannot  afford  not  to  work." 

The  man  buried  his  face  in  his  huge  hands  and  groaned 
aloud.  Jose  remained  pityingly  silent,  knowing  that  Rosendo's 
heaving  heart  must  empty  itself. 

"Padre,"  Rosendo  at  length  raised  his  head.  His  features 
were  drawn,  but  his  eyes  glowed  fiercely.  "Priests  have  com 
mitted  dark  deeds  here,  and  this  altar  has  dripped  with  blood. 
When  a  child,  with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  a  priest  elevate  the  Host 
before  this  altar,  as  the  people  knelt  in  adoration.  While  their 
heads  were  bowed  I  saw  him  drive  a  knife  into  the  neck  of  a 
man  who  was  his  enemy;  and  the  blood  spurted  over  the  image 
of  the  Virgin  and  fell  upon  the  Sacred  Host  itself!  And  what 

20 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


did  the  wicked  priest  say  in  defense?  Simply  that  he  took  this 
time  to  assassinate  his  man  because  then  the  victim  could  die 
adoring  the  Host  and  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances 
for  salvation!  Hombre!  And  did  the  priest  pay  the  penalty 
for  his  crime?  No!  The  Bishop  of  Cartagena  transferred  him 
to  another  parish,  and  told  him  to  do  better  in  future!" 

Jose  started  in  horror.    But  Rosendo  did  not  stop. 

"And  I  remember  the  story  my  father  used  to  tell  of  the 
priest  who  poisoned  a  whole  family  in  Simiti  with  the  com 
munion  wafer.  Their  estates  had  been  willed  to  the  Church, 
and  he  was  impatient  to  have  the  management  of  them.  Again 
nothing  was  done  about  it." 

"But,  Rosendo,  if  Simiti  has  been  so  afflicted  by  bad  priests, 
why  are  you  confiding  in  me?"  Jose  asked  in  wonder. 

"Because,  Padre,"  Rosendo  replied,  "in  the  fever  you  said 
many  things  that  made  me  think  you  were  not  a  bad  man.  I 
did  suspect  you  at  first — but  not  after  I  heard  you  talk  in  your 
sleep.  You,  too,  have  suffered.  And  the  Church  has  caused 
it.  No,  not  God;  but  the  men  who  say  they  know  what  He 
thinks  and  says.  They  make  us  all  suffer.  And  after  I  heard 
you  tell  those  things  in  your  fever-sleep,  I  said  to  Maria  that 
if  you  lived  I  knew  you  would  help  me  protect  the  little  Car 
men.  Then,  too,  you  are  a —  He  lapsed  abruptly  into  silence. 

Jose  pressed  Rosendo's  hand.     "Tell  me  about  her.     You 
have  said  she  is  not  your  daughter.     I  ask  only  because  of 
sincere  affection  for  you  all,  and  because  the  child  has  aroused, 
in  me  an  unwonted  interest." 

Rosendo  looked  steadily  into  the  eyes  of  the  priest  for  some 
moments.  Jose  as  steadily  returned  the  glance.  From  the 
eyes  of  the  one  there  emanated  a  soul-searching  scrutiny;  from 
those  of  the  other  an  answering  bid  for  confidence.  The  bid 
was  accepted. 

"Padre,"  began  Rosendo,  "I  place  trust  in  you.  Something 
makes  me  believe  that  you  are  not  like  other  priests  I  have 
known.  And  I  have  seen  that  you  already  love  the  little  Car 
men.  No,  she  is  not  my  child.  One  day,  about  eight  years  ago, 
a  steamer  on  its  way  down  the  river  touched  at  Badillo  to  put 
off  a  young  woman,  who  was  so  sick  that  the  captain  feared 
she  would  die  on  board.  He  knew  nothing  of  her,  except  that 
she  had  embarked  at  Honda  and  was  bound  for  Barranquilla. 
He  hoped  that  by  leaving  her  in  the  care  of  the  good  people  of 
Badillo  something  might  be  done.  The  boat  went  its  way;  and 
the  next  morning  the  woman  died,  shortly  after  her  babe  was 
born.  They  buried  her  back  of  the  village,  and  Escolastico's 
woman  took  the  child.  They  tried  to  learn  the  history  of  the 
mother;  but,  though  the  captain  of  the  boat  made  many  in- 

21 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


quiries,  he  could  only  find  that  she  had  come  from  Bogota  the 
day  before  the  boat  left  Honda,  and  that  she  was  then  very  sick. 
Some  weeks  afterward  Escolastico  happened  to  come  to  Simiti, 
and  told  me  the  story.  He  complained  that  his  family  was 
already  large,  and  that  his  woman  found  the  care  of  the  babe 
a  burden.  I  love  children,  Padre,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
could  find  a  place  for  the  little  one,  and  I  told  him  I  would 
fetch  her.  And  so  a  few  days  later  I  brought  her  to  Simiti.  But 
before  leaving  Badillo  I  fixed  a  wooden  cross  over  the  mother's 
grave  and  wrote  on  it  in  pencil  the  name  'Dolores'  for  that 
was  the  name  in  the  little  gold  locket  which  we  found  in  her 
valise.  There  were  some  clothes,  better  than  the  average,  and 
the  locket.  In  the  locket  wrere  two  small  pictures,  one  of  a 
young  man,  with  the  name  'Guillermo'  written  beneath  it,  and 
one  of  the  woman,  with  'Dolores'  under  it.  That  was  all. 
Captain  Julio  took  the  locket  to  Honda  when  he  made  inquiries 
there;  but  brought  it  back  again,  saying  that  nobody  recog 
nized  the  faces.  I  named  the  babe  Carmen,  and  have  brought 
her  up  as  my  own  child.  She — Padre,  I  adore  her!" 

Jose  listened  in  breathless  silence. 

"But  we  sometimes  think,"  said  Rosendo,  resuming  his 
dramatic  narrative,  "that  it  was  all  a  miracle,  perhaps  a  dream; 
that  it  was  the  angels  who  left  the  babe  on  the  river  bank,  for 
she  herself  is  not  of  the  earth." 

"Tell  me,  Rosendo,  just  what  you  mean,"  said  Jose  rev 
erently,  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  the  older  man's  arm. 

Rosendo  shook  his  head  slowly.  "Talk  with  her,  Padre,  and 
you  will  see.  I  cannot  explain.  Only,  she  is  not  like  us.  She 
is  like — " 

His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

—she  is  like — God.     And  she  knows  Him  better  than  she 
knows  me." 

Jose's  head  slowly  sank  upon  his  breast.  The  gloom  within 
the  musty  church  was  thick;  and  the  bats  stirred  restlessly 
among  the  dusty  rafters  overhead.  Outside,  the  relentless  heat 
poured  down  upon  the  deserted  streets. 

"Padre,"  Rosendo  resumed.  "In  the  calentura  you  talked 
of  wonderful  things.  You  spoke  of  kings  and  popes  and  for 
eign  lands,  of  beautiful  cities  and  great  marvels  of  which  we 
know  nothing.  It  was  wonderful!  And  you  recited  beautiful 
poems — but  often  in  other  tongues  than  ours.  Padre,  you  must 
be  very  learned.  I  listened,  and  was  astonished,  for  we  are 
so  ignorant  here  in  Simiti,  oh,  so  ignorant!  We  have  no 
schools,  and  our  poor  little  children  grow  up  to  be  only  peones 
and  fishermen.  But— the  little  Carmen— ah,  she  has  a  mind! 
Padre — " 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Again  he  lapsed  into  silence,  as  if  fearful  to  ask  the  boon. 

"Yes,  Rosendo,  yes,"  Jose  eagerly  reassured  him.     "Go  on." 

Rosendo  turned  full  upon  the  priest  and  spoke  rapidly. 
"Padre,  will  you  teach  the  little  Carmen  what  you  know?  Will 
you  make  her  a  strong,  learned  woman,  and  fit  her  to  do  big 
things  in  the  world — and  then — then — " 

"Yes,  Rosendo?" 

" — then  get  her  away  from  Simiti?  She  does  not  belong 
here,  Padre.  And — "  his  voice  sank  to  a  hoarse  whisper — 
"will  you  help  me  keep  her  from  the  Church?" 

Jose  sat  staring  at  the  man  with  dilating  eyes. 

"Padre,  she  has  her  own  Church.     U  is  her  heart." 

He  leaned  over  and  laid  a  hand  upon  the  priest's  knee.  His 
dark  eyes  seemed  to  burn  like  glowing  coals.  His  whispered 
words  were  fraught  with  a  meaning  which  Jose  would  some 
day  learn. 

"Padre,  that  must  be  left  alone!" 

A  long  silence  fell  upon  the  two  men,  the  one  massive  of 
frame  and  black  of  face,  but  with  a  mind  as  simple  as  a  child's 
and  a  heart  as  white  as  the  snow  that  sprinkled  his  raven 
locks — the  other  a  youth  in  years,  but  bowed  with  disappoint 
ment  and  suffering;  yet  now  listening  with  hushed  breath  to 
the  words  that  rolled  with  a  mighty  reverberation  through  the 
chambers  of  his  soul: 

"I  am  God,  and  there  is  none  else!  Behold,  I  come  quickly! 
Arise,  shine,  for  thy  light  is  come!" 

The  sweet  face  of  the  child  rose  out  of  the  gloom  before 
the  priest.  The  years  rolled  back  like  a  curtain,  and  he  saw 
himself  at  her  tender  age,  a  white,  unformed  soul,  awaiting 
the  sculptor's  hand.  God  forbid  that  the  hand  which  shaped 
his  career  should  form  the  plastic  mind  of  this  girl! 

Of  a  sudden  a  great  thought  flashed  out  of  the  depths  of 
eternity  and  into  his  brain,  a  thought  which  seemed  to  illumine 
his  whole  past  life.  In  the  clear  light  thereof  he  seemed  in 
stantly  to  read  meanings  in  numberless  events  which  to  that 
hour  had  remained  hidden.  His  complex,  misshapen  career 
— could  it  have  been  a  preparation? — and  for  this?  He  had 
yearned  to  serve  his  fellow-men,  but  had  miserably  failed. 
For,  while  to  will  wras  always  present  with  him,  even  as  with 
Paul,  yet  how  to  perform  that  which  was  good  he  found  not. 
But  now — what  an  opportunity  opened  before  him!  What  a 
beautiful  offering  of  self  was  here  made  possible?  God,  what 
a  privilege! 

Rosendo  sat  stolid,  buried  in  thought.  Jose  reached  out 
through  the  dim  light  and  grasped  his  black  hand.  His  eyes 
were  lucent,  his  heart  burned  with  the  fire  of  an  unknown 
enthusiasm,  and  speech  stumbled  across  his  lips. 

23 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Rosendo,  I  came  to  Simiti  to  die.  And  now  I  know  that  I 
shall  die — to  myself.  But  thereby  shall  I  live.  Yes,  I  shall 
live!  And  here  before  this  altar,  in  the  sight  of  that  God  whom 
she  knows  so  well,  I  pledge  my  new-found  life  to  Carmen.  My 
mind,  my  thought,  my  strength,  are  henceforth  hers.  May 
her  God  direct  me  in  their  right  use  for  His  beautiful  child!" 

Jose  and  Rosendo  rose  from  the  bench  with  hands  still 
clasped.  In  that  hour  the  priest  was  born  again. 


CHAPTER  4 

"TTE  that  loseth  his  life  for  my  sake  shall  find  it." 
rH  The  reporters  of  the  unique  Man  of  Galilee,  upon 
whose  straining  ears  these  words  fell,  noted  them  for 
future  generations  of  footsore  pilgrims  on  life's  wandering 
highway — for  the  rich,  satiated  with  their  gorgeous  gluttonies; 
for  the  proud  Levite,  with  his  feet  enmeshed  in  the  lifeless 
letter  of  the  Law;  for  the  loathsome  and  outcast  beggar  at  the 
gates  of  Dives.  And  for  Jose  de  Rincon,  priest  of  the  Holy 
Catholic  Church  and  vicar  of  Christ,  scion  of  aristocracy  and 
worldly  learning,  now  humbled  and  blinded,  like  Paul  on  the 
road  to  Damascus,  begging  that  his  spiritual  sight  might  be 
opened  to  the  glory  of  the  One  with  whom  he  had  not  known 
how  to  walk. 

Returning  in  silence  from  the  church  to  Rosendo's  humble 
cottage,  Jose  had  asked  leave  to  retire.  He  would  be  alone  with 
the  great  Presence  which  had  come  to  him  across  the  desert 
of  his  life,  and  now  stood  before  him  in  the  brightness  of  the 
undimmed  sun.  He  no  longer  felt  ill  nor  exhausted.  Indeed, 
quite  the  contrary;  a  quickened  sense  of  life,  an  eagerness  to 
embrace  the  opportunity  opening  before  him,  caused  his  chest 
to  heave  and  his  shrunken  veins  to  throb. 

On  his  bed  in  the  darkened  room  he  lay  in  a  deep  silence, 
broken  only  at  intervals  by  the  hurried  scampering  of  lizards 
darting  through  the  interstices  of  the  dry  walls.  His  uncom 
prehending  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  dust-laden  thatch  of  the 
roof  overhead,  where  droning  wasps  toiled  upon  their  frail 
abodes.  He  lay  with  the  portals  of  his  mind  opened  wide. 
Through  them,  in  ceaseless  flow,  passed  two  streams  which 
did  not  mingle.  The  one,  outward  bound,  turbid  with  its 
burden  of  egoism,  fear,  perplexity,  and  hopelessness,  which, 
like  barnacles,  had  fastened  to  his  soul  on  its  chartless  voyage; 
the  other,  a  stream  of  hope  and  confidence  and  definite  pur 
pose,  a  stream  which  leaped  arid  sang  in  the  warm  sunlight  of 
Love  as  it  poured  into  his  receptive  brain. 

24 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  fresh  thought  which  flowed  into  his  mental  chambers 
rapidly  formed  into  orderly  plans,  all  centering  upon  the  child, 
Carmen.  What  could  he  teach  her?  The  relative  truths  and 
worldly  knowledge — purified,  as  far  as  in  him  lay,  from  the 
dross  of  speculation  and  human  opinion — which  lay  stored  in 
the  archives  of  his  mind?  Yes;  but  that  was  all.  History,  and 
its  interpretation  of  human  progress;  the  languages;  mathe 
matics,  and  the  elements  of  the  physical  sciences;  literature; 
and  a  knowledge  of  people  and  places.  With  these  his  retentive 
mind  was  replete.  But  beyond  this  he  must  learn  of  her.  And 
her  tutor,  he  now  knew,  was  the  Master  Mind,  omniscient  God. 
And  he  knew,  more,  that  she  possessed  secrets  whose  potency 
he  might  as  yet  scarcely  imagine.  For,  in  an  environment  which 
for  dearth  of  mental  stimulus  and  incentive  could  scarcely  be 
matched;  amid  poverty  but  slightly  raised  above  actual  want; 
untouched  by  the  temperamental  hopelessness  which  lies  just 
beneath  the  surface  of  these  dull,  simple  folk,  this  child  lived 
a  life  of  such  ecstasy  as  might  well  excite  the  envy  of  the 
world's  potentates. 

But  meantime,  what  should  be  his  attitude  toward  the 
parish?  He  fully  realized  that  he  and  the  Church  were  now 
as  far  apart  as  the  poles.  Yet  this  was  become  his  parish,  the 
first  he  had  ever  held;  and  these  were  his  people.  And  he 
must  face  them  and  preach — what?  If  not  the  Catholic  faith, 
then  would  he  be  speedily  removed.  And  that  meant  complete 
disruption  of  his  rapidly  formulating  plans.  But  might  he  not 
in  that  event  flee  with  Carmen,  renounce  the  Church,  and — 

Impossible!  Excommunication  alone  could  sever  the  oath 
by  which  the  Church  held  him.  And  for  that  he  could  not  say 
that  he  was  ready.  For  excommunication  meant  disgrace  to 
his  mother — perhaps  the  snapping  of  a  heart  already  sorely 
strained.  To  renounce  his  oath  was  dishonor.  To  preach  the 
Catholic  faith  without  sincerity  was  scarcely  less.  Yet  amid 
present  circumstances  this  seemed  the  only  course  open  to 
him. 

But  what  must  he  teach  Carmen  in  regard  to  the  Church? 
Could  he  maintain  his  position  in  it,  yet  not  of  it;  and  at  the 
same  time  rear  her  without  its  pale,  yet  so  as  not  to  conflict 
with  the  people  of  Simiti,  nor  cause  such  comment  as  might 
reach  the  ears  of  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena?  God  alone  knew. 
It  must  be  attempted,  at  any  rate.  There  was  no  other  way. 
And  if  it  was  God's  plan,  he  might  safely  trust  Him  for  the 
requisite  strength  and  wisdom.  For  this  course  the  isolation 
of  Simiti  and  the  childish  simplicity  of  its  people  afforded  a 
tremendous  advantage.  On  the  other  hand,  he  knew  that  both 
he  and  Carmen  had  powerful  enemies.  Yet,  one  with  God 
might  rout  a  host.  And  Carmen  walked  with  God. 

12  25 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Thus  throughout  the  afternoon  the  priest  weighed  and  pon 
dered  the  thoughts  that  sought  admission  to  his  reawakened 
mind.  He  was  not  interrupted  until  sundown;  and  then  Car 
men  entered  the  room  with  a  bowl  of  chocolate  and  some  small 
wheaten  loaves.  Behind  her,  with  an  amusing  show  of  dignity, 
stalked  a  large  heron,  an  elegant  bird,  with  long,  scarlet  legs, 
gray  plumage,  and  a  gracefully  curved  neck.  When  the  bird 
reached  the  threshold  it  stopped,  and  without  warning  gave 
vent  to  a  prolonged  series  of  shrill,  unmusical  sounds.  The 
startled  priest  sat  up  in  his  bed  and  exclaimed  in  amazement. 

"It  is  only  Cantar-las-horas,  Padre,"  laughed  the  little  maid. 
"He  follows  me  wherever  I  go,  unless  he  is  off  fishing.  Some 
times  when  I  go  out  in  the  boat  with  padre  Rosendo  he  flies 
clear  across  the  lake  to  meet  us.  He  is  lots  older  than  I,  and 
years  ago,  when  there  were  Curas  here,  he  learned  his  song. 
Whenever  the  Angelas  rang  he  would  try  to  sing  just  like  it; 
and  now  he  has  the  habit  and  can't  help  it.  But  he  is  such 
a  dear,  wise  old  fellow,"  twining  a  chubby  arm  lovingly  about 
the  bird's  slender  neck;  "and  he  always  sings  just  at  six  o'clock, 
the  time  the  Angelas  used  to  ring." 

The  heron  manifested  the  deepest  affection  for  the  child  as 
she  gently  stroked  its  plumage  and  caressed  its  long,  pointed 
bill. 

"But  how  do  you  suppose  he  knows  when  it  is  just  six 
o'clock,  chiquita?"  asked  Jose,  deeply  interested  in  the  strange 
phenomenon. 

"God  tells  him,  Padre,"  was  the  direct  and  simple  reply. 

Assuredly,  he  should  have  known  that!  But  he  was  fast 
learning  of  this  unusual  child,  whose  every  movement  was  a 
demonstration  of  Immanuel. 

"Does  God  tell  you  what  to  do,  Carmen?"  he  asked,  seeking 
to  draw  out  the  girl's  strange  thought,  that  he  might  probe 
deeper  into  her  religious  convictions. 

"Why,  yes,  Padre."  Her  tone  expressed  surprise.  "Doesn't 
He  tell  you,  too?"  Her  great  eyes  searched  him.  He  was  a 
Caret;  he  should  be  very  close  to  God. 

"Yes,  chiquita— that  is,  He  has  told  me  to-day  what  to  do." 

There  was  a  shade  of  disappointment  in  her  voice  when 
she  replied:  "I  guess  you  mean  you  listened  to  Him  to-day, 
don't  you,  Padre?  I  think  sometimes  you  don't  want  to  hear 
Him.  But,"  she  finished  with  a  little  sigh,  "there  are  lots  of 
people  here  who  don't;  and  that  is  why  they  are  sick  and  un 
happy." 

Jose  was  learning  another  lesson,  that  of  guarding  his 
speech  to  this  ingenuous  girl.  He  discreetlv  changed  the  sub 
ject. 

26 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"What  have  you  been  doing  this  afternoon,  little  one?" 

Her  eyes  instantly  brightened,  and  the  dark  shade  that  had 
crossed  her  face  disappeared. 

"Well,  after  the  siesta  I  helped  madre  Maria  clean  the 
yuccas  for  supper;  and  then  I  did  my  writing  lesson.  Padre 
Rosendo  told  me  to-day  that  I  could  write  better  than  he.  But, 
Padre,  will  you  teach  madre  Maria  to  read  and  write?  And 
there  are  just  lots  of  poor  people  here  who  can't,  too.  There 
is  a  school  teacher  in  Simiti,  but  he  charges  a  whole  peso  oro 
a  month  for  teaching;  and  the  people  haven't  the  money,  and 
so  they  can't  learn." 

Always  the  child  shifted  his  thought  from  herself  to  others. 
Again  she  showed  him  that  the  road  to  happiness  wound  among 
the  needs  of  his  fellow-men.  The  priest  mentally  recorded  the 
instruction;  and  the  girl  continued: 

"Padre  Rosendo  told  madre  Maria  that  you  said  you  had 
come  to  Simiti  to  die.  You  were  not  thinking  of  us  then,  were 
you,  Padre?  People  who  think  only  of  themselves  always  want 
to  die.  That  was  why  Don  Luis  died  last  year.  He  had  lots 
of  gold,  and  he  always  wanted  more,  and  he  was  cruel  and  self 
ish,  and  he  couldn't  talk  about  anything  but  himself  and  how 
rich  he  was — and  so  he  died.  He  didn't  really  die;  but  he 
thought  about  himself  until  he  thought  he  died.  And  so  they 
buried  him.  That's  what  always  happens  to  people  who  think 
about  themselves  all  the  time — they  get  buried." 

Jose  was  glad  of  the  silence  that  fell  upon  them.  Wrapped 
so  long  in  his  own  egoism,  he  had  now  no  worldly  wisdom  with 
which  to  match  this  girl's  sapient  words.  He  waited.  He  felt 
that  Carmen  was  but  the  channel  through  which  a  great  Voice 
was  speaking. 

"Padre,"  the  tones  were  tender  and  soft,  "you  don't  always 
think  of  good  things,  do  you?" 

"I?  Why,  no,  little  girl.  I  guess  I  haven't  done  so.  That 
is,  not  always.  But — -" 

"Because  if  you  had  you  wouldn't  have  been  driven  into 
the  lake  that  day.  And  you  wouldn't  be  here  now  in  Simiti." 

"But,  child,  even  a  Cura  cannot  always  think  of  good  things, 
when  he  sees  so  much  wickedness  in  the  world!" 

"But,  Padre,  God  is  good,  isn't  He?" 

"Yes,  child."    The  necessity  to  answer  could  not  be  avoided. 

"And  He  is  everywhere?" 

"Yes."     He  had  to  say  it. 

"Then  where  is  the  wickedness,  Padre?" 

"Why— but,  chiquita,  you  don't  understand;  you  are  too 
young  to  reason  about  such  things;  and — 

In  his  heart  Jose  knew  he  spoke  not  the  truth.    He  felt  the 

27 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


great  brown  eyes  of  the  girl  penetrate  his  naked  soul;  and  he 
knew  that  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  inner  man  they  fell  upon 
the  grinning  skeleton  of  hypocrisy.  Carmen  might  be,  doubt 
less  was,  incapable  of  reasoning.  Of  logical  processes  she  knew 
nothing.  But  by  what  crass  assumption  might  he,  admittedly 
woefully  defeated  in  his  combat  with  Fate,  oppose  his  feeble 
shafts  of  worldly  logic  to  this  child's  instinct,  an  instinct  of 
whose  inerrancy  her  daily  walk  was  a  living  demonstration? 
In  quick  penitence  and  humility  he  stretched  out  his  arm  and 
drew  her  unresisting  to  him. 

"Dear  little  child  of  God,"  he  murmured,  as  he  bent  over 
her  and  touched  his  lips  to  her  rich  brown  curls,  "I  have  tried 
my  life  long  to  learn  what  you  already  know.  And  at  last  I 
have  been  led  to  you — to  you,  little  one,  who  shall  be  a  lamp 
unto  my  feet.  Dearest  child,  I  want  to  know  your  God  as  you 
know  Him.  I  want  you  to  lead  me  to  Him,  for  you  know  where 
He  is." 

"He  is  everywhere,  Padre  dear,"  whispered  the  child,  as  she 
nestled  close  to  the  priest  and  stole  her  soft  arms  gently  about 
his  neck.  "But  we  don't  see  Him  nor  hear  Him  if  we  have  bad 
thoughts,  and  if  we  don't  love  everybody  and  everything,  even 
Cucumbra,  and  Cantar-las-horas,  and — 

"Yes,  chiquita,  I  know  now,"  interrupted  Jose.  "I  don't 
wonder  they  all  love  you." 

"But,  Padre  dear,  I  love  them — and  I  love  you." 

The  priest  strained  her  to  him.  His  famished  heart  yearned 
for  love.  Love!  first  of  the  tender  graces  which  adorned  this 
beautiful  child.  Verily,  only  those  imbued  with  it  become  the 
real  teachers  of  men.  The  beloved  disciple's  last  instruction  to 
his  dear  children  was  the  tender  admonition  to  love  one  an 
other.  But  why,  oh,  why  are  we  bidden  to  love  the  fallen, 
sordid  outcasts  of  this  wicked  world — the  wretched,  sinning 
pariahs — the  greedy,  grasping,  self-centered  mass  of  humanity 
that  surges  about  us  in  such  woeful  confusion  of  good  and 
evil?  Because  the  wise  Master  did.  Because  he  said  that  God 
was  Love.  Because  he  taught  that  he  who  loves  not,  knows 
not  God.  And  because,  oh,  wonderful  spiritual  alchemy!  be 
cause  Love  is  the  magical  potion  which,  dropping  like  heavenly 
dew  upon  sinful  humanity,  dissolves  the  vice,  the  sorrow,  the 
carnal  passions,  and  transmutes  the  brutish  mortal  into  the 
image  and  likeness  of  the  perfect  God. 

Far  into  the  night,  while  the  child  slept  peacefully  in  the 
bed  near  him,  Jose  lay  thinking  of  her  and  of  the  sharp  turn 
which  she  had  given  to  the  direction  of  his  life.  Through  the 
warm  night  air  the  hoarse  croaking  of  distant  frogs  and  the 
mournful  note  of  the  toucan  floated  to  his  ears.  In  the  street 

28 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


without  he  heard  at  intervals  the  pattering  of  bare  feet  in  the 
hot,  thick  dust,  as  tardy  fishermen  returned  from  their  labors. 
The  hum  of  insects  about  his  toldo  lulled  him  with  its  low 
monotone.  The  call  of  a  lonely  jaguar  drifted  across  the  still 
lake  from  the  brooding  jungle  beyond.  A  great  peace  lay  over 
the  ancient  town;  and  when,  in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  as 
the  distorted  moon  hung  low  in  the  western  sky,  Jose  awoke, 
the  soft  breathing  of  the  child  fell  upon  his  ears  like  a  benedic 
tion;  and  deep  from  his  heart  there  welled  a  prayer — 
"My  God— Tier  God— at  last  I  thank  Thee!" 


CHAPTER  5 

THE  day  following  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  bustling  ac 
tivity.  Jose  plunged  into  his  new  life  with  an  enthusiasm 
he  had  never  known  before.  His  first  care  was  to  relieve 
Rosendo  and  his  good  wife  of  the  burden  of  housing  him. 
Rosendo,  protesting  against  the  intimation  that  the  priest  could 
in  any  way  inconvenience  him,  at  last  suggested  that  the  house 
adjoining  his  own,  a  small,  three-room  cottage,  was  vacant,  and 
might  be  had  at  a  nominal  rental.  Some  repairs  were  needed; 
the  mud  had  fallen  from  the  walls  in  several  places;  but  he 
would  plaster  it  up  again  and  put  it  into  habitable  condition 
at  once. 

During  the  discussion  Don  Mario,  the  Alcalde,  called  to  pay 
his  respects  to  Jose.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  week's  visit 
to  Ocana,  whither  he  had  gone  on  matters  of  business  with 
Simiti's  most  eminent  citizen,  Don  Felipe  Alcozer,  who  was  at 
present  sojourning  there  for  reasons  of  health.  Learning  of  the 
priest's  recent  severe  illness,  Don  Mario  had  hastened  at  once  to 
pay  his  devoirs.  And  now  the  Holy  Virgin  be  praised  that  he 
beheld  the  Cura  again  fully  restored!  Yes,  the  dismal  little 
house  in  question  belonged  to  him,  but  would  the  Cura  gra 
ciously  accept  it,  rent  free,  and  with  his  most  sincere  compli 
ments?  Jose  glanced  at  Rosendo  and,  reading  a  meaning  in 
the  slight  shake  of  his  head,  replied  that,  although  overwhelmed 
by  the  Alcalde's  kindness,  he  could  take  the  cottage  only  on 
the  condition  that  it  should  become  the  parish  house,  which 
the  Church  must  support.  A  shade  of  disappointment  seemed 
to  cross  the  heavy  face  of  Don  Mario,  but  he  graciously  ac 
quiesced  in  the  priest's  suggestion;  and  arrangements  were  at 
once  concluded  whereby  the  house  became  the  dwelling  place 
of  the  new  Cura. 

Rosendo  thereupon  sent  out  a  call  for  assistants,  to  which 

29 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  entire  unemployed  male  population  of  the  town  responded. 
Mud  for  the  walls  was  hastily  brought  from  the  lake,  and  mixed 
with  manure  and  dried  grass.  A  half  dozen  young  men  started 
for  the  islands  to  cut  fresh  thatch  for  the  roof.  Others  set 
about  scraping  the  hard  dirt  floors;  while  Don  Mario  gave 
.orders  which  secured  a  table,  several  rough  chairs,  together 
with  iron  stewpans  and  a  variety  of  enameled  metal  dishes,  all 
of  which  Rosendo  insisted  should  be  charged  against  the  parish. 
The  village  carpenter,  with  his  rusty  tools  and  rough,  undressed 
lumber,  constructed  a  bed  in  one  of  the  rooms;  and  Juan,  the 
boatman,  laboriously  sought  out  stones  of  the  proper  shape 
and  size  to  support  the  cooking  utensils  in  the  primitive  dirt 
hearth. 

Often,  as  he  watched  the  progress  of  these  arrangements, 
Jose's  thoughts  reverted  longingly  to  his  father's  comfortable 
house  in  far-off  Seville;  to  his  former  simple  quarters  in  Rome; 
and  to  the  less  pretentious,  but  still  wholly  sufficient  menage 
of  Cartagena.  Compared  with  this  primitive  dwelling  and  the 
simple  husbandry  which  it  would  shelter,  his  former  abodes 
and  manner  of  life  had  been  extravagantly  luxurious.  At  times 
he  felt  a  sudden  sinking  of  heart  as  he  reflected  that  perhaps 
he  should  never  again  know  anything  better  than  the  lowly 
life  of  this  dead  town.  But  when  his  gaze  rested  upon  the 
little  Carmen,  flying  hither  and  yon  with  an  ardent,  anticipatory 
interest  in  every  detail  of  the  preparations,  and  when  he  real 
ized  that,  though  her  feet  seemed  to  rest  in  the  squalid  setting 
afforded  by  this  dreary  place,  yet  her  thought  dwelt  ever  in 
heaven,  his  heart  welled  again  with  a  great  thankfulness  for 
the  inestimable  privilege  of  giving  his  new  life,  in  whatever 
environment,  to  a  soul  so  fair  as  hers. 

While  his  house  was  being  set  in  order  under  the  direction 
of  Rosendo,  Jose  visited  the  church  with  the  Alcalde  to  formu 
late  plans  for  its  immediate  repair  and  renovation.  As  he 
surveyed  the  ancient  pile  and  reflected  that  it  stood  as  a  monu 
ment  to  the  inflexible  religious  convictions  of  his  own  distant 
progenitors,  the  priest's  sensibilities  were  profoundly  stirred. 
How  little  he  knew  of  that  long  line  of  illustrious  ancestry 
which  preceded  him!  He  had  been  thrust  from  under  the 
parental  wing  at  the  tender  age  of  twelve;  but  he  could  not 
recall  that  even  before  that  event  his  father  had  ever  made 
more  than  casual  mention  of  the  family.  Indeed,  in  the  few 
months  since  arriving  on  ancestral  soil  Jose  had  gathered  up 
more  of  the  threads  which  bound  him  to  the  ancient  house  of 
Rincon  than  in  all  the  years  which  preceded.  Had  he  himself 
only  been  capable  of  the  unquestioning  acceptance  of  religious 
dogma  which  those  old  Conqueros  and  early  forbears  exhibited, 

30 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


to  what  position  of  eminence  in  Holy  Church  might  he  not 
already  have  attained,  with  every  avenue  open  to  still  greater 
preferment!  How  happy  were  his  dear  mother  then!  How 
glorious  their  honored  name! — 

With  a  sigh  the  priest  roused  himself  and  strove  to  thrust 
these  disturbing  thoughts  from  his  mind  by  centering  his  atten 
tion  upon  the  work  in  hand.  Doria  Maria  came  to  him  for 
permission  to  take  the  moldy  vestments  from  the  sacristia  to 
her  house  to  clean  them.  The  Alcalde,  bustling  about,  panting 
and  perspiring,  was  distributing  countless  orders  among  his 
willing  assistants.  Carmen,  who  throughout  the  morning  had 
been  everywhere,  bubbling  with  enthusiasm,  now  appeared  at 
the  church  door.  As  she  entered  the  musty,  ill-smelling  old 
building  she  hesitated  on  the  threshold,  her  childish  face 
screwed  into  an  expression  of  disgust. 

"Come  in,  little  one;  I  need  your  inspiration,"  called  Jose 
cheerily. 

The  child  approached,  and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 
"Padre  Rosendo  says  this  is  God's  house,"  she  commented, 
looking  up  at  Jose.  "He  says  you  are  going  to  talk  about  God 
here — in  this  dirty,  smelly  old  place !  Why  don't  you  talk  about 
Him  out  of  doors?" 

Jose  was  becoming  innured  to  the  embarrassment  which  her 
direct  questions  occasioned.  And  he  was  learning  not  to  dis 
semble  in  his  replies. 

"It  is  because  the  people  want  to  come  here,  dear  one;  it  is 
their  custom." 

Would  the  people  believe  that  the  wafer  and  wine  could  be 
changed  into  the  ilesh  and  blood  of  Jesus  elsewhere — even  in 
Nature's  temple? 

"But  7  don't  want  to  come  here!"  she  asseverated. 

"That  was  a  naughty  thing  to  say  to  the  good  Cura,  child!" 
interposed  Don  Mario,  who  had  overheard  the  girl's  remark. 
"You  see,  Padre,  how  we  need  a  Cura  here  to  save  these  chil 
dren;  otherwise  the  Church  is  going  to  lose  them.  They  are 
running  pretty  wild,  and  especially  this  one.  She  is  already 
dedicated  to  the  Church;  but  she  will  have  to  learn  to  speak 
more  reverently  of  holy  things  if  she  expects  to  become  a  good 
Sister." 

The  child  looked  uncomprehendingly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Who  dedicated  her  to  the  Church?"  demanded  Jose 
sharply. 

"Oh,  Padre  Diego,  at  her  baptism,  when  she  was  a  baby," 
replied  Don  Mario  in  a  matter  of  fact  tone. 

Jose  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  that  unholy  man's  loath 
some  hands  resting  upon  the  innocent  girl.  But  he  made  no 

31 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


immediate  reply.  Of  all  things,  he  knew  that  the  guarding  of 
his  own  tongue  was  now  most  important.  But  his  thought  was 
busy  with  Rosendo's  burning  words  of  the  preceding  day,  and 
with  his  own  solemn  vow.  He  reflected  on  his  present  para 
doxical,  hazardous  position;  on  the  tremendous  problem  which 
here  confronted  him;  and  on  his  desperate  need  of  wisdom — 
yea,  superhuman  wisdom — to  ward  off  from  this  child  the  net 
which  he  knew  the  subtlety  and  cruel  cunning  of  shrewd,  un 
scrupulous  men  would  some  day  cause  to  be  cast  about  her.  A 
soul  like  hers,  mirrored  in  a  body  so  wondrous  fair,  must 
eventually  draw  the  devil's  most  envenomed  barbs. 

To  Jose's  great  relief  Don  Mario  turned  immediately  from 
the  present  topic  to  one  relating  to  the  work  of  renovation. 
Finding  a  pretext  for  sending  Carmen  back  to  the  house,  the 
priest  gave  his  attention  unreservedly  to  the  Alcalde.  But  his 
mind  ceased  not  to  revolve  the  implications  in  Don  Mario's 
words  relative  to  the  girl;  and  when  the  midday  siesta  came 
upon  him  his  brow  was  knotted  and  his  eyes  gazed  vacantly 
at  the  manifestations  of  activity  about  him. 

Hurrying  across  the  road  to  escape  the  scalding  heat,  Jose's 
ears  again  caught  the  sound  of  singing,  issuing  evidently  from 
Rosendo's  house.  It  was  very  like  the  clear,  sweet  voice  which 
had  floated  into  his  room  the  morning  after  he  awoke  from 
his  delirium.  He  approached  the  door  reverently  and  looked 
in.  Carmen  was  arranging  the  few  poor  dishes  upon  the  rough 
table,  and  as  she  worked,  her  soul  flowed  across  her  lips 
in  song. 

The  man  listened  astonished.  The  words  and  the  simple 
melody  which  carried  them  were  evidently  an  improvisation. 
But  the  voice — did  that  issue  from  a  human  throat?  Yes,  for 
in  distant  Spain  and  far-off  Rome,  in  great  cathedrals  and  con 
cert  halls,  he  had  sometimes  listened  entranced  to  voices  like 
this — stronger,  and  delicately  trained,  but  reared  upon  even  less 
of  primitive  talent. 

The  girl  caught  sight  of  him;  and  the  song  died  on  the  warm 
air. 

The  priest  strode  toward  her  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 
"Carmen,  child!  Who  taught  you  to  sing  like  that?" 

The  girl  smiled  up  in  his  face.     "God,  Padre." 

Of  course!  He  should  have  known.  And  in  future  he  need 
never  ask. 

"And  I  suppose  He  tells  you  when  to  sing,  too,  as  He  does 
Cantar-las-horas?"  said  Jose,  smiling  in  amusement. 

"No,  Padre,"  was  the  unaffected  answer.  "He  just  sings 
Himself  in  me." 

The  man  felt  rebuked  for  his  light  remark;  and  a  lump  rose 

32 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


in  his  throat.  He  looked  again  into  her  fair  face  with  a  deep 
yearning. 

Oh,  ye  of  little  faith!  Did  you  but  know — could  you  but 
realize — that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you,  would  not 
celestial  melody  flow  from  your  lips,  too? 

Throughout  the  afternoon,  while  he  labored  with  his  will 
ing  helpers  in  the  church  building  and  his  homely  cottage,  the 
child's  song  lingered  in  his  brain,  like  the  memory  of  a  sweet 
perfume.  His  eyes  followed  her  lithe,  graceful  form  as  she  flitted 
about,  and  his  mind  was  busy  devising  pretexts  for  keeping 
her  near  him.  At  times  she  would  steal  up  close  to  him  and 
put  her  little  hand  lovingly  and  confidingly  into  his  own.  Then 
as  he  looked  down  into  her  upturned  face,  wreathed  with  smiles 
of  happiness,  his  breath  would  catch,  and  he  would  turn  hur 
riedly  away,  that  she  might  not  see  the  tears  which  suffused 
his  eyes. 

When  night  crept  down,  unheralded,  from  the  Sierras,  the 
priest's  house  stood  ready  for  its  occupant.  Cantar-las-horas 
had  dedicated  it  by  singing  the  Angelas  at  the  front  door,  for  the 
hour  of  six  had  overtaken  him  as  he  stood,  with  cocked  head, 
peering  curiously  within.  The  dwelling,  though  pitifully  bare, 
was  nevertheless  as  clean  as  these  humble  folk  with  the  primi 
tive  means  at  their  command  could  render  it.  Instead  of  the 
customary  hard  macana  palm  strips  for  the  bed,  Rosendo  had 
thoughtfully  substituted  a  large  piece  of  tough  white  canvas, 
fastened  to  a  rectangular  frame,  which  rested  on  posts  well 
above  the  damp  floor.  On  this  lay  a  white  sheet  and  a  light 
blanket  of  red  flannel.  Rosendo  had  insisted  that,  for  the 
present,  Jose  should  take  his  meals  with  him.  The  priest's 
domestic  arrangements,  therefore,  would  be  simple  in  the  ex 
treme;  and  Dona  Maria  quietly  announced  that  these  were  in 
her  charge.  The  church  edifice  would  not  be  in  order  for  some 
days  yet,  perhaps  a  week.  But  of  this  Jose  was  secretly  glad, 
for  he  regarded  with  dread  the  necessity  of  discharging  the 
priestly  functions.  And  yet,  upon  that  hinged  his  stay  in  Simiti. 

"Simiti  has  two  churches,  you  know,  Padre,"  remarked 
Rosendo  during  the  evening  meal.  "There  is  another  old  one 
near  the  eastern  edge  of  town.  If  you  wish,  we  can  visit  it 
while  there  is  yet  light." 

Jose  expressed  his  pleasure;  and  a  few  minutes  later  the 
two  men,  with  Carmen  dancing  along  happily  beside  them,  were 
climbing  the  shaly  eminence  upon  the  summit  of  which  stood 
the  second  church.  On  the  way  they  passed  the  town  ceme 
tery. 

"The.,  Spanish  cemetery  never  grows,"  commented  Jose, 
stopping  at  the  crumbling  gateway  and  peering  in.  The  place 

33 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  sepulture  was  the  epitome  of  utter  desolation.  A  tumbled 
brick  wall  surrounded  it,  and  there  were  a  few  broken  brick 
vaults,  in  some  of  which  whitening  bones  were  visible.  In  a 
far  corner  was  a  heap  of  human  bones  and  bits  of  decayed 
coffins. 

"Their  rent  fell  due,  Padre,"  said  Rosendo  with  a  little 
laugh,  indicating  the  bones.  "The  Church  rents  this  ground  to 
the  people — it  is  consecrated,  you  know.  And  if  the  payments 
are  not  made,  why,  the  bones  come  up  and  are  thrown  over 
there." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Jose.     "Worse  than  heathenish!" 

"But  you  see,  Padre,  the  Church  is  only  concerned  with 
souls.  And  it  is  better  to  pay  the  money  to  get  souls  out  of 
purgatory  than  to  rent  a  bit  of  ground  for  the  body,  is  it  not?" 

Jose  wisely  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"Come,  Padre,"  continued  Rosendo.  "I  would  not  want  to 
have  to  spend  the  night  here.  For,  you  know,  if  a  man  spends 
a  night  in  a  cemetery  an  evil  spirit  settles  upon  him — is  it 
not  so?" 

Jose  still  kept  silence  before  the  old  man's  inbred  supersti 
tion.  A  few  minutes  later  they  stood  before  the  old  church. 
It  was  in  the  Spanish  mission  style,  but  smaller  than  the  one 
in  the  central  plaza. 

"This  was  built  in  the  time  of  your  great-grandfather,  Padre, 
the  father  of  Don  Ignacio,"  offered  Rosendo.  "The  Rincon 
family  had  many  powerful  enemies  throughout  the  country, 
and  those  in  Simiti  even  carried  their  ill  feeling  so  far  as  to 
refuse  to  hear  Mass  in  the  church  which  your  family  built.  So 
they  erected  this  one.  No  one  ever  enters  it  now.  Strange 
noises  are  sometimes  heard  inside,  and  the  people  are  afraid  to 
go  in.  You  see  there  are  no  houses  built  near  it.  They  say  an 
angel  of  the  devil  lives  here  and  thrashes  around  at  times  in 
terrible  anger.  There  is  a  story  that  many  years  ago,  when  I 
was  but  a  baby,  the  devil's  angel  came  and  entered  this  church 
one  dark  night,  when  there  was  a  terrible  storm  and  the  waves 
of  the  lake  were  so  strong  that  they  tossed  the  crocodiles  far 
up  on  the  shore.  And  when  the  bad  angel  saw  the  candles 
burning  on  the  altar  before  the  sacred  wafer  he  roared  in  anger 
and  blew  them  out.  But  there  was  a  beautiful  painting  of  the 
Virgin  on  the  wall,  and  when  the  lights  went  out  she  came  down 
out  of  her  picture  and  lighted  the  candles  again.  But  the  devil's 
angel  blew  them  out  once  more.  And  then,  they  say,  the  Holy 
Virgin  left  the  church  in  darkness  and  went  out  and  locked 
the  wicked  angel  in,  where  he  has  been  ever  since.  That  was 
to  show  her  displeasure  against  the  enemies  of  the  great  Rin- 
cons  for  erecting  this  church.  The  Cura  died  suddenly  that 

34 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


night;  and  the  church  has  never  been  used  since  The  Virgin, 
you  know,  is  the  special  guardian  Saint  of  the  Rincon  family." 

"But  you  do  not  believe  the  story,  Rosendo?"  Jose  asked. 

"Quien  sabe?"  was  the  noncommittal  reply. 

"Do  you  really  think  the  Virgin  could  or  would  do  such  a 
thing,  Rosendo?" 

"Why  not,  Padre?  She  has  the  same  power  as  God,  has  she 
not?  The  frame  which  held  her  picture" — reverting  again  to 
the  story — "was  found  out  in  front  of  the  church  the  next 
morning;  but  the  picture  itself  was  gone." 

Jose  glanced  down  at  Carmen,  who  had  been  listening  with 
a  tense,  rapt  expression  on  her  face.  What  impression  did  this 
strange  story  make  upon  her?  She  looked  up  at  the  priest  with 
a  little  laugh. 

"Let  us  go  in,  Padre,"  she  said. 

"No!"  commanded  Rosendo,  seizing  her  hand. 

"Are  you  afraid,  Rosendo?"  queried  the  amused  Jose. 

"I — I  would — rather  not,"  the  old  man  replied  hesitatingly. 
"The  Virgin  has  sealed  it."  Physical  danger  was  tempera 
mental  to  this  noble  son  of  the  jungle;  yet  the  religious  super 
stition  which  Spain  had  bequeathed  to  this  oppressed  land  still 
shackled  his  limbs. 

As  they  descended  the  hill  Carmen  seized  an  opportunity 
to  speak  to  Jose  alone.  "Some  day,  Padre,"  she  whispered, 
"vou  and  I  will  open  the  door  and  let  the  bad  angel  out,  won't 
we?" 

Jose  pressed  her  little  hand.  He  knew  that  the  door  of  his 
own  mind  had  swung  wide  at  her  bidding  in  these  few  days, 
and  many  a  bad  angel  had  gone  out  forever. 


CHAPTER  6 

dawn  of  a  new  day  broke  white  and  glistering  upon 
the  ancient  pueblo.  From  their  hard  beds  of  palm,  and 
their  straw  mats  on  the  dirt  floors,  the  provincial  dwellers 
in  this  abandoned  treasure  house  of  Old  Spain  rose  already 
dressed  to  resume  the  monotonous  routine  of  their  lowly  life. 
The  duties  which  confronted  them  were  few,  scarce  extending 
beyond  the  procurement  of  their  simple  food.  And  for  all, 
excepting  the  two  or  three  families  which  constituted  the 
shabby  aristocracy  of  Simiti,  this  was  limited  in  the  extreme. 
Indian  corn,  panela,  and  coffee,  with  an  occasional  addition  of 
platanos  or  rice,  and  now  and  then  bits  of  bagre,  the  coarse  fish 
yielded  by  the  adjacent  lake,  constituted  the  staple  diet  of  the 

35 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


average  citizen  of  this  decayed  hamlet.  A  few  might  purchase 
a  bit  of  lard  at  rare  intervals;  and  this  they  hoarded  like 
precious  jewels.  Some  occasionally  had  wheat  flour;  but  the 
long,  difficult  transportation,  and  its  rapid  deterioration  in  that 
hot,  moist  climate,  where  swarms  of  voracious  insects  burrow 
into  everything  not  cased  in  tin  or  iron,  made  its  cost  all  but 
prohibitive.  A  few  had  goats  and  chickens.  Some  possessed 
pigs.  And  the  latter  even  exceeded  in  value  the  black,  naked 
babes  that  played  in  the  hot  dust  of  the  streets  with  them. 

Jose  was  up  at  dawn.  Standing  in  the  warm,  unadulterated 
sunlight  in  his  doorway  he  watched  the  village  awaken.  At  a 
door  across  the  plaza  a  woman  appeared,  smoking  a  cigar,  with 
the  lighted  end  in  her  mouth.  Jose  viewed  with  astonishment 
this  curious  custom  which  prevails  in  the  Tierra  Calient  e.  He 
had  observed  that  in  Simiti  nearly  everybody  of  both  sexes  was 
addicted  to  the  use  of  tobacco,  and  it  was  no  uncommon  sight 
to  see  children  of  tender  age  smoking  heavy,  black  cigars  with 
keen  enjoyment.  From  another  door  issued  two  fishermen, 
who,  seeing  the  priest,  approached  and  asked  his  blessing  on 
their  day's  work.  Some  moments  later  he  heard  a  loud  tattoo, 
and  soon  the  Alcalde  of  the  village  appeared,  marching  pomp 
ously  through  the  streets,  preceded  by  his  tall,  black  secretary, 
who  was  beating  lustily  upon  a  small  drum.  At  each  street 
intersection  the  little  procession  halted,  while  the  Alcalde  \vith 
great  impressiveness  sonorously  read  a  proclamation  just  re 
ceived  from  the  central  Government  at  Bogota  to  the  effect  that 
thereafter  no  cattle  might  be  killed  in  the  country  without  the 
payment  of  a  tax  as  therein  set  forth.  Groups  of  peones  gath 
ered  slowly  about  the  few  little  stores  in  the  main  street,  or 
entered  and  inspected  for  the  thousandth  time  the  shabby 
stocks.  Matrons  with  black,  shining  faces  cheerily  greeted 
one  another  from  their  doorways.  Everywhere  prevailed  a 
gentle  decorum  of  speech  and  manners.  For,  however  lowly 
the  station,  however  pinched  the  environment,  the  dwellers  in 
this  ancient  town  were  ever  gentle,  courteous  and  dignified. 
Their  conversation  dealt  with  the  simple  affairs  of  their  quiet 
life.  They  knew  nothing  of  the  complex  problems,  social,  eco 
nomic,  or  religious,  which  harassed  their  brethren  of  the  North. 
No  dubious  aspirations  or  ambitions  stirred  their  breasts. 
Nothing  of  the  frenzied  greed  and  lust  of  material  accumula 
tion  touched  their  child-like  minds.  They  dwelt  upon  a  plane 
far,  far  removed,  in  whatever  direction,  from  the  mental  state 
of  their  educated  and  civilized  brothers  of  the  great  States, 
who  from  time  to  time  undertake  to  advise  them  how  to  live, 
while  ruthlessly  exploiting  them  for  material  gain.  And  thus 
they  have  been  exploited  ever  since  the  heavy  hand  of  the 

36 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Spaniard  was  laid  upon  them,  four  centuries  ago.  Thus  they 
will  continue  to  be,  until  that  distant  day  when  mankind  shall 
have  learned  to  find  their  own  in  another's  good. 

As  his  eyes  swept  his  environment,  the  untutored  folk,  the 
old  church,  the  dismally  decrepit  mud  houses,  with  an  air  of 
desolation  and  utter  abandon  brooding  over  all;  and  as  he  re 
flected  that  his  own  complex  nature,  rather  than  any  special 
malice  of  fortune,  had  brought  this  to  him,  Jose's  heart  began 
to  sink  under  the  sting  of  a  condemning  conscience.  He  turned 
back  into  his  house.  Its  pitiful  emptiness  smote  him  sore.  No 
books,  no  pictures,  no  furnishings,  nothing  that  ministers  to 
the  comfort  of  a  civilized  and  educated  man!  And  yet,  amid 
this  barrenness  he  had  resolved  to  live. 

A  song  drifted  to  him  through  the  pulsing  heat  of  the  morn 
ing  air.  It  sifted  through  the  mud  walls  of  his  poor  dwelling, 
and  poured  into  the  open  doorway,  where  it  hovered,  quivering, 
like  the  dust  motes  in  the  sunbeams.  Instantly  the  man  righted 
himself.  It  was  Carmen,  the  child  to  whom  his  life  now  be 
longed.  Resolutely  he  again  set  his  \vandering  mind  toward 
the  great  thing  he  would  accomplish — the  protection  and  train 
ing  of  this  girl,  even  while,  if  might  be,  he  found  his  life  again 
in  hers.  Nothing  on  earth  should  shake  him  from  that  pur 
pose  !  Doubt  and  uncertainty  were  powerless  to  dull  the  edge 
of  his  efforts.  His  bridges  were  burned  behind  him;  and  on 
the  other  side  of  the  great  gulf  lay  the  dead  self  which  he  had 
abandoned  forever. 

A  harsh  medley  of  loud,  angry  growls,  interspersed  with 
shrill  yelps,  suddenly  arose  before  his  house,  and  Jose  hastened 
to  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  Carmen  rush  into  the  street  and 
fearlessly  throw  herself  upon  two  fighting  dogs. 

"Cucumbra!  Stop  it  instantly!"  she  exclaimed,  dragging 
the  angry  brute  from  a  thoroughly  frightened  puppy. 

"Shame!  shame!  And  after  all  I've  talked  to  you  about 
loving  that  puppy!" 

The  gaunt  animal  slunk  down,  with  its  tail  between  its 
legs. 

"Did  you  ever  gain  anything  at  all  by  fighting?  You  know 
you  never  did!  And  right  down  in  your  heart  you  know  you 
love  that  puppy.  You've  got  to  love  him;  you  can't  help  it! 
And  you  might  as  well  begin  right  now." 

The  beast  whimpered  at  her  little  bare  feet. 

"Cucumbra,  you  let  bad  thoughts  use  you,  didn't  you?  Yes, 
you  did;  and  you're  sorry  for  it  now.  Well,  there's  the  puppy," 
pointing  to  the  little  dog,  which  stood  hesitant  some  yards 
away.  "Now  go  and  play  with  him,"  she  urged.  "Play  with 
him!"  rousing  the  larger  dog  and  pointing  toward  the  puppy. 
"Play  with  him!  You  know  you  love  him!" 

37 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Cucumbra  hesitated,  looking  alternately  at  the  small,  reso 
lute  girl  and  the  smaller  dog.  Her  arm  remained  rigidly  ex 
tended,  and  determination  was  written  large  in  her  set  features. 
The  puppy  uttered  a  sharp  bark,  as  if  in  forgiveness,  and 
began  to  scamper  playfully  about.  Cucumbra  threw  a  final 
glance  at  the  girl. 

"Play  with  him!"  she  again  commanded. 

The  large  dog  bounded  after  the  puppy,  and  together  they 
disappeared  around  the  street  corner. 

The  child  turned  and  saw  Jose,  who  had  regarded  the  scene 
in  mute  astonishment. 

"Muy  buenos  dias,  Senor  Padre,"  dropping  a  little  courtesy. 
"But  isn't  Cucumbra  foolish  to  have  bad  thoughts?" 

"Why,  yes — he  certainly  is,"  replied  Jose  slowly,  hard 
pressed  by  the  unusual  question. 

"He  has  just  got  to  love  that  puppy,  or  else  he  will  never 
be  happy,  will  he,  Padre?" 

Why  would  this  girl  persist  in  ending  her  statements  with 
an  interrogation!  How  could  he  know  whether  Cucumbra's 
happiness  would  be  imperfect  if  he  failed  in  love  toward  the 
puppy? 

"Because,  you  know,  Padre,"  the  child  continued,  coming 
up  to  him  and  slipping  her  hand  into  his,  "padre  Rosendo  once 
told  me  that  God  was  Love;  and  after  that  I  knew  we  just  had 
to  love  everything  and  everybody,  or  else  He  can't  see  us — can 
He,  Padre?" 

He  can't  see  us — if  we  don't  love  everything  and  everybody! 
Well!  Jose  wondered  what  sort  of  interpretation  the  Vatican, 
with  its  fiery  hatred  of  heretics,  would  put  upon  this  remark. 

"Can  He,  Padre?"  insisted  the  girl. 

"Dear  child,  in  these  matters  you  are  teaching  me;  not  I 
you,"  replied  the  noncommittal  priest. 

"But,  Padre,  you  are  going  to  teach  the  people  in  the 
church,"  the  girl  ventured  quizzically. 

Ah,  so  he  was!  And  he  had  wondered  what.  In  his  hour  of 
need  the  answer  was  vouchsafed  him. 

"Yes,  dearest  child — and  I  am  going  to  teach  them  what  I 
learn  from  you." 

Carmen  regarded  him  for  a  moment  uncertainly.  "But, 
padre  Rosendo  says  you  are  to  teach  me,"  she  averred. 

"And  so  I  am,  little  one,"  the  priest  replied;  "but  not  one 
half  as  much  as  I  shall  learn  from  you." 

Dona  Maria's  summons  to  breakfast  interrupted  the  con 
versation.  Throughout  the  repast  Jose  felt  himself  subjected 
to  the  closest  scrutiny  by  Carmen.  What  was  running  through 
her  thought,  he  could  only  vaguely  surmise.  But  he  instinc- 

38 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


lively  felt  that  he  was  being  weighed  and  appraised  by  this 
strange  child,  and  that  she  was  finding  him  wanting  in  her 
estimate  of  what  manner  of  man  a  priest  of  God  ought  to  be. 
And  yet  he  knew  that  she  embraced  him  in  her  great  love. 
Oftentimes  his  quick  glance  at  her  would  find  her  serious 
gaze  bent  upon  him.  But  whenever  their  eyes  met,  her  sweet 
face  would  instantly  relax  and  glow  with  a  smile  of  tenderest 
love — a  love  which,  he  felt,  was  somehow,  in  some  way,  des 
tined  to  reconstruct  his  shattered  life. 

Jose's  plans  for  educating  the  girl  had  gradually  evolved 
into  completion  during  the  past  two  days.  He  explained  them 
at  length  to  Rosendo  after  the  morning  meal;  and  the  latter, 
with  dilating  eyes,  manifested  his  great  joy  by  clasping  the 
priest  in  his  brawny  arms. 

"But  remember,  Rosendo,"  Jose  said,  "learning  is  not  know 
ing.  I  can  only  teach  her  book-knowledge.  But  even  now,  an 
untutored  child,  she  knows  more  that  is  real  than  I  do." 

"Ah,  Padre,  have  I  not  told  you  many  times  that  she  is  not 
like  us?  And  now  you  know  it!"  exclaimed  the  emotional 
Rosendo,  his  eyes  suffused  with  tears  of  joy  as  he  beheld  his 
cherished  ideals  and  his  longing  of  years  at  last  at  the  point  of 
realization.  What  he,  too,  had  instinctively  seen  in  the  child 
was  now  to  be  summoned  forth;  and  the  vague,  half-under 
stood  motive  which  had  impelled  him  to  take  the  abandoned 
babe  from  Badillo  into  the  shelter  of  his  own  great  heart  would 
at  length  be  revealed.  The  man's  joy  was  ecstatic.  With  a 
final  clasp  of  the  priest's  hand,  he  rushed  from  the  house  to 
plunge  into  the  work  in  progress  at  the  church. 

Jose  summoned  Carmen  into  the  quiet  of  his  own  dwelling. 
She  came  joyfully,  bringing  an  ancient  and  obsolete  arithmetic 
and  a  much  tattered  book,  which  Jose  discovered  to  be  a  chron 
icle  of  the  heroic  deeds  of  the  early  Conquistador es. 

"I'm  through  decimals!"  she  exclaimed  with  glistening 
eyes;  "and  I've  read  some  of  this,  but  I  don't  like  it,"  making 
a  little  moue  of  disgust  and  holding  aloft  the  battered  history. 

"Padre  Rosendo  told  me  to  show  it  to  you,"  she  continued. 
"But  it  is  all  about  murder,  you  know.  And  yet,"  with  a  little 
sigh,  "he  has  nothing  else  to  read,  excepting  old  newspapers 
which  the  steamers  sometimes  leave  at  Bodega  Central.  And 
they  are  all  about  murder,  and  stealing,  and  bad  things,  too. 
Padre,  why  don't  people  write  about  good  things?" 

Jose  gazed  at  her  reverently,  as  of  old  the  sculptor  Phidias 
might  have  stood  in  awe  before  the  vision  which  he  saw  in  the 
unchiseled  marble. 

"Padre  Rosendo  helped  me  with  the  fractions,"  went  on  the 
girl,  flitting  lightly  to  another  topic;  "but  I  had  to  learn  the 

39 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


decimals  myself.  He  couldn't  understand  them.  And  they  are 
so  easy,  aren't  they?  I  just  love  arithmetic!"  hugging  the  old 
book  to  her  little  bosom. 

Both  volumes,  printed  in  Madrid,  were  reliques  of  Spanish 
colonial  days. 

"Read  to  me,  Carmen,"  said  Jose,  handing  her  the  history. 

The  child  took  the  book  and  began  to  read,  with  clear  enun 
ciation,  the  narrative  of  Quesada's  sanguinary  expedition  to 
Bogota,  undertaken  in  the  name  of  the  gentle  Christ.  Jose 
wondered  as  he  listened  what  interpretation  this  fresh  young 
mind  would  put  upon  the  motives  of  that  renowned  exploit. 
Suddenly  she  snapped  the  book  shut. 

"Tell  me  about  Jesus,"  she  demanded. 

The  precipitation  with  which  the  question  had  been  pro 
pounded  almost  took  his  breath  away.  He  raised  his  eyes  to 
hers,  and  looked  long  and  wonderingly  into  their  infinite 
depths.  And  then  the  vastness  of  the  problem  enunciated  by 
her  demand  loomed  before  him.  What,  after  all,  did  he  know 
about  Jesus?  Had  he  not  arrived  in  Simiti  in  a  state  of  agnos 
ticism  regarding  religion?  Had  he  not  come  there  enveloped 
in  confusion,  baffled,  beaten,  hopeless?  And  then,  after  his 
wonderful  talk  with  Rosendo,  had  he  not  agreed  with  him  that 
the  child's  thought  must  be  kept  free  and  open— that  her  own 
instinctive  religious  ideas  must  be  allowed  to  develop  normally, 
unhampered  and  unfettered  by  the  external  warp  and  bias  of 
human  speculation?  It  was  part  of  his  plan  that  all  reference 
to  matters  theological  should  be  omitted  from  Carmen's  educa 
tional  scheme.  Yet  here  was  that  name  on  her  lips — the  first 
time  he  had  ever  heard  it  voiced  by  her.  And  it  smote  him  like 
a  hammer.  He  made  haste  to  divert  further  inquiry. 

"Not  now,  little  one,"  he  said  hastily.  "I  want  to  hear  you 
read  more  from  your  book." 

"No,"  she  replied  firmly,  laying  the  volume  upon  the  table. 
"I  don't  like  it;  and  I  shouldn't  think  you  would,  either.  Be 
sides,  it  isn't  true;  it  never  really  happened." 

"Why,  of  course  it  is  true,  child !  It  is  history,  the  story  of 
how  the  brave  Spaniards  came  into  this  country  long  ago.  We 
will  read  a  great  deal  more  about  them  later." 

"No,"  with  a  decisive  shake  of  her  brown  head;  "not  if  it  is 
like  this.  It  isn't  true;  I  told  padre  Rosendo  it  wasn't." 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean,  child?"  asked  the  uncomprehend 
ing  priest. 

"It  is  only  a  lot  of  bad  thoughts  printed  in  a  book,"  she 
replied  slowly.  "And  it  isn't  true,  because  God  is  everywhere." 

Clearly  the  man  was  encountering  difficulties  at  the  outset; 
and. a  part,  at  least,  of  his  well-ordered  curriculum  stood  in 

40 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


grave  danger  of  repudiation  at  the  hands  of  this  earnest  little 
maid. 

The  girl  stood  looking  at  him  wistfully.  Then  her  sober 
little  face  melted  in  smiles.  With  childish  impulsiveness  she 
clambered  into  his  lap,  and  twining  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
impressed  a  kiss  upon  his  cheek. 

"I  love  you,  Padre,"  she  murmured;  "and  you  love  me, 
don't  you?" 

He  pressed  her  to  him,  startled  though  he  was.  "God  knows 
I  do,  little  one!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Of  course  He  does,"  she  eagerly  agreed;  "and  He  knows 
you  don't  want  to  teach  me  anything  that  isn't  true,  doesn't 
He,  Padre  dear?" 

Yea,  and  more;  for  Jose  was  realizing  now,  what  he  had  not 
seen  before,  that  it  was  beyond  his  power  to  teach  her  that 
which  was  not  true.  The  magnitude  and  sacredness  of  his  task 
impressed  him  as  never  before.  His  puzzled  brain  grappled 
feebly  with  the  enormous  problem.  She  had  rebuked  him  for 
trying  to  teach  her  things  which,  if  he  accepted  the  immanence 
of  God  as  fact,  her  logic  had  shown  him  were  utterly  false. 
Clearly  the  grooves  in  which  this  child's  pure  thought  ran 
were  not  his  own.  And  if  she  would  not  think  as  he  did,  what 
recourse  was  there  left  him  but  to  accept  the  alternative  and 
think  with  her?  For  he  would  not,  even  if  he  could,  force  upon 
her  his  own  thought-processes. 

"Then,  Carmen,"  he  finally  ventured,  "you  do  not  wish  to 
learn  about  people  and  what  they  have  done  and  are  doing  in 
the  big  \vorld  about  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Padre;  tell  me  all  about  the  good  things  they  did!" 

"But  they  did  many  wicked  things  too,  chiquita.  And  the 
good  and  the  bad  are  all  mixed  up  together." 

"No,"  she  shook  her  head  vigorously;  "there  isn't  any  bad. 
There  is  only  good,  for  God  is  everywhere — isn't  He?" 

She  raised  up  and  looked  squarely  into  the  priest's  eyes. 
Dissimulation,  hypocrisy,  quibble,  cant — nothing  but  fearless 
truth  could  meet  that  gaze. 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  in  upon  his  clouded  thought.  This 
girl — this  tender  plant  of  God — why,  she  had  shown  it  from  the 
very  beginning!  And  he,  oh,  blind  that  he  was!  he  could  not 
see  nor  accept  it.  The  secret  of  her  power,  of  her  ecstasy  of 
life — what  was  it  but  this? — she  knew  no  evil! 

And  the  Lord  God  commanded  the  man,  saying,  "Of  every 
tree  of  the  garden  thou  mayest  freely  eat:  but  of  the  tree  of 
the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it:  for  in 
the  day  that  thou  eatest  thereof  thou  shalt  surely  die." 

Oh,    great   God!      It   was   the   first — the   very  first — lesson 

13  41 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


which  Thou  didst  teach  Thy  child,  Israel,  as  the  curtain  rose 
upon  the  drama  of  human  life!  And  the  awful  warning  has 
rung  down  through  the  corridors  of  time  from  the  mouths  of 
the  prophets,  whom  we  slew  lest  they  wake  us  from  our  mes 
meric  sleep!  Israel  forgot  Thy  words;  and  the  world  has  for 
gotten  them,  long,  long  since.  Daily  we  mix  our  perfumed 
draft  of  good  and  evil,  and  sink  under  its  lethal  influence! 
Hourly  we  eat  of  the  forbidden  tree,  till  the  pangs  of  death  en 
compass  us! 

And  when  at  last  the  dark  angel  hovered  over  the  sin- 
stricken  earth  and  claimed  it  for  his  own,  the  great  Master 
came  to  sound  again  the  warning — "As  a  man  thinketh  in  his 
heart,  so  is  he!"  But  they  would  have  none  of  him,  and  nailed 
him  to  a  tree! 

Oh,  Jerusalem!  Oh,  ye  incarnate  human  mind!  Even  the 
unique  Son  of  God  wept  as  he  looked  with  yearning  upon  you! 
Why?  Because  of  your  stubborn  clinging  to  false  ways,  false 
beliefs,  false  thoughts  of  God  and  man!  Because  ye  would  not 
be  healed;  ye  would  not  be  made  whole!  Ye  loved  evil — ye  gave 
it  life  and  power,  and  ye  rolled  it  like  a  sweet  morsel  beneath 
your  tongue — and  so  ye  died!  So  came  death  into  this  fair 
world,  through  the  heart,  the  brain,  the  mind  of  man,  who 
sought  to  know  what  God  could  not! 

"Padre  dear,  you  are  so  quiet."  The  girl  nestled  closer  to 
the  awed  priest.  Aye!  And  so  the  multitude  on  Sinai  had  stood 
in  awed  quiet  as  they  listened  to  the  voice  of  God. 

This  child  knew  no  evil!  The  man  could  not  grasp  the  in 
finite  import  of  the  marvelous  fact.  And  yet  he  had  sought  to 
teach  her  falsities — to  teach  her  that  evil  did  exist,  as  real  and 
as  potent  as  good,  and  that  it  was  to  be  accepted  and  honored 
by  mankind!  But  she  had  turned  her  back  upon  the  tempta 
tion. 

"Padre,  are  you  going  to  tell  me  about  Jesus?" 

The  priest  roused  from  his  deep  meditation. 

"Yes,  yes — I  want  to  know  nothing  else !  I  will  get  my  Bible, 
and  we  will  read  about  him!" 

"Bible?    What  is  that,  Padre  dear?" 

"What!  You  don't  know  what  the  Bible  is?"  cried  the  as 
tonished  priest. 

"No,  Padre." 

"But  have  you  never — has  your  padre  Rosendo  never  told 
you  that  it  is  the  book  that  tells — ?" 

"No,"  the  girl  shook  her  head.  "But,"  her  face  kindling, 
"he  told  me  that  Jesus  was  God's  only  son.  But  we  are  all  His 
children,  aren't  we?" 

"Yes— especially  you,  little  one!  But  Jesus  was  the  great 
est — " 

42 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Did  Jesus  write  the  Bible,  Padre?"  the  girl  asked  earnestly. 

"No — we  don't  know  who  did.  People  used  to  think  God 
wrote  it;  but  I  guess  He  didn't." 

"Then  we  will  not  read  it,  Padre." 

The  man  bent  reverently  over  the  little  brown  head  and 
prayed  again  for  guidance.  What  could  he  do  with  this  child, 
who  dwelt  with  Jehovah — who  saw  His  reflection  in  every  flow 
er  and  hill  and  fleecy  cloud — who  heard  His  voice  in  the  sough 
of  the  wind,  and  the  ripple  of  the  waters  on  the  pebbly  shore! 
And,  oh,  that  some  one  had  bent  over  him  and  prayed  for 
guidance  when  he  was  a  tender  lad  and  his  heart  burned  with 
yearning  for  truth! 

"God  wrote  the  arithmetic — I  mean,  He  told  people  how  to 
write  it,  didn't  He,  Padre?" 

Surely  the  priest  could  acquiesce  in  this,  for  mathematics 
is  purely  metaphysical,  and  without  guile. 

"Yes,  chiquila.  And  we  will  go  right  through  this  little 
book.  Then,  if  I  can,  I  will  send  for  others  that  will  teach  you 
wonderful  things  about  what  we  call  mathematics." 

The  child  smiled  her  approval.  The  priest  had  now  found 
the  only  path  which  she  would  tread  with  him,  and  he  con 
tinued  with  enthusiasm. 

"And  God  taught  people  how  to  talk,  little  one;  but  they 
don't  all  talk  as  we  do.  There  is  a  great  land  up  north  of  us, 
which  we  call  the  United  States,  and  there  the  people  would  not 
understand  us,  for  we  speak  Spanish.  I  must  teach  you  their 
language,  chiquita,  and  I  must  teach  you  others,  too,  for  you 
will  not  always  live  in  Simiti." 

"I  want  to  stay  here  always,  Padre.     I  love  Simiti." 

"No,  Carmen;  God  has  work  for  you  out  in  His  big  world. 
You  have  something  to  tell  His  people  some  day,  a  message  for 
them.  But  you  and  I  have  much  work  to  do  here  first.  And  so 
we  will  begin  with  the  arithmetic  and  English.  Later  we  will 
study  other  languages,  and  we  will  talk  them  to  each  other 
until  you  speak  them  as  fluently  as  your  own.  And  meanwhile, 
I  will  tell  you  about  the  great  countries  of  the  world,  and  about 
the  people  that  live  in  them.  And  we  will  study  about  the 
stars,  and  the  rocks,  and  the  animals;  and  we  will  read  and 
work  and  read  and  work  all  day  long,  every  day!"  The  priest's 
face  was  aglow  with  animation. 

"But,  Padre,  when  shall  I  have  time  to  think?" 
"Why,  you  will  be  thinking  all  the  time,  child!" 
"No,  you  don't  understand.     I  have  to  think  about  other 
things." 

Jose  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "What  other 
things  do  you  have  to  think  about,  chiquita?" 

43 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"About  all  the  people  here  who  are  sick  and  unhappy,  and 
who  quarrel  and  don't  love  one  another." 

"Do  you  think  about  people  when  they  are  sick?"  he  asked 
with  heightened  curiosity. 

"Yes,  always!"  she  replied  vigorously  "When  they  are  sick 
I  go  where  nobody  can  find  me  and  then  just  think  that  it  isn't 
so." 

"Hombre!"  the  priest  ejaculated,  his  astonishment  soaring 
Then— 

"But  when  people  are  sick  it  is  really  so,  isn't  it,  chiquita?" 

"No!"  emphatically.  "It  can't  be — not  if  God  is  everywhere. 
Does  He  make  them  sick?"  The  child  drove  the  heart-search 
ing  question  straight  into  him. 

"Why — no,  I  can't  say  that  He  does.  And  yet  they  some 
how  get  sick." 

"Because  they  think  bad  things,  Padre.  Because  they  don't 
think  about  God.  They  don't  think  He  is  here.  And  they  don't 
care  about  Him — they  don't  love  Him.  And  so  they  get  sick," 
she  explained  succinctly. 

Jose's  mind  reverted  to  what  Rosendo  had  told  him.  When 
he  lay  tossing  in  delirium  Carmen  had  said  that  he  would  not 
die.  And  yet  that  was  perfectly  logical,  if  she  refused  to  admit 
the  existence  of  evil. 

"I  thought  lots  about  you  last  week,  Padre." 

The  soft  voice  was  close  to  his  ear,  and  every  breath  swept 
over  his  heartstrings  and  made  them  vibrate. 

"Every  night  when  I  went  to  sleep  I  told  God  I  knew  He 
would  cure  you." 

The  priest's  head  sank  upon  his  breast. 

Verily,  I  have  not  seen  such  faith,  no,  not  in  Israel!  And 
the  faith  of  this  child  had  glorified  her  vision  until  she  saw 
"the  heavens  open  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  de 
scending  upon  the  Son  of  Man." 

"Carmen" — the  priest  spoke  reverently — "do  the  sick  ones 
always  get  well  when  you  think  about  them?" 

There  was  not  a  shade  of  euphemism  in  the  unhesitating 
reply — 

"They  are  never  really  sick,  Padre." 

"But,  by  that  you  mean — " 

"They  only  have  bad  thoughts." 

"Sick  thoughts,  then?"  he  suggested  by  way  of  drawing  out 
her  full  meaning. 

"Yes,  Padre — for  God,  you  know,  really  is  everywhere." 

"Carmen!"  cried  the  man.  "What  put  such  ideas  into  your 
little  head?  Who  told  you  these  things?" 

Her  brown  eyes  looked  full  into  his  own.  "God,  Padre 
dear." 

44 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


God!  Yes,  of  a  verity  she  spoke  truth.  For  nothing  but  her 
constant  communion  with  Him  could  have  filled  her  pure 
thought  with  a  deeper,  truer  lore  than  man  has  ever  quaffed  at 
the  world's  great  fountains  of  learning.  He  himself,  trained 
by  Holy  Church,  deeply  versed  in  letters,  science,  and  theology, 
grounded  in  all  human  learning,  sat  in  humility  at  her  feet, 
drinking  in  what  his  heart  told  him  he  had  at  length  found — 
Truth. 

He  had  one  more  question  to  ask.  "Carmen,  how  do  you 
know,  how  are  you  sure,  that  He  told  you?" 

"Because  it  is  true,  Padre." 

"But  just  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  true?"  he  insisted. 

"Why — it  comes  out  that  way;  just  like  the  answers  to 
the  problems  in  arithmetic.  I  used  to  try  to  see  if  by  thinking 
only  good  thoughts  to-day  I  would  be  better  and  happier  to 
morrow." 

"Yes,  and—?" 

"Well,  I  always  was,  Padre.  And  so  now  I  don't  think  any 
thing  but  good  thoughts." 

"That  is,  you  think  only  about  God?" 

"I  always  think  about  Him  first,  Padre." 

He  had  no  further  need  to  question  her  proofs,  for  he  knew 
she  was  taught  by  the  Master  himself. 

"That  will  be  all  for  this  morning,  Carmen,"  he  said  quietly, 
as  he  put  her  down.  "Leave  me  now.  I,  too,  have  some  think 
ing  to  do." 

When  Carmen  left  him,  Jose  lapsed  into  profound  medita 
tion.  Musing  over  his  life  experiences,  he  at  last  summed  them 
all  up  in  the  vain  attempt  to  evolve  an  acceptable  concept  of 
God,  an  idea  of  Him  that  would  satisfy.  He  had  felt  that  in 
Christianity  he  had  hold  of  something  beneficent,  something 
real;  but  he  had  never  been  able  to  formulate  it,  nor  lift  it  above 
the  shadows  into  the  clear  light  of  full  comprehension.  And 
the  result  of  his  futile  efforts  to  this  end  had  been  agnosticism. 
His  inability  conscientiously  to  accept  the  mad  reasoning  of 
theologians  and  the  impudent  claims  of  Rome  had  been  the 
stumbling  block  to  his  own  and  his  family's  dearest  earthly 
hopes.  He  knew  that  popular  Christianity  was  a  disfigurement 
of  truth.  He  knew  that  the  theological  claptrap  which  the 
Church,  with  such  oracular  assurance,  such  indubitable  cer 
tainty  and  gross  assumption  of  superhuman  knowledge,  handed 
out  to  a  suffering  world,  was  a  travesty  of  the  divinely  simple 
teachings  of  Jesus,  and  that  it  had  estranged  mankind  from 
their  only  visible  source  of  salvation,  the  Bible.  He  saw  more 
clearly  than  ever  before  that  in  the  actual  achievements  of 
popular  theology  there  had  been  ridiculously  little  that  a  seri- 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ously-minded  man  could  accept  as  supports  to  its  claims  to  be 
a  divinely  revealed  scheme  of  salvation.  Yet  there  was  no  vital 
question  on  which  certainty  was  so  little  demanded,  and  seem 
ingly  of  so  little  consequence,  as  this,  even  though  the  joints  of 
the  theologians'  armor  flapped  wide  to  the  assaults  of  unprej 
udiced  criticism. 

But  if  the  slate  were  swept  clean — if  current  theological 
dogma  were  overthrown,  and  the  stage  set  anew — what  could 
be  reared  in  their  stead?  Is  it  true  that  the  Bible  is  based  upon 
propositions  which  can  be  verified  by  all?  The  explorer  in  Car 
tagena  had  given  Jose  a  new  thought  in  Arnold's  concept  of 
God  as  "the  Eternal,  not  ourselves,  that  makes  for  righteous 
ness."  And  it  was  not  to  be  denied  that,  from  first  to  last,  the 
Bible  is  a  call  to  righteousness. 

But  what  is  righteousness?  Ethical  conduct?  Assuredly 
something  vastly  more  profound,  for  even  that  "misses  the 
mark."  No,  righteousness  was  right  conduct  until  the  mar 
velous  Jesus  appeared.  But  he  swept  it  at  once  from  the  mate 
rial  into  the  mental;  from  the  outward  into  the  inward;  and 
defined  it  as  right-thinking! 

"Righteousness!"  murmured  Jose,  sitting  with  head  buried 
in  his  hands.  "Aye,  the  whole  scheme  of  salvation  is  held  in 
that  one  word!  And  the  wreck  of  my  life  has  been  caused  by 
my  blind  ignorance  of  its  tremendous  meaning!  For  righteous 
ness  is  salvation.  But  Carmen,  wise  little  soul,  divined  it  in 
stinctively;  for,  if  there  is  one  thing  that  is  patent,  it  is  that  if 
a  thing  is  evil  it  does  not  exist  for  her.  Righteousness!  Of 
course  it  means  thinking  no  evil!  Jesus  lived  his  thorough  un 
derstanding  of  it.  And  so  does  Carmen.  And  so  would  the 
world,  but  for  the  withering  influence  of  priestly  authority!" 

At  that  moment  Carmen  reappeared  to  summon  him  to 
lunch. 

"Come  here,  little  girl,"  said  Jose,  drawing  her  to  him.  "You 
asked  me  to  tell  you  about  Jesus.  He  was  the  greatest  and  best 
man  that  ever  lived.  And  it  was  because  he  never  had  a  bad 
thought." 

"Did  he  know  that  God  was  everywhere?"  The  little  face 
turned  lovingly  up  to  his. 

"He  did,  sweet  child.  And  so  do  I — now;  for  I  have  found 
Him  even  in  desolate  Simiti." 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  7 

CARMEN'S  studies  began  in  earnest  that  afternoon.  In  the 
quiet  of  his  humble  cottage  Jose,  now  "a  prisoner  of  the 
Lord,"  opened  the  door  of  his  mental  storehouse  and  care 
fully  selected  those  first  bits  of  knowledge  for  the  foundation 
stones  on  which  to  rear  for  her,  little  by  little,  a  broad  educa 
tion. 

He  found  her  a  facile  learner;  her  thorough  ease  in  the  rudi 
ments  of  arithmetic  and  in  the  handling  of  her  own  language 
delighted  him.  His  plan  of  tutelage,  although  the  result  of  long 
contemplation,  and  involving  many  radical  ideas  regarding  the 
training  of  children,  ideas  which  had  been  slowly  developing  in 
his  mind  for  years,  he  nevertheless  felt  in  her  case  to  be  tenta 
tive.  For  he  was  dealing  with  no  ordinary  child;  and  so  the 
usual  methods  of  instruction  were  here  wholly  out  of  the 
question. 

But  on  several  points  he  was  already  firmly  resolved.  First, 
he  would  get  well  below  the  surface  of  this  child's  mind,  and 
he  would  endeavor  to  train  her  to  live  in  a  depth  of  thought 
far,  far  beneath  the  froth  and  superficiality  of  the  every-day 
thinking  of  mankind.  Fortunately,  she  had  had  no  previous 
bad  training  to  be  counteracted  now.  Nature  had  been  her  only 
tutor;  and  Rosendo's  canny  wisdom  had  kept  out  all  human 
interference.  Her  associates  in  Simiti  were  few.  Her  unusual 
and  mature  thought  had  set  up  an  intellectual  barrier  between 
herself  and  the  playmates  she  might  have  had.  Fortunately, 
too,  Jose  had  now  to  deal  with  a  child  who  all  her  life  had 
thought  vigorously — and,  he  was  forced  to  conclude,  correctly. 
Habits  of  accurate  observation  and  quick  and  correct  interpre 
tation  would  not  be  difficult  to  form  in  such  a  mind.  More 
over,  to  this  end  he  would  aim  to  maintain  her  interest  at  the 
point  of  intensity  in  every  subject  undertaken;  yet  without 
forcing,  and  without  sacrifice  of  the  joys  of  childhood.  He 
would  be,  not  teacher  only,  but  fellowr-student.  He  would  strive 
to  learn  with  her  to  conceive  the  ideal  without  losing  sight  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  human  world  in  which  they  dwelt.  When 
she  wished  to  play,  he  would  play  with  her.  But  he  would 
contrive  and  direct  their  amusements  so  as  to  carry  instruction, 
to  elucidate  and  exemplify  it,  to  point  morals,  and  steadily  to 
contribute  to  her  store  of  knowledge.  His  plan  was  ideal,  he 
knew.  But  he  could  not  know  then  that  Nature — if  we  may 
thus  call  it — had  anticipated  him,  and  that  the  child,  long  since 
started  upon  the  quest  for  truth,  would  quickly  outstrip  him 

47 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


in  the  matter  of  conceiving  the  ideal  and  living  in  this  world  of 
relative  fact  with  an  eye  single  to  the  truth  which  shines  so 
dimly  through  it. 

Jose  knew,  as  he  studied  Carmen  and  planned  her  training, 
that  whatever  instruction  he  offered  her  must  be  without  taint 
of  evil,  so  far  as  he  might  prevent.  And  yet,  the  thought  of  any 
attempt  to  withhold  from  her  a  knowledge  of  evil  brought  a 
sardonic  smile  to  his  lips.  She  had  as  yet  everything  to  learn 
of  the  world  about  her.  Could  such  learning  be  imparted  to 
her  free  from  error  or  hypothesis,  and  apart  from  the  fiat  of 
the  speculative  human  mind?  It  must  be;  for  he  knew  from 
experience  that  she  would  accept  his  teaching  only  as  he  pre 
sented  every  apparent  fact,  every  object,  every  event,  as  a  re 
flection  in  some  degree  of  her  immanent  God,  and  subject  to 
rigid  demonstration.  Where  historical  events  externalized  only 
the  evil  motives  of  the  carnal  mind,  he  must  contrive  to  omit 
them  entirely,  or  else  present  them  as  unreality,  the  result  of 
"bad  thoughts"  and  forgetfulness  of  God.  In  other  words,  only 
as  he  assumed  to  be  the  channel  through  which  God  spoke  to 
her  could  he  hope  for  success.  To  impart  to  her  a  knowledge 
of  both  good  and  evil  was,  at  least  at  present,  impossible.  To 
force  it. upon  her  later  would  be  criminal.  Moreover,  why  not 
try  the  audacious  experiment  of  permitting  and  aiding  this 
child  to  grow  up  without  a  knowledge  of  evil? — that  is,  in  her 
present  conviction  that  only  good  is  real,  potent  and  permanent, 
while  evil  is  impotent  illusion  and  to  be  met  and  overcome  on 
that  basis.  Would  the  resultant  training  make  of  her  a  tower 
of  strength — or  would  it  render  her  incapable  of  resisting  the 
onslaughts  of  evil  when  at  length  she  faced  the  world?  His  own 
heart  sanctioned  the  plan;  and — well,  the  final  judgment  should 
be  left  to  Carmen  herself. 

The  work  proceeded  joyously.  At  times  Cucumbra  inter 
rupted  by  bounding  in,  as  if  impatient  of  the  attention  his  little 
mistress  was  giving  her  tutor.  Frequently  the  inquisitive  Cantar- 
las-horas  stalked  through  the  room,  displaying  a  most  dignified 
and  laudable  interest  in  the  proceedings.  Late  in  the  afternoon, 
when  the  sun  was  low,  Rosendo  appeared  at  the  door.  As  he 
stood  listening  to  Jose's  narrative  of  men  and  places  in  the  out 
side  world,  his  eyes  bulged.  At  length  his  untutored  mind  be 
came  strained  to  its  elastic  limit. 

"Is  that  true,  Padre?"  he  could  not  refrain  from  interrupt 
ing,  when  Jose  had  spoken  of  the  fast  trains  of  England.  "Why, 
the  Simiti  trail  to  Tachi  is  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  long; 
and  it  always  took  me  six  days  to  walk  it.  And  do  you  say 
there  are  trains  that  travel  that  distance  in  as  many  hours?" 

"There  are  trains,  Rosendo,  that  traverse  the  distance  in 
three  hours." 

48 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Na,  Padre,  it  can't  be  done!"  cried  the  incredulous  Rosendo, 
shaking  his  head. 

"Leave  us,  unbeliever!"  laughed  Jose,  motioning  him  away. 
"I  have  more  pliable  material  here  to  handle  than  you." 

But  Rosendo  remained;  and  it  was  evident  to  the  priest 
that  he  had  come  on  an  errand  of  importance.  Moreover,  the 
supper  hour  was  at  hand,  and  perhaps  Dona  Maria  needed 
Carmen's  help.  So,  dismissing  the  child,  Jose  turned  to  Ro 
sendo. 

"You  were  right,"  he  began,  as  if  taking  up  the  thread  of  a 
broken  discourse.  "Carmen  was  left  on  the  river  bank  by  the 
angels." 

"Then  you  do  think  it  was  a  miracle!"  said  Rosendo  in  a 
voice  of  awe,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

The  priest  smiled.  "Everything  is  a  miracle,  friend;  for  a 
miracle  is  simply  a  sign  of  God's  presence.  And  finding  Car 
men  in  this  musty,  forgotten  place  is  one  of  the  greatest.  For 
where  she  is,  He  is." 

"Yes,  Padre,  that  is  true,"  assented  Rosendo  gravely. 

"I  was  led  here,"  continued  Jose;  "I  see  it  now.  Rosendo, 
all  my  life  I  have  regarded  evil  as  just  as  real  and  powerful  as 
good.  And  my  life  has  been  one  of  bitterness  and  woe.  Carmen 
sees  only  the  good  God  everywhere.  And  she  dwells  in  heaven. 
What  is  the  logical  inference?  Simply  that  my  mental  attitude 
has  been  all  wrong,  my  views  erroneous,  my  thinking  bad.  I 
have  tried  to  know  both  good  and  evil,  to  eat  of  the  forbidden 
tree.  And  for  so  doing  I  was  banished  from  paradise.  Do  you 
understand  me?" 

"Why — well,  no,  Padre — that  is,  I—  '  The  honest  fellow  was 
becoming  confused. 

"Well,  just  this,  then,"  explained  the  priest  with  animation. 
"I  haven't  gotten  anywhere  in  life,  and  neither  have  you,  be 
cause  we  have  limited  ourselves  and  crippled  our  efforts  by 
yielding  to  fear,  pride,  ignorance,  and  the  belief  in  evil  as  a  real 
power  opposed  to  good." 

"I  have  often  wondered  myself,  Padre,  how  there  could  be 
a  devil  if  God  is  almighty.  For  in  that  case  He  would  have  had 
to  make  the  devil,  wouldn't  He?" 

"Just  so!"  cried  Jose  enthusiastically.  "And  as  He  did 
make  everything,  then  either  He  made  the  devil,  or  else  there 
isn't  any." 

"But  that  is  pretty  hard  to  see,  Padre,"  replied  the  puzzled 
Rosendo.  "Something  makes  us  do  wicked  things." 

"Simply  the  belief  that  there  is  a  power  apart  from  God." 

"But  doesn't  that  belief  come  from  the  devil?" 

"Surely — the  devil  of  imagination!     Listen,  Rosendo:     Car- 

49 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


men  is  daily  putting  into  practice  her  instinctive  knowledge  of 
a  mighty  fact.  She  will  reveal  it  all  to  us  in  due  time.  Let  us 
patiently  watch  her,  and  try  to  see  and  understand  and  believe 
as  she  does.  But  in  the  meantime,  let  us  guard  our  minds  as  we 
would  a  treasure  house,  and  strive  never  to  let  a  thought  of 
evil  get  inside!  My  past  life  should  serve  as  a  perpetual  warn 
ing." 

Rosendo  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  sat  staring  vacantly  at 
the  ground.  Jose  knew  that  his  thoughts  were  with  his  way 
ward  daughter.  Then,  as  if  suddenly  remembering  the  object 
of  his  call,  he  took  from  his  wallet  two  letters,  which  he  handed 
to  Jose  with  the  comment:  "Juan  brought  them  up  from 
Bodega  Central  this  morning." 

Jose  took  them  with  quickening  pulse.  One  was  from  Spain, 
from  his  uncle.  He  devoured  it  eagerly.  It  was  six  weeks  old 
when  it  arrived  in  Simiti,  and  had  been  written  before  the  news 
of  his  removal  from  Cartagena  had  reached  Seville.  His  mother 
was  well;  and  her  hopes  for  her  son's  preferment  were  steadily 
reviving,  after  the  cruel  blow  which  his  disgrace  in  Rome  had 
given  them.  For  his  uncle's  part,  he  hoped  that  Jose  had  now 
seen  the  futility  of  opposition  to  Holy  Church,  and  that,  yield 
ing  humbly  to  her  gentle  chastisement  for  the  great  injury  he 
had  inflicted  upon  her,  he  would  now  make  amends  and  merit 
the  favors  which  she  was  sure  to  bestow  upon  him  in  due  sea 
son.  To  this  end  the  uncle  would  bring  to  bear  his  own  in 
fluence  and  that  of  His  Eminence,  the  Archbishop  of  Seville. 
The  letter  closed  with  an  invocation  to  the  Saints  and  the  ever- 
blessed  Virgin. 

Jose  opened  the  second  letter.  It  was  nominally  from  the 
Bishop  of  Cartagena,  although  written,  he  well  knew,  by  Wen- 
ceslas.  His  Reverence  regretted  that  Jose  had  not  come  to  him 
again  before  leaving  Cartagena.  He  deplored  exceedingly  the 
necessity  of  assigning  him  to  so  lowly  a  parish;  but  it  was 
discipline.  His  tenure  of  the  parish  would  be  a  matter  of  pro 
bation.  Assuming  a  penitent  desire  on  the  part  of  the  priest 
to  make  reparation  for  past  indiscretions,  His  Grace  extended 
assurances  of  his  support  and  tender  consideration.  And,  re 
garding  him  still  as  a  faithful  son,  he  was  setting  forth  here 
with  certain  instructions  which  Jose  would  zealously  carry  out, 
to  the  glory  of  the  sacred  Mother  Church  and  the  blessed  Virgin, 
and  to  his  own  edification,  to  wit:  In  the  matter  of  the  con 
fessional  he  must  be  unremittingly  zealous,  not  failing  to  put 
such  questions  to  the  people  of  Simiti  as  would  draw  out  their 
most  secret  thoughts.  In  the  present  crisis  it  was  especially 
necessary  to  learn  their  political  views.  Likewise,  he  must  not 
fail  to  impress  upon  them  the  sin  of  concealing  wealth,  and  of 

50 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


withholding  contributions  to  the  support  of  the  glorious  Mother. 
He,  as  priest  of  the  parish,  would  be  held  personally  responsible 
for  the  collection  of  an  adequate  "Peter's  Pence,"  which  must 
be  sent  to  Cartagena  at  frequent  intervals  for  subsequent  ship 
ment  to  Rome.  For  all  contributions  he  was  to  allow  liberal 
plenary  indulgences.  In  the  matter  of  inciting  zeal  for  the  sal 
vation  of  those  unfortunate  souls  lingering  in  the  torments  of 
purgatory,  Jose  must  be  unflagging.  Each  family  in  the  parish 
should  be  constantly  admonished  and  threatened,  if  necessary, 
to  have  Masses  said  for  their  deceased  members;  and  he  must 
forward  the  proceeds  from  such  Masses  at  once  to  Cartagena. 
No  less  important,  he  must  keep  constantly  before  him  the  great 
fact  that  the  hope  of  the  blessed  Mother  lay  in  her  young.  To 
this  end  he  must  see  that  all  children  in  his  parish  were  in  due 
time  confirmed,  and  every  effort  made  to  have  the  females  sent 
to  the  convent  of  Mompox.  To  encourage  his  parishioners,  he 
might  assure  them  of  His  Reverence's  tender  regard  for  them 
as  his  beloved  children,  and  that  he  had  certain  special  favors 
to  grant  to  them  in  due  time.  Also,  that  a  statue  of  the  Virgin, 
which  had  arrived  from  Rome,  and  which  carried  the  most 
potent  blessing  of  the  Holy  Father,  was  to  be  bestowed  upon 
that  church  in  the  diocese  which  within  the  next  twelve  months 
should  contribute  the  largest  amount  of  Peter's  Pence  in  pro 
portion  to  population.  This  plan  should  be  especially  attractive 
to  the  people  of  Simiti,  as  the  town  lay  on  the  confines  of  a  dis 
trict  renowned  in  the  ancient  annals  for  its  mineral  wealth. 
Herein,  too,  lay  a  great  opportunity  for  the  priest;  and  His 
Reverence  rejoiced  in  the  certain  knowledge  that  he  would  em 
brace  it.  Invoking  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  and  the  Ever- 
Blessed  Virgin  and  Saint  Joseph,  His  Grace  awaited  with  interest 
the  priest's  first  report  from  the  parish  of  Simiti. 

The  letter  fell  like  a  wet  blanket  upon  Jose,  chilling  him  to 
the  marrow,  for  it  revived  with  cruel  poignancy  the  fact  that  he 
was  still  a  servant  of  Rome.  In  the  past  few  happy  days  he 
had  dwelt  apart  from  the  world  in  the  consciousness  of  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth,  revealed  by  Carmen.  This  sudden  call 
to  duty  was  like  a  summons  from  Mephistopheles  to  the  fulfill 
ment  of  a  forgotten  pact. 

He  carefully  read  the  letter  again.  Beneath  the  specious 
kindliness  of  Wenceslas  lay  sinister  motives,  he  knew.  Among 
them,  greed,  of  course.  But — a  darker  thought — did  Wences 
las  know  of  Carmen's  existence?  Could  Cartagena  have  re 
ceived  any  intimation  of  his  plans  for  her?  Refusal  to  comply 
with  these  instructions  meant — he  dared  not  think  what !  On 
the  other  hand,  strict  compliance  with  them  certainly  was  out 
of  the  question. 

51 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


As  for  Peter's  Pence,  what  could  the  impoverished  folk  of 
this  decrepit  town  furnish!  And  yet,  if  a  reasonable  sum 
could  only  be  contributed  at  frequent  intervals,  would  not  the 
vampire  Wenceslas  rest  content,  at  least  for  a  while?  Oh,  for 
a  fortune  of  his  own,  that  he  might  dump  it  all  into  the  yawn 
ing  maw  of  Holy  Church,  and  thus  gain  a  few  years'  respite 
for  himself  and  Carmen! 

"Bad  news,  Padre?"  Rosendo  inquired,  anxiously  regarding 
the  priest's  strained  features. 

What  could  the  man  do  or  say,  limited,  hounded,  and  with 
out  resources?  Could  he  force  these  simple  people  to  buy 
Masses?  Could  he  take  their  money  on  a  pretext  which  he  felt 
to  be  utterly  false?  Yet  Cartagena  must  be  kept  quiet  at  any 
hazard! 

"Rosendo,"  he  asked  earnestly,  "when  you  had  a  priest  in 
Simiti,  did  the  people  have  Masses  offered  for  their  dead?" 

"Na,  Padre,  we  have  little  money  for  Masses,"  replied  Ro 
sendo  sadly. 

"But  you  have  bought  them?" 

"At  times — long  ago — for  my  first  wife,  when  she  died  with 
out  a  priest,  up  in  the  Tigui  country.  But  not  when  Padre 
Diego  was  here.  I  couldn't  see  how  Masses  said  by  that  drunken 
priest  could  please  God,  or  make  Him  release  souls  from  purga 
tory — and  Padre  Diego  was  drunk  most  of  the  time." 

Jose  became  desperate.  "Rosendo,  we  must  send  money  to 
the  Bishop  in  Cartagena.  I  must  stay  here — I  must!  And  I 
can  stay  only  by  satisfying  Wenceslas!  If  I  can  send  him 
money  he  will  think  me  too  valuable  to  remove.  It  is  not  the 
Church,  Rosendo,  but  Wenceslas  wTho  is  persecuting  me.  It  is 
he  who  has  placed  me  here.  He  is  using  the  Church  for  his 
own  evil  ends.  It  is  he  who  must  be  placated.  But  I — I  can't 
make  these  poor  people  buy  Masses!  And — but  here,  read  his 
letter,"  thrusting  it  into  Rosendo's  hand. 

Rosendo  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  and  a  cloud  had 
gathered  over  his  strong  face  when  he  returned  the  Bishop's 
letter  to  Jose. 

"Padre,  we  will  be  hard  pressed  to  support  the  church  and 
you,  without  buying  Masses.  There  are  about  two  hundred 
people  here,  perhaps  fifty  families.  But  they  are  very,  very 
poor.  Only  a  few  can  afford  to  pay  even  a  peso  oro  a  month  to 
the  schoolmaster  to  have  their  children  taught.  They  may  be 
able  to  give  twenty  pesos  a  month  to  support  you  and  the 
church.  But  hardly  more." 

It  seemed  to  Jose  that  his  soul  must  burst  under  its  limita 
tions. 

"Rosendo,  let  us  take  Carmen  and  flee!"  he  cried  wildly. 

52 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"How  far  would  we  get,  Padre?    Have  you  money?" 

No,  Jose  had  nothing.  He  lapsed  into  silence-shrouded  de 
spair. 

The  sun  dropped  below  the  wooded  hills,  and  Cantar-las- 
horas  had  sung  his  weird  vesper  song.  Dusk  was  thickening 
into  night,  though  upon  the  distant  Sierras  a  mellow  glow  still 
illumined  the  frosted  peaks.  Moments  crept  slowly  through 
the  enveloping  silence. 

Then  the  mental  gloom  parted,  and  through  it  arose  the 
great  soul  of  the  black-faced  man  sitting  beside  the  despairing 
priest. 

"Padre" — Rosendo  spoke  slowly  and  with  deep  emotion. 
Tears  trickled  down  his  swart  cheeks — "I  am  no  longer  young. 
More  than  sixty  years  of  hardship  and  heavy  toil  rest  upon  me. 
My  parents — I  have  not  told  you  this — were  slaves.  They 
worked  in  the  mines  of  Guamoco,  under  hard  masters.  They 
lived  in  bamboo  huts,  and  slept  on  the  damp  ground.  At  four 
each  morning,  year  after  year,  they  were  driven  from  their 
hard  beds  and  sent  out  to  toil  under  the  lash  fourteen  hours  a 
day,  washing  gold  from  the  streams.  The  gold  went  to  the 
building  of  Cartagena's  walls,  and  to  her  Bishop,  to  buy  idle 
ness  and  luxury  for  him  and  his  fat  priests.  When  the  war 
came  it  lasted  thirteen  years;  but  we  drove  the  Christian  Span 
iards  into  the  sea!  Then  my  father  and  mother  went  back  to 
Guamoco;  and  there  I  was  born.  When  I  was  old  enough  to 
use  a  batea  I,  too,  washed  gold  in  the  Tigui,  and  in  the  little 
streams  so  numerous  in  that  region.  But  they  had  been  pretty 
well  washed  out  under  the  Spaniards;  and  so  my  father  came 
down  here  and  made  a  little  hacienda  on  the  hills  across  the 
lake  from  Simiti.  Then  he  and  my  poor  mother  lay  down  and 
died,  worn  out  with  their  long  years  of  toil  for  their  cruel  mas 
ters." 

He  brushed  the  tears  from  his  eyes;  then  resumed:  "The 
district  of  Guamoco  gradually  became  deserted.  Revolution 
after  revolution  broke  out  in  this  unhappy  country,  sometimes 
stirred  up  by  the  priests,  sometimes  by  political  agitators  who 
tried  to  get  control  of  the  Government.  The  men  and  boys 
went  to  the  wars,  and  were  killed  off.  Guamoco  was  again 
swallowed  up  by  the  forest — " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  sat  some  moments  silent. 

"I  have  been  back  there  many  times  since,  and  often  I  have 
washed  gold  again  along  the  beautiful  Tigui,"  he  continued. 
"But  the  awful  loneliness  of  the  jungle,  and  the  memories  of 
those  gloomy  days  when  I  toiled  there  as  a  boy,  and  the  thoughts 
of  my  poor  parents'  sufferings  under  the  Spaniards,  made  me 
so  sad  that  I  could  not  stay.  And  then  I  got  too  old  for  that 

53 


kind  of  work,  standing  bent  over  in  the  cold  mountain  water 
all  day  long,  swinging  a  batea  heavy  with  gravel." 

He  paused  again,  and  seemed  to  lose  himself  in  the  memory 
of  those  dark  days. 

"But  there  is  still  gold  in  the  Tigui.  I  can  find  it.  It  means 
hard  work — but  I  can  do  it.  Padre,  I  will  go  back  there  and 
wash  out  gold  for  you  to  send  to  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena,  that 
you  may  stay  here  and  protect  and  teach  the  little  Carmen. 
Perhaps  in  time  I  can  wash  enough  to  get  you  both  out  of  the 
country;  but  it  will  take  many  months,  it  may  be,  years." 

O,  you,  whose  path  in  life  winds  among  pleasant  places, 
where  roses  nod  in  the  scented  breeze  and  fountains  play,  pic 
ture  to  yourself,  if  you  may,  the  self-immolation  of  this  sweet- 
souled  man,  who,  in  the  winter  of  life,  the  shadows  of  eternity 
fast  gathering  about  him,  bends  his  black  shoulders  again  to 
the  burden  which  Love  would  lay  upon  them.  Aye,  Love,  into 
which  all  else  merged — Love  for  the  unknown  babe,  left  help 
less  and  alone  on  the  great  river's  bank — Love  for  the  radiant 
child,  whose  white  soul  the  agents  of  carnal  greed  and  lust 
would  prostitute  to  their  iniquitous  system. 

Night  fell.  By  the  light  of  their  single  candle  the  priest  and 
Rosendo  ate  their  simple  fare  in  silence.  Carmen  was  asleep, 
and  the  angels  watched  over  her  lowly  bed. 

The  meal  ended,  Rosendo  took  up  the  candle,  and  Jose 
followed  him  into  the  bedroom.  Reverently  the  two  men  ap 
proached  the  sleeping  child  and  looked  down  upon  her.  The 
priest's  hand  again  sought  Rosendo's  in  a  grasp  which  sealed 
anew  the  pact  between  them. 


E 


CHAPTER  8 

IKE  the  great  Exemplar  in  the  days  of  his  preparation,  Jose 
was  early  driven  by  the  spirit  into  the  wilderness, 
where  temptation  smote  him  sore.  But  his  soul  had  been 
saved — "yet  so  as  by  fire."  Slowly  old  beliefs  and  faiths  crum 
bled  into  dust,  while  the  new  remained  still  unrevealed.  The 
drift  toward  atheism  which  had  set  in  during  his  long  incar 
ceration  in  the  convent  of  Palazzola  had  not  made  him  yield  to 
the  temptation  to  raise  the  mask  of  hypocrisy  and  plunge  into 
the  pleasures  of  the  world,  nor  accept  the  specious  proffer  of 
ecclesiastical  preferment  in  exchange  for  his  honest  convictions. 
Honor,  however  bigoted  the  sense,  bound  him  to  his  oath,  or  at 
least  to  a  compromising  observance  of  it  harmless  to  the 
Church.  Pride  contributed  to  hold  him  from  the  degradation 

54 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  a  renegade  and  apostate  priest.  And  bothTrested  primarily 
on  an  unshaken  basis  of  maternal  affection,  which  fell  little 
short  of  obsession,  leaving  him  without  the  strength  to  say, 
"Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee?" 

But,  though  atheism  in  belief  leads  almost  inevitably  to  dis 
integration  of  morals,  Jose  had  kept  himself  untainted.  For 
his  vital  problems  he  had  now,  after  many  days,  found  "grace 
sufficient."  In  what  he  had  regarded  as  the  contemptible  tricks 
of  fate,  he  was  beginning  to  discern  the  guiding  hand  of  a  wis 
dom  greater  than  the  world's.  The  danger  threatened  by  Car 
tagena  was,  temporarily,  at  least,  averted  by  Rosendo's  magnif 
icent  spirit.  Under  the  spur  of  that  sacrifice  his  own  courage 
rose  mightily  to  second  it. 

Rosendo  spent  the  day  in  preparation  for  his  journey  into 
the  Guamoco  country.  He  had  discussed  with  Jose,  long  and 
earnestly,  its  probable  effect  upon  the  people  of  Simiti,  and 
especially  upon  Don  Mario,  the  Alcalde;  but  it  was  decided  that 
no  further  explanation  should  be  made  than  that  he  was  again 
going  to  prospect  in  the  mineral  districts  already  so  familiar  to 
him.  As  Rosendo  had  said,  this  venture,  together  with  the  unan 
nounced  and  unsolicited  presence  of  the  priest  in  the  town, 
could  not  but  excite  extreme  curiosity  and  raise  the  most  lively 
conjectures,  which  might,  in  time,  reach  Wenceslas.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  success  attended  his  efforts,  it  was  more  than 
probable  that  Cartagena  would  remain  quiet,  as  long  as  her 
itching  palm  was  brightened  with  the  yellow  metal  which  he 
hoped  to  wrest  from  the  sands  of  Guamoco.  "It  is  only  a 
chance,  Padre,"  Rosendo  said  dubiously.  "In  the  days  of  the 
Spaniards  the  river  sands  of  Guamoco  produced  from  two  to 
ten  reales  a  day  to  each  slave.  But  the  rivers  have  been  almost 
washed  out." 

Jose  made  a  quick  mental  calculation.  A  Spanish  real  was 
equivalent  to  half  a  franc.  Then  ten  reales  would  amount  to 
five  francs,  the  very  best  he  could  hope  for  as  a  day's  yield. 

"And  my  supplies  and  the  support  of  the  senora  and  Carmen 
must  come  out  of  that,"  Rosendo  added.  "Besides,  I  must  pay 
Juan  for  working  the  hacienda  across  the  lake  for  me  while  I 
am  away." 

Possibly  ten  pesos  oro,  or  forty  francs,  might  remain  at  the 
end  of  each  month  for  them  to  send  to  Cartagena.  Jose  sighed 
heavily  as  he  busied  himself  with  the  preparations. 

"I  got  these  supplies  from  Don  Mario  on  credit,  Padre,"  ex 
plained  Rosendo.  "I  thought  best  to  buy  from  him  to  prevent 
making  him  angry.  I  have  coffee,  panela,  rice,  beans,  and  to 
bacco  for  a  month.  He  was  very  willing  to  let  me  have  them — 
but  do  you  know  why?  He  wants  me  to  go  up  there  and  fail. 

55 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Then  he  will  have  me  in  his  debt,  and  I  become  his  peon — and  I 
would  never  be  anything  after  that  but  his  slave,  for  never 
again  would  he  let  me  get  out  of  debt  to  him." 

Jose  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  awful  system  of  peon 
age  prevalent  in  these  Latin  countries,  an  inhuman  custom  only 
a  degree  removed  from  the  slavery  of  colonial  times.  This 
venture  was,  without  doubt,  a  desperate  risk.  But  it  was  for 
Carmen — and  its  expediency  could  not  be  questioned. 

Jose  penned  a  letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena  that  morn 
ing,  and  sent  it  by  Juan  to  Bodega  Central  to  await  the  next 
down-river  steamer.  He  did  not  know  that  Juan  carried  an 
other  letter  for  the  Bishop,  and  addressed  in  the  flowing  hand 
of  the  Alcalde.  Jose  briefly  acknowledged  the  Bishop's  com 
munication,  and  replied  that  he  would  labor  unllaggingly  to 
uplift  his  people  and  further  their  spiritual  development.  As 
to  the  Bishop's  instructions,  he  would  endeavor  to  make  Simiti's 
contribution  to  the  support  of  Holy  Church,  both  material  and 
spiritual,  fully  commensurate  with  the  population.  He  did  not 
touch  on  the  other  instructions,  but  closed  with  fervent  assur 
ances  of  his  intention  to  serve  his  little  flock  with  an  undivided 
heart.  Carmen  received  no  lesson  that  day,  and  her  rapidly 
flowing  questions  anent  the  unusual  activity  in  the  household 
were  met  with  the  single  explanation  that  her  padre  Rosendo 
had  found  it  necessary  to  go  up  to  the  Tigui  river,  a  journey 
which  some  day  she  might  perhaps  take  with  him. 

During  the  afternoon  Jose  wrote  two  more  letters,  one  to 
his  uncle,  briefly  announcing  his  appointment  to  the  parish  of 
Simiti,  and  his  already  lively  interest  in  his  new  field;  the  other 
to  his  beloved  mother,  in  which  he  only  hinted  at  the  new 
found  hope  which  served  as  his  pillow  at  night.  He  did  not 
mention  Carmen,  for  fear  that  his  letter  might  be  opened  ere  it 
left  Cartagena.  But  in  tenderest  expressions  of  affection,  and 
regret  that  he  had  been  the  unwitting  cause  of  his  mother's  sor 
row,  he  begged  her  to  believe  that  his  life  had  received  a  stimu 
lus  which  could  not  but  result  in  great  happiness  for  them 
both,  for  he  was  convinced  that  he  had  at  last  found  his  metier, 
even  though  among  a  lowly  people  and  in  a  sequestered  part  of 
the  world.  He  hoped  again  to  be  reunited  to  her — possibly  she 
might  some  day  meet  him  in  Cartagena.  And  until  then  he 
would  always  hold  her  in  tenderest  love  and  the  brightest  and 
purest  thought. 

He  brushed  aside  the  tears  as  he  folded  this  letter;  and, 
lest  regret  and  self-condemnation  seize  him  again,  hurried 
forth  in  search  of  Carmen,  wrhose  radiance  always  dispelled  his 
gloom  as  the  rushing  dawn  shatters  the  night. 

She  was  not  in  Rosendo's  house,  and  Dona  Maria  said  she 

56 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


had  seen  the  child  some  time  before  going  in  the  direction  of 
the  "shales."  These  were  broad  beds  of  rock  to  the  south  of 
town,  much  broken  and  deeply  fissured,  and  so  glaringly  hot 
during  most  of  the  day  as  to  be  impassable.  Thither  Jose  bent 
his  steps,  and  at  length  came  upon  the  girl  sitting  in  the  shade 
of  a  stunted  alyarroba  tree  some  distance  from  the  usual  trail. 

"Well,  what  are  you  doing  here,  little  one?"  he  inquired 
in  surprise. 

The  child  looked  up  visibly  embarrassed.  "I  was  thinking, 
Padre,"  she  made  slow  reply. 

"But  do  you  have  to  go  away  from  home  to  think?"  he 
queried. 

"I  wanted  to  be  alone;  and  there  was  so  much  going  on  in 
the  house  that  I  came  out  here." 

"And  what  have  you  been  thinking  about,  Carmen?"  pursued 
Jose,  suspecting  that  her  presence  in  the  hot  shale  beds  held 
some  deeper  significance  than  she  had  as  yet  revealed. 

"I— I  was  just  thinking  that  God  is  everywhere,"  she  fal 
tered. 

"Yes,  chiquita.     And — ?" 

"That  He  is  where  padre  Rosendo  is  going,  and  that  He  will 
take  care  of  him  up  there,  and  bring  him  back  to  Simiti  again." 

"And  were  you  asking  Him  to  do  it,  little  one?" 

"No,  Padre;  I  was  just  knowing  that  He  would." 

The  little  lip  quivered,  and  the  brown  eyes  were  wet  with 
tears.  But  Jose  could  see  that  faith  had  conquered,  whatever 
the  struggle  might  have  been.  The  child  evidently  had  sought 
solitude,  that  she  might  most  forcibly  bring  her  trust  in  God 
to  bear  upon  the  little  problem  confronting  her — that  she  might 
make  the  certainty  of  His  immanence  and  goodness  destroy  in 
her  thought  every  dark  suggestion  of  fear  or  doubt. 

"God  will  take  care  of  him,  won't  He,  Padre?" 

Jose  had  taken  her  hand  and  was  leading  her  back  to  the 
house. 

"You  have  said  it,  child;  and  I  believe  you  are  a  law  unto 
yourself,"  was  the  priest's  low,  earnest  reply.  The  child  smiled 
up  at  him;  and  Jose  knew  he  had  spoken  truth. 

That  evening,  the  preparations  for  departure  completed, 
Rosendo  and  Jose  took  their  chairs  out  before  the  house,  where 
they  sat  late,  each  loath  to  separate  lest  some  final  word  be  left 
unsaid.  The  tepid  evening  melted  into  night,  which  died  away 
in  a  deep  silence  that  hung  wraith-like  over  the  old  town. 
Myriad  stars  rained  their  shimmering  lustre  out  of  the  un 
fathomable  vault  above. 

"Un  canasto  de  flores,"  mused  Rosendo,  looking  off  into  the 
infinite  blue. 


1  ! 


57 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"A  basket  of  flowers,  indeed,"  responded  Jose  reverently. 

"Padre — "  Rosendo's  brain  seemed  to  struggle  with  a  tre 
mendous  thought — "I  often  try  to  think  of  what  is  beyond  the 
stars;  and  I  cannot.  Where  is  the  end?" 

"There  is  none,  Rosendo." 

"But,  if  we  could  get  out  to  the  last  star — what  then?" 

"Still  no  end,  no  limit,"  replied  Jose. 

"And  they  are  very  far  away — how  far,  Padre?" 

"You  would  not  comprehend,  even  if  I  could  tell  you,  Ro 
sendo.  But — how  shall  I  say  it?  Some  are  millions  of  miles 
from  us.  Others  so  far  that  their  light  reaches  us  only  after 
the  lapse  of  centuries." 

"Their  light!"  returned  Rosendo  quizzically. 

"Yes.  Light  from  those  stars  above  us  travels  nearly  two 
hundred  thousand  miles  a  second — 

"Hombre!"   ejaculated   the   uncomprehending   Rosendo. 

"And  yet,  even  at  that  a\vful  rate  of  speed,  it  is  probable 
that  there  are  many  stars  whose  light  has  not  yet  reached  the 
earth  since  it  became  inhabited  by  men." 

"Caramba!" 

"You  may  well  say  so,  friend." 

"But,  Padre — does  the  light  never  stop?  When  does  it 
reach  an  end — a  stopping-place?" 

"There  is  no  stopping-place,  Rosendo.  There  is  no  solid 
sky  above  us.  Go  whichever  way  you  will,  you  can  never  reach 
an  end." 

Rosendo's  brow  knotted  with  puzzled  wonder.  Even  Jose's 
own  mind  staggered  anew  at  its  conceot  of  the  immeasurable 
depths  of  space. 

"But,  Padre,  if  we  could  go  far  enough  up  we  would  get  to 
heaven,  wouldn't  we?"  pursued  Rosendo.  ."And  if  we  went  far 
enough  down  we  would  reach  purgatory,  and  then  hell,  is  it  not 
so?" 

Restraint  fell  upon  the  priest.  He  dared  not  answer  lest  he 
reveal  his  own  paucity  of  ideas  regarding  these  things.  Happily 
the  loquacious  Rosendo  continued  without  waiting  for  reply. 

"Padre  Simon  used  to  say  when  I  was  a  child  that  the  red 
we  saw  in  the  sky  at  sunset  was  the  reflection  of  the  flames  of 
hell;  so  I  have  always  thought  that  hell  was  below  us — perhaps 
in  the  center  of  the  earth." 

For  a  time  his  simple  mind  mused  over  this  puerile  idea. 
Then— 

"What  do  you  suppose  God  looks  like,  Padre?" 

Jose's  thought  flew  back  to  the  galleries  and  chapels  of 
Europe,  where  the  masters  have  so  often  portrayed  their  ideas 
of  God  in  the  shape  of  an  old,  gray-haired  man,  partly  bald, 

58 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  with  long,  flowing  beard.  Alas!  how  pitifully  crude,  how 
lamentably  impotent  such  childish  concepts.  For  they  saw  in 
God  only  their  own  frailties  infinitely  magnified.  Small  wonder 
that  they  lived  and  died  in  spiritual  gloom! 

"Padre,"  Rosendo  went  on,  "if  there  is  no  limit  to  the  uni 
verse,  then  it  is — " 

"Infinite  in  extent,  Rosendo,"  finished  Jose. 

"Then  whoever  made  it  is  infinite,  too,"  Rosendo  added 
hypothetically. 

"An  infinite  effect  implies  an  infinite  cause — yes,  certainly," 
Jose  answered. 

"So,  if  God  made  the  universe,  He  is  infinite,  is  He  not, 
Padre?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  He  can't  be  at  all  like  us,"  was  the  logical  conclusion. 

Jose  was  thinking  hard.  The  universe  stands  as  something 
created.  And  scientists  agree  that  it  is  infinite  in  extent.  Its 
creator  therefore  must  be  infinite  in  extent.  And  as  the  uni 
verse  continues  to  exist,  that  which  called  it  into  being,  and 
still  maintains  it,  must  likewise  continue  to  exist.  Hence,  God  is. 

"Padre,  what  holds  the  stars  in  place?"  Rosendo's  ques 
tions  were  as  persistent  as  a  child's. 

"They  are  held  in  place  by  laws,  Rosendo,"  the  priest  re 
plied  evasively.  But  as  he  made  answer  he  revolved  in  his 
own  mind  that  the  laws  by  which  an  infinite  universe  is 
created  and  maintained  must  themselves  be  infinite. 

"And  God  made  those  laws?" 

"Yes,  Rosendo." 

But,  the  priest  mused,  a  power  great  enough  to  frame  in 
finite  laws  must  be  itself  all-powerful.  And  if  it  has  ever  been 
all-powerful,  it  could  never  cease  to  be  so,  for  there  could  be 
nothing  to  deprive  it  of  its  power.  Omnipotence  excludes 
everything  else.  Or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  is  all-inclusive. 

But  laws  originate,  even  as  among  human  beings,  in  mind, 
for  a  law  is  a  mental  thing.  So  the  infinite  laws  which 
bind  the  stars  together,  and  by  which  the  universe  was  de 
signed  and  is  still  maintained,  could  have  originated  only  in  a 
mind,  and  that  one  infinite. 

"Then  God  surely  must  know  everything,"  commented 
Rosendo,  by  way  of  simple  and  satisfying  conclusion. 

Certainly  the  creator  of  an  infinite  universe — a  universe, 
moreover,  which  reveals  intelligence  and  knowledge  on  the 
part  of  its  cause — the  originator  of  infinite  laws,  which  reveal 
omnipotence  in  their  maker — must  have  all  knowledge,  all 
wisdom,  at  his  command.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  intelligence, 
knowledge,  wisdom,  are  ever  mental  things.  What  could  em- 

59 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


brace  these  things,  and  by  them  create  an  infinite  universe,  but 
an  infinite  mind? 

Jose's  thought  reverted  to  Cardinal  Newman's  reference  to 
God  as  "an  initial  principle."  Surely  the  history  of  the  universe 
reveals  the  patent  fact  that,  despite  the  mutations  of  time,  de 
spite  growth,  maturity,  and  decay,  despite  "the  wreck  of  matter 
and  the  crash  of  worlds,"  something  endures.  What  is  it — 
law?  Yes,  but  more.  Ideas?  Still  more.  Mind?  Yes,  the 
mind  which  is  the  anima  mundi,  the  principle,  of  all  things. 

"But  if  He  is  so  great,  Padre,  and  knows  everything,  I  don't 
see  why  He  made  the  devil,"  continued  Rosendo;  "for  the  devil 
fights  against  Him  all  the  time." 

Ah,  simple-hearted  child  of  nature!  A  mind  so  pure  as 
yours  should  give  no  heed  to  thoughts  of  Satan.  And  the  man  at 
your  side  is  ndw  too  deeply  buried  in  the  channels  which  run  be 
low  the  superficiality  of  the  world's  thought  to  hear  your 
childish  question.  Wait.  The  cause  of  an  infinite  effect  must 
itself  be  infinite.  The  framer  of  infinite  laws  must  be  an  in 
finite  mind.  And  an  infinite  mind  must  contain  all  knowledge, 
and  have  all  power.  But  were  it  to  contain  any  seeds  or  germs 
of  decay,  or  any  elements  of  discord — in  a  word,  any  evil — it 
must  disintegrate.  Then  it  would  cease  to  be  omnipotent. 
Verily,  to  be  eternal  and  perfect  it  must  be  wholly  good!  "And 
so,"  the  priest  mused  aloud,  "we  call  it  God." 

But,  he  continued  to  reflect,  when  we  accept  the  conclusion 
that  the  universe  is  the  product  of  an  infinite  mind,  we  are 
driven  to  certain  other  inevitable  conclusions,  if  we  would  be 
logical.  The  minds  of  men  manifest  themselves  continually, 
and  the  manifestation  is  in  mental  processes  and  things.  Men 
tal  activity  results  in  the  unfolding  of  ideas.  Does  the  activity 
of  an  infinite  mind  differ  in  this  respect?  And,  if  not,  can  the 
universe  be  other  than  a  mental  thing?  For,  if  an  infinite  mind 
created  a  universe,  it  must  have  done  so  by  the  unfolding  of 
its  own  ideas!  And,  remaining  infinite,  filling  all  space,  this 
mind  must  ever  continue  to  contain  those  ideas.  And  the  uni 
verse — the  creation — is  mental. 

The  burden  of  thought  oppressed  the  priest,  and  he  got  up 
from  his  chair  and  paced  back  and  forth  before  the  house. 
But  still  his  searching  mind  burrowed  incessantly,  as  if  it 
would  unearth  a  living  thing  that  had  been  buried  since  the 
beginning. 

In  order  to  fully  express  itself,  an  infinite  mind  would  have 
to  unfold  an  infinite  number  and  variety  of  ideas.  And  this 
unfolding  would  go  on  forever,  since  an  infinite  number  is  never 
reached.  This  is  "creation,"  and  it  could  never  terminate. 

"Rosendo,"    said  Jose,  returning  to   his   chair,    "you   have 

60 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


asked  what  God  looks  like.  I  cannot  say,  for  God  must  be 
mind,  unlimited  mind.  He  has  all  knowledge  and  wisdom,  as 
well  as  all  power.  He  is  necessarily  eternal — has  always  ex 
isted,  and  always  will,  for  He  is  entirely  perfect  and  harmo 
nious,  without  the  slightest  trace  or  taint  of  discord  or  evil." 

"Then  you  think  He  does  not  look  like  us?"  queried  the 
simple  Rosendo. 

"Mind  does  not  look  like  a  human  body,  Rosendo.  And  an 
infinite  cause  can  be  infinite  only  by  being  mind,  not  body. 
Moreover,  He  is  unchanging — for  He  could  not  change  and  re 
main  eternal.  Carmen  insists  that  He  is  everywhere.  To  be 
always  present  He  must  be  what  the  Bible  says  He  is,  spirit. 
Or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  mind.  Rosendo,  He  manifests 
Himself  everywhere  and  in  everything — there  is  no  other  con 
clusion  admissible.  And  to  be  eternal  He  has  got  to  be  abso 
lutely  good!" 

"But,  Padre,"  persisted  Rosendo,  "who  made  the  devil?" 

"There  is  no  devil!" 

"But  there  is  wickedness — 

"No!"  interrupted  Jose  emphatically.  "God  is  infinite  good, 
and  there  can  be  no  real  evil." 

"But  how  do  you  know  that,  Padre?" 

"I  can't  say  how  I  know  it — it  reasons  out  that  way  logic 
ally.  I  think  I  begin  to  see  the  light.  Can  you  not  see  that  for 
some  reason  Carmen  doesn't  admit  the  existence  of  evil?  And 
you  know,  and  I  know,  that  she  is  on  the  right  track.  I  have 
followed  the  opposite  path  all  my  life;  and  it  led  right  into  the 
slough  of  despond.  Now  I  have  turned,  and  am  trying  to  fol 
low  her.  And  do  you  put  the  thought  of  Satan  out  of  your 
mentality  and  do  likewise." 

"But,  the  Virgin  Mary — she  has  power  with  God?"  Ro- 
sendo's  primitive  ideas  were  in  a  hopeless  tangle. 

"Good  friend,  forget  the  Virgin  Mary,"  said  Jose  gently, 
laying  his  hand  on  Rosendo's  arm. 

"Forget  her!  H ombre!  Why — she  has  all  power — she 
works  miracles  every  hour — she  directs  the  angels — gives  com 
mands  to  God  himself!  Padre  Simon  said  she  was  the  absolute 
mistress  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  that  men  and  animals,  the 
plants,  the  winds,  all  health,  sickness,  life  and  death,  depended 
upon  her  will!  He  said  she  did  not  die  as  we  must,  but  that 
she  was  taken  up  into  heaven,  and  that  her  body  was  not  al 
lowed  to  decay  and  return  to  dust,  as  ours  will.  Hombrel  She 
is  in  heaven  now,  praying  for  us.  What  would  become  of  us 
but  for  her? — for  she  prays  to  God  for  us — she — !" 

"No,  Rosendo,  she  does  nothing  of  the  kind.  God  is  in 
finite,  unchanging.  He  could  not  be  moved  or  influenced  by 

61 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  Virgin  Mary  or  any  one  else.  He  is  unlimited  good.  He  is 
not  angry  with  us — He  couldn't  be,  for  He  could  not  know 
anger.  Did  not  Jesus  say  that  God  was  Love?  Love  does  not 
afflict — Love  does  not  need  to  be  importuned  or  prayed  to.  I  see 
it  now.  I  see  something  of  what  Carmen  sees.  We  suffer  when 
we  sin,  because  we  'miss  the  mark.'  But  the  punishment  lasts 
only  as  long  as  the  sin  continues.  And  wre  suffer  only  until 
we  know  that  God  is  infinite  good,  and  that  there  is  no  evil. 
That  is  the  truth,  I  feel  sure,  which  Jesus  came  to  teach,  and 
which  he  said  would  make  us  free.  Free  from  what?  From 
the  awful  beliefs  that  use  us,  and  to  which  we  are  now  sub 
ject,  until  we  learn  the  facts  about  God  and  His  creation.  Don't 
you  see  that  infinite  good  could  never  create  evil,  nor  ever  per 
mit  evil  to  be  created,  nor  allow  it  to  really  exist?" 

"Well,  then,  w7hat  is  evil?    And  where  did  it  come  from?" 

"That  we  must  wait  to  learn,  Rosendo,  little  by  little.  You 
know,  the  Spanish  proverb  says,  'Step  by  step  goes  a  great 
way.'  But  meantime,  let  us  go  forward,  clinging  to  this  great 
truth:  God  is  infinite  good — He  is  love — we  are  His  dear  chil 
dren — and  evil  was  not  made  by  Him,  and  does  not  have  His 
sanction.  It  therefore  cannot  be  real.  It  must  be  illusion. 
And,  being  such,  it  can  be  overcome,  as  Jesus  said  it  could." 

"Na,  Padre—" 

"Wait,  Rosendo!"  Jose  held  up  his  hand.  "Carmen  is  doing 
just  what  I  am  advising  you  to  do — is  she  not?" 

"Yes,  Padre." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  mistaken?" 

"Padre,  she  knows  God  better  than  she  knows  me,"  the 
man  whispered. 

"It  was  you  wTho  first  told  her  that  God  was  everywhere, 
was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  Padre." 

And  the  mind  of  the  child,  keenly  sensitive  and  receptive 
to  truth,  had  eagerly  grasped  this  dictum  and  made  it  the  motif 
of  her  life.  She  knew  nothing  of  Jesus,  nothing  of  current 
theology.  Divine  Wisdom  had  used  Rosendo,  credulous  and 
superstitious  though  he  himself  was,  to  guard  'this  girl's  mind 
against  the  entrance  of  errors  which  were  taught  him  as  a 
child,  and  which  in  manhood  held  him  shackled  in  chains  which 
he  might  not  break. 

"Rosendo,"  Jose  spoke  low  and  reverently,  "I  believe  now 
that  you  and  I  have  both  been  guided  by  that  great  mind  which 
I  am  calling  God.  I  believe  we  are  being  used  for  some  benefi 
cent  purpose,  and  that  it  has  to  do  with  Carmen.  That  pur 
pose  will  be  unfolded  to  us  as  we  bow  to  His  will.  Every  way 
closed  against  me,  excepting  the  one  that  led  to  Simiti.  Here  I 

62 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


found  her.  And  now  there  seems  to  be  but  one  way  open  to 
you — to  go  back  to  Guamoco.  And  you  go,  forgetful  of  self, 
thinking  only  that  you  serve  her.  Ah,  friend,  you  are  serving 
Him  whom  you  reflect  in  love  to  His  beautiful  child." 

"Yes,  Padre." 

"But,  while  we  accept  our  tasks  gratefully,  I  feel  that  we 
shall  be  tried — and  we  may  not  live  to  see  the  results  of  our 
labors.  There  are  influences  abroad  which  threaten  danger  to 
Carmen  and  to  us.  Perhaps  we  shall  not  avert  them.  But  we 
have  given  ourselves  to  her,  and  through  her  to  the  great  pur 
pose  with  which  I  feel  she  is  concerned." 

Rosendo  slowly  rose,  and  his  great  height  and  magnificent 
physique  cast  the  shadow  of  a  Brobdignan  in  the  light  as  he 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Padre,"  he  replied,  "I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  have  but  few 
years  left.  But  however  many  they  be,  they  are  hers.  And 
had  I  a  thousand,  I  would  drag  them  all  through  the  fires  of 
hell  for  the  child!  I  cannot  follow  you  when  you  talk  about 
God.  My  mind  gets  weary.  But  this  I  know,  the  One  who 
brought  me  here  and  then  went  away  will  some  day  call  for  me 
— and  I  am  always  ready." 

He  turned  into  the  house  and  sought  his  hard  bed.  The 
great  soul  knew  not  that  he  reflected  the  light  of  divine  Love 
with  a  radiance  unknown  to  many  a  boasting  "vicar  of  Christ." 


CHAPTER  9 

A'  the  first  faint  flush  of  morn  Rosendo  departed  for  the 
hills.  The  emerald  coronels  of  the  giant  ceibas  on  the  far 
lake  verge  burned  softly  with  a  ruddy  glow.  From  the 
water's  dimpling  surface  downy  vapors  rose  languidly  in  del 
icate  tints  and  drew  slowly  out  in  nebulous  bands  across  the 
dawn  sky.  The  smiling  softness  of  the  velvety  hills  beckoned 
him,  and  the  pungent  odor  of  moist  earth  dilated  his  nostrils. 
He  laughed  aloud  as  the  joyousness  of  youth  surged  again 
through  his  veins.  The  village  still  slumbered,  and  no  one  saw 
him  as  he  smote  his  great  chest  and  strode  to  the  boat,  where 
Juan  had  disposed  his  outfit  and  was  waiting  to  pole  him  across. 
Only  the  faithful  Dona  Maria  had  softly  called  a  final  "adios- 
cito"  to  him  when  he  left  his  house.  A  half  hour  later,  when 
the  dugout  poked  its  blunt  nose  into  the  ooze  of  the  opposite 
shore,  he  leaped  out  and  hurriedly  divested  himself  of  his 
clothing.  Then  he  lifted  his  chair  with  its  supplies  to  his 
shoulders,  and  Juan  strapped  it  securely  to  his  back,  drawing 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


the  heavy  band  tightly  across  his  forehead.  With  a  farewell 
wave  of  his  hand  to  the  lad,  the  man  turned  and  plunged  into 
the  Guamo'co  trail,  and  was  quickly  lost  in  the  dense  thicket. 
Six  days  later,  if  no  accident  befell,  he  would  reach  his  destina 
tion,  the  singing  waters  of  the  crystal  Tigui. 

His  heart  leaped  as  he  strode,  though  none  knew  better 
than  he  what  hardships  those  six.  days  held  for  him — days  of 
plunging  through  fever-laden  bogs;  staggering  in  withering 
heat  across  open  savannas;  now  scaling  the  slippery  slopes  of 
great  mountains;  now  swimming  the  chill  waters  of  rushing 
streams;  making  his  bed  where  night  overtook  him,  among 
the  softly  pattering  forest  denizens  and  the  swarming  insect 
life  of  the  dripping  woods.  His  black  skin  glistened  with  per 
spiration  and  the  heavy  dew  wiped  from  the  close-growing 
bush.  With  one  hand  he  leaned  upon  a  young  sapling  cut  for 
a  staff.  With  the  other  he  incessantly  ..swung  his  machete  to 
clear  the  dim  trail.  His  eyes  were  held  fixed  to  the  ground, 
to  escape  tripping  over  low  vines,  and  to  avoid  contact  with 
crawling  creatures  of  the  jungle,  whose  sting,  inflicted  with 
out  provocation,  might  so  easily  prove  fatal.  His  active  mind 
sported  the  while  among  the  fresh  thoughts  stimulated  by  his 
journey,  though  back  of  all,  as  through  a  veil,  the  vision  of 
Carmen  rose  like  the  pillar  of  cloud  which  guided  the  wander 
ing  Israel.  Toil  and  danger  fled  its  presence;  and  from  it 
radiated  a  warm  glow  which  suffused  his  soul  with  light. 

When  Jose  arose  that  morning  he  was  still  puzzling  over 
the  logical  conclusions  drawn  from  his  premise  of  the  evening 
before,  and  trying  to  reconcile  them  with  common  sense  and 
prevalent  belief.  In  a  way,  he  seemed  to  be  an  explorer,  carv 
ing  a  path  to  hidden  wonders.  Doiia  Maria  greeted  him  at  the 
breakfast  table  with  the  simple  announcement  of  Rosendo's 
early  departure.  No  sign  of  sorrow  ruffled  her  quiet  and 
dignified  demeanor.  Nor  did  Carmen,  who  bounded  into  his 
arms,  fresh  as  a  new-blown  rose,  manifest  the  slightest  indi 
cation  of  anxiety  regarding  Rosendo's  welfare.  Jose  might 
not  divine  the  thoughts  which  the  woman's  placid  exterior 
concealed.  But  for  the  child,  he  well  knew  that  her  problem 
had  been  met  and  solved,  and  that  she  had  laid  it  aside  with 
a  trust  in  immanent  good  which  he  did  not  believe  all  the 
worldly  argument  of  pedant  or  philosopher  could  shake. 

"Now  to  business  once  more!"  cried  Jose  joyously,  the  meal 
finished.  "Just  a  look-in  at  the  church,  to  get  the  boys  started; 
and  then  to  devote  the  day  to  you,  sefiorita!"  The  child 
laughed  at  the  appellation. 

Returning  from  the  church  some  moments  later,  Jose 
found  Carmen  bending  over  the  fireplace,  struggling  to  remove 
a  heavy  kettle  from  the  hot  stones. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Careful,  child!"  he  cried  in  apprehension,  hurrying  to  her 
assistance.  "You  will  burn  your  fingers,  or  hurt  yourself!" 

"Not  unless  you  make  me,  Padre,"  Carmen  quickly  replied, 
rising  and  confronting  the  priest  with  a  demeanor  whose  every 
element  spelled  rebuke. 

"Well,  I  certainly  shall  not  make  you!"  the  man  exclaimed 
in  surprise. 

"No,  Padre.  God  will  not  let  you.  He  does  not  burn  or 
hurt  people." 

"Certainly  not!     But— 

"And  nothing  else  can,  for  He  is  everywhere — isn't  He?" 

"Well — perhaps  so,"  the  priest  retorted  impatiently.  "But 
somehow  people  get  burnt  and  hurt  just  the  same,  and  it  is 
well  to  be  careful." 

The  child  studied  him  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said 
quietly — 

"I  guess  people  burn  and  hurt  themselves  because  they  are 
afraid — don't  they?  And  I  am  not  afraid." 

She  tossed  her  brown  curls  as  if  in  defiance  of  the  thought 
of  fear.  Yet  Jose  somehow  felt  that  she  never  really  defied 
evil,  but  rather  met  its  suggestions  with  a  firm  conviction  of 
its  impotence  in  the  presence  of  immanent  good.  He  checked 
the  impulse  to  further  conversation.  Bidding  the  child  come 
to  him  as  soon  as  possible  to  begin  the  day's  work,  he  went 
back  to  his  own  abode  to  reflect. 

He  had  previously  said  that  this  child  should  be  brought 
up  to  know  no  evil.  And  yet,  was  he  not  suggesting  evil  to 
her  at  every  turn?  Did  not  his  insistence  upon  the  likelihood 
of  hurting  or  burning  herself  emphasize  his  own  stalwart 
belief  in  evil  as  an  immanent  power  and  contingency?  Was 
he  thus  always  to  maintain  a  house  divided  against  itself?  But 
some  day  she  must  know,  \vhether  by  instruction  or  dire  ex 
perience,  that  evil  is  a  fact  to  be  reckoned  with!  And  as  her 
protector,  it  was  his  duty  to —  But  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
shatter  such  beautiful  confidence! 

Then  he  fell  to  wondering  how  long  that  pure  faith  could 
endure.  Certainly  not  long  if  she  were  subjected  to  the  sort  of 
instruction  which  the  children  of  this  world  receive.  But  was 
it  not  his  duty  with  proper  tutelage  to  make  it  last  as  long  as 
possible?  Was  it  not  even  now  so  firmly  grounded  that  it 
never  could  be  shaken? 

He  dwelt  on  the  fact  that  nearly  all  children  at  some  period 
early  in  life  commune  with  their  concept  of  God.  He  had, 
himself.  As  a  very  young  child  he  had  even  felt  himself  on 
such  terms  of  familiarity  with  God  that  he  could  not  sleep 
without  first  bidding  Him  good  night.  As  a  young  child,  too, 

65 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


he  had  known  no  evil.  Nor  do  any  children,  until  their  perfect 
confidence  in  good  is  chilled  by  the  false  instruction  of  parents 
and  teachers,  who  parade  evil  before  them  in  all  its  hideous 
garb. 

Alas!  for  the  baneful  belief  that  years  bring  wisdom.  How 
pitiable,  and  how  cruelly  detrimental  to  the  child  are  an  igno 
rant  parent's  assumptions  of  superiority!  How  tremendous 
the  responsibility  that  now  lay  at  his  own  door!  Yet  no 
greater  than  that  which  lies  at  the  door  of  every  parent 
throughout  the  world. 

It  is  sadly  true,  he  reflected,  that  children  are  educated 
almost  entirely  along  material  lines.  Even  in  the  imparting  of 
religious  instruction,  the  spiritual  is  so  tainted  with  material 
ism,  and  its  concomitants  of  fear  and  limitation,  that  the  pre 
ponderance  of  faith  is  always  on  the  material  side.  Jose  had 
believed  that  as  he  had  gro\vn  older  in  years  he  had  lost  faith. 
Far  from  it!  The  quantity  of  his  faith  remained  fixed;  but 
the  quality  had  changed,  through  education,  from  faith  in 
good  to  faith  in  evil.  And  though  trained  as  a  priest  of  God, 
in  reality  he  had  been  taught  wholly  to  distrust  spiritual  power. 

But  how  could  a  parent  rely  on  spiritual  power  to  save  a 
child  about  to  fall  into  the  fire?  Must  not  children  be  warned, 
and  taught  to  protect  themselves  from  accident  and  disaster, 
as  far  as  may  be?  True— yet,  what  causes  accident  and  dis 
aster?  Has  the  parent's  thought  aught  to  do  with  it?  Has 
the  world's  thought?  Can  it  be  traced  to  the  universal  accept 
ance  of  evil  as  a  power,  real  and  operative?  Does  mankind's 
woeful  lack  of  faith  in  good  manifest  itself  in  accident,  sick 
ness,  and  death? 

A  cry  roused  Jose  from  his  revery.  It  came  from  back  of 
the  house.  Hastening  to  the  rear  door  he  saw  Dona  Maria 
standing  petrified,  looking  in  wide-eyed  horror  toward  the 
lake.  Jose  followed  her  gaze,  and  his  blood  froze.  Carmen 
had  been  sent  to  meet  the  canoe  that  daily  supplied  fresh  water 
to  the  village  from  the  Juncal  river,  which  flowed'  into  the 
lake  at  the  far  north  end.  It  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  she  had 
sat  down  beside  her  jar  at  the  water's  edge,  and  was  lost  in 
dreams  as  she  looked  out  over  the  shimmering  expanse.  A 
huge  crocodile  which  had  been  lying  in  the  shadow  of  a  shale 
ledge  had  marked  the  child,  and  was  steadily  creeping  up  be 
hind  her.  The  reptile  was  but  a  few  feet  from  her  when  Dona 
Maria,  wondering  at  her  delay,  had  gone  to  the  rear  door  and 
witnessed  her  peril. 

In  a  flash  Jose  recalled  the  tale  related  to  him  but  a  few 
days  before  by  Fidel  Avila,  who  was  working  in  the  church. 

"Padre,"  Fidel  had  said,  "as  soon  as  the  church  is  ready  I 

66 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


shall  offer  a  candle  to  good  Santa  Catalina  for  protecting  my 
sister." 

"How  was  that,  my  son?"  inquired  Jose. 

"She  protected  her  from  a  crocodile  a  year  ago,  Padre.  The 
girl  had  gone  to  the  lake  to  get  water  to  wash  our  clothes,  and 
as  she  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  dipping  the  water,  a  great 
crocodile  rose  and  seized  her  arm.  I  heard  her  scream,  and 
I  was  saying  the  rosary  at  the  time.  And  so  I  prayed  to  Santa 
Catalina  not  to  let  the  crocodile  eat  her,  and  she  didn't." 

"Then  your  sister  was  saved?" 

"The  crocodile  pulled  her  under  the  water,  Padre,  and  she 
was  drowned.  But  he  did  not  eat  her;  and  we  got  her  body 
and  buried  her  here  in  the  cemetery.  We  were  very  grateful." 

Sancta  simplicitas!  That  such  childish  credulity  might  be 
turned  into  proper  channels! 

But  there  were  times  when  fish  were  scarce  in  the  lake. 
Then  the  crocodiles  became  bold;  and  many  babes  had  been 
seized  and  dragged  off  by  them,  never  to  return.  The  fishing 
this  season  had  been  very  poor.  And  more  than  one  fisher 
man  had  asked  Jose  to  invoke  the  Virgin  in  his  behalf. 

Nearer  crept  the  monster  toward  the  unsuspecting  girl. 
Suddenly  she  turned  and  looked  squarely  at  it.  She  might 
almost  have  touched  it  with  her  hand.  For  Jose  it  was  one  of 
those  crises  that  "crowd  eternity  into  an  hour."  The  child 
and  the  reptile  might  have  been  painted  against  that  wondrous 
tropic  background.  The  great  brute  stood  bolt  upright  on  its 
squat  legs,  its  hideous  jaws  partly  open.  The  girl  made  no 
motion,  but  seemed  to  hold  it  with  her  steady  gaze.  Then — 
the  creature  dropped;  its  jaws  snapped  shut;  and  it  scampered 
into  the  water. 

"God  above!"  cried  Jose,  as  he  rushed  to  the  girl  and  clasped 
her  in  his  arms.  "Forgive  me  if  I  ever  doubted  the  miracles 
of  Jesus!" 

Dona  Maria  turned  and  quietly  resumed  her  work;  but  the 
man  was  completely  unstrung. 

"What  is  it,  Padre?"  Carmen  asked  in  unfeigned  surprise. 
"I  am  not  afraid  of  crocodiles— are  you?  You  couldn't  be,  if 
you  knew  that  God  is  everywhere." 

"But  don't  you  know,  child,  that  crocodiles  have  carried 
off- 
He  checked  himself.  No — he  would  not  say  it.  He  had 
had  his  lesson. 

"What,  Padre?" 

"Nothing — nothing — I  forgot — that's  all.  A — a — come,  let 
us  begin  our  lessons  now." 

But  his  mind  refused  to  be  held  to  the  work.  Finally  he 
had  to  ask — he  could  not  help  it. 

67 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Carmen,  what  did  you  do?  Did  you  talk  to  the  croco 
dile?" 

"Why,  no,  Padre — crocodiles  don't  talk!"  And  throwing 
her  little  head  back  she  laughed  heartily  at  the  absurd  idea. 

"But — you  did  something!     What  was  it?     Tell  me." 

"No,  Padre,  I  did  nothing,"  the  child  persisted. 

He  saw  he  must  reach  her  thought  in  another  way.  "Why 
did  the  crocodile  come  up  to  you,  Carmen?"  he  asked. 

"Why — I  guess  because  it  loved  me — I   don't  know." 

"And  did  you  love  it  as  you  sat  looking  at  it?" 

"Of  course,  Padre.  We  have  just  got  to  love  everything. 
Don't  you  know  that?" 

"Y — yes — that  is  so,  chiquiia.  I — I  just  thought  I  would  ask 
you.  Now  let  us  begin  the  arithmetic  lesson." 

The  child  loved  the  hideous  saurian!  And  "perfect  love 
casteth  out  fear."  What  turned  the  monster  from  the  girl 
and  drove  it  into  the  lake?  Love,  again,  before  which  evil  falls 
in  sheer  impotence?  Had  she  worked  a  miracle?  Certainly 
not!  Had  God  interposed  in  her  behalf?  Again,  no.  "He  that 
dwelleth  in  the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Almighty."  And  would  divine  Love  always 
protect  her?  There  could  be  no  question  about  it,  as  long  as 
she  knew  no  evil. 

The  morning  hours  sped  past.  From  arithmetic,  they 
turned  to  the  English  lesson.  Next  to  perfection  in  her  own 
Castilian,  Jose  felt  that  this  language  was  most  important  for 
her.  And  she  delighted  in  it,  although  her  odd  little  pronuncia 
tions,  and  her  vain  attempts  to  manipulate  words  to  conform  to 
her  own  ideas  of  enunciation  brought  many  a  hearty  laugh,  in 
which  she  joined  with  enthusiasm.  The  afternoon,  as  was 
his  plan  for  future  work,  was  devoted  to  narratives  of  men 
and  events,  and  to  descriptions  of  places.  It  was  a  ceaseless 
wonder  to  Jose  how  her  mind  absorbed  his  instruction. 

"How  readily  you  see  these  things,  Carmen,"  he  said,  as 
he  concluded  the  work  for  the  day. 

"See  them,  Padre?    But  not  with  my  outside  eyes." 

The  remark  seemed  to  start  a  train  of  thought  within  her 
mentality.  "Padre,"  she  at  length  asked,  "how  do  we  see  with 
our  eyes?" 

"It  is  very  simple,  chiquita,"  Jose  replied.  "Here,  let  me 
draw  a  picture  of  an  eye." 

He  quickly  sketched  a  rough  outline  of  the  human  organ  of 
sight.  "Now,"  he  began,  "you  know  you  cannot  see  in  the 
dark,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  Padre?" 

"In  order  to  see,  we  must  have  light." 

68 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"What  is  light,  Padre  dear?" 

"Well — light  is — is  vibrations.     That  is,  rapid  movement." 

"What  moves?" 

"A — a — a — well,  nothing — that  is,  light  is  just  vibrations. 
The  pendulum  of  the  old  clock  in  Don  Mario's  store  vibrates, 
you  know — moves  back  and  forth." 

"And  light  does  that?" 

"Yes;  light  is  that.  Now  that  chair  there,  for  example, 
reflects  light,  just  as  a  mirror  does.  It  reflects  vibrations.  And 
these  are  all  of  just  a  certain  length,  for  vibrations  of  just 
that  length  and  moving  up  and  down  just  so  fast  make  light. 
The  light  enters  the  eye,  like  this,"  tracing  the  rays  on  his 
sketch.  "It  makes  a  little  picture  of  the  chair  on  the  back  of 
the  eye,  where  the  optic  nerve  is  fastened.  Now  the  light 
makes  the  little  ends  of  this  nerve  vibrate,  too — move  very 
rapidly.  And  that  movement  is  carried  along  the  nerve  to 
some  place  in  the  brain — to  what  we  call  the  center  of  sight. 
And  there  we  see  the  chair." 

The  child  studied  the  sketch  long  and  seriously. 

"But,  Padre,  is  the  picture  of  the  chair  carried  on  the  nerve 
to  the  brain?" 

"Oh,  no,  chiquita,  only  vibrations.  It  is  as  if  the  nerve 
moved  just  a  little  distance,  but  very,  very  fast,  back  and 
forth,  or  up  and  down." 

"And  no  picture  is  carried  to  the  brain?" 

"No,  there  is  just  a  vibration  in  the  brain." 

"And  that  vibration  makes  us  see  the  chair?" 

"Yes,  little  one." 

A  moment  of  silence.     Then — 

"Padre  dear,  I  don't  believe  it." 

"Why,  chiquita!" 

"Well,  Padre,  what  is  it  that  sees  the  chair,  anyway?" 

"The  mind,  dear." 

"Is  the  mind  up  there  in  the  brain?" 

"Well — no,  we  can't  say  that  it  is." 

"Where  is  it,  then?" 

"A — a — well,  no  place  in  particular — that  is,  it  is  right 
here  all  the  time." 

"Well,  then,  when  the  mind  wants  to  see  the  chair  does  it 
have  to  climb  up  into  the  brain  and  watch  that  little  nerve 
wiggle?" 

The  man  was  at  a  loss  for  an  answer.  Carmen  suddenly 
crumpled  the  sketch  in  her  small  hand  and  smiled  up  at  him. 

"Padre  dear,  I  don't  believe  our  outside  eyes  see  anything. 
We  just  think  they  do,  don't  we?" 

Jose  looked  out  through  the  open  door.  Carmen's  weird 
heron  was  stalking  in  immense  dignity  past  the  house. 

69 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  think  Cantar-las-horas  is  getting  ready  to  sing  the  Ves 
pers,  chiquita.  And  so  Dona  Maria  probably  needs  you  now. 
We  will  talk  more  about  the  eye  to-morrow." 

By  the  light  of  his  sputtering  candle  that  night  Jose  sat 
with  elbows  propped  on  the  table,  his  head  clasped  in  his 
hands,  and  a  sketch  of  the  human  eye  before  him.'  In  his  con 
fident  attempt  to  explain  to  Carmen  the  process  of  cognition  he 
had  been  completely  baffled.  Certainly,  light  coming  from  an 
object  enters  the  eye  and  casts  a  picture  upon  the  retina.  He 
had  often  seen  the  photographic  camera  exhibit  the  same 
phenomenon.  The  law  of  the  impenetrability  of  matter  had 
to  be  set  aside,  of  course — or  else  light  must  be  pure  vibration, 
without  a  material  vibrating  concomitant.  Then,  too,  it  was 
plain  that  the  light  in  some  way  communicated  its  vibration 
to  the  little  projecting  ends  of  the  optic  nerve,  which  lie  spread 
out  over  the  rear  inner  surface  of  the  eye.  And  equally  patent 
that  this  vibration  is  in  some  way  taken  up  by  the  optic  nerve 
and  transmitted  to  the  center  of  sight  in  the  brain.  But  after 
that — what?  He  laughed  again  at  Carmen's  pertinent  ques 
tion  about  the  mind  climbing  up  into  the  brain  to  see  the 
vibrating  nerve.  But  was  it  so  silly  a  presumption,  after  all? 
Is  the  mind  within  the  brain,  awaiting  in  Stygian  darkness  the 
advent  of  the  vibrations  which  shall  give  it  pictures  of  the  out 
side  world?  Or  is  the  mind  outside  of  the  brain,  but  still 
slavishly  forced  to  look  at  these  vibrations  of  the  optic  nerve 
and  then  translate  them  into  terms  of  things  without?  What 
could  a  vibrating  nerve  suggest  to  a  well-ordered  mind,  any 
way?  He  might  as  logically  wave  a  piece  of  meat  and  expect 
thereby  to  see  a  world!  He  laughed  aloud  at  the  thought. 
Why  does  not  the  foolish  mind  leave  the  brain  and  look  at 
the  picture  on  the  retina?  Or  why  does  it  not  throw  off  its 
shackles  and  look  directly  at  the  object  to  be  cognized,  instead 
of  submitting  to  dependence  upon  so  frail  a  thing  as  fleshly 
eyes  and  nerves? 

As  he  mused  and  sketched,  unmindful  of  the  voracious 
mosquitoes  or  the  blundering  moths  that  momentarily  threat 
ened  his  light,  it  dawned  slowly  upon  him  that  the  mind's 
awareness  of  material  objects  could  not  possibly  depend  upon 
the  vibrations  of  pieces  of  nerve  tissue,  so  minute  as  to  be 
almost  invisible  to  the  unaided  sight.  Still  more  absurd  did 
it  appear  to  him  that  his  own  mind,  of  which  he  might  justly 
boast  tremendous  powers,  could  be  prostituted  to  such  a  de 
gree  that  its  knowledge  of  things  must  be  served  to  it  on 
waving  pieces  of  flesh. 

And  how  about  the  other  senses — touch,  hearing?  Did 
the  ear  hear,  or  the  hand  feel?  He  had  always  accepted  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


general  belief  that  man  is  dependent  absolutely  upon  the  five 
physical  senses  for  his  knowledge  of  an  outside  world.  And 
now  a  little  thought  showed  that  from  these  five  senses  man 
could  not  possibly  receive  anything  more  than  a  series  of 
disconnected  vibrations!  And,  going  a  step  further,  anything 
that  the  mind  infers  from  these  vibrations  is  unquestionably 
inferred  without  a  particle  of  outside  authority! 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  A  tremendous  idea  seemed  to 
be  knocking  at  the  portal  of  his  mentality. 

What  can  the  mind  know?  Assuredly  nothing  but  the  con 
tents  of  itself.  But  the  contents  of  mind  are  thoughts,  ideas, 
mental  things.  Do  solid  material  objects  enter  the  mind?  Cer 
tainly  not!  Then  the  mind  knows  not  things,  but  its  thoughts  of 
things.  And  instead  of  seeing,  hearing,  smelling,  tasting,  and 
feeling  solid  material  objects,  the  mind  sees,  hears,  smells, 
tastes,  and  feels — what?  The  contents  of  itself!  Its  own  thoughts 
and  ideas!  And  the  outer  world?  Is  only  what  the  mind 
believes  it  to  be.  But  surely  his  mind  saw  an  outer  world 
through  the  medium  of  his  eye!  No.  His  mind  saw  only  its 
own  concepts  of  an  outer  world — and  these  concepts,  being 
mental,  might  take  on  whatever  hue  and  tinge  his  mind  de 
creed.  In  other  words,  instead  of  seeing  a  world  of  matter,  he 
was  seeing  only  a  mental  picture  of  a  world.  And  that  picture 
was  in  his  own  mind,  and  formed  by  that  mind! 

The  man  seized  his  hat  and  hurried  out  into  the  night.  He 
walked  rapidly  the  full  length  of  the  town.  His  mind  was 
wrestling  with  stupendous  thoughts. 

An  hour  later  he  returned  to  his  house,  and  seizing  a  pencil, 
wrote  rapidly:  Matter  is  mental.  We  do  not  see  or  feel  matter, 
but  we  think  it.  It  is  formed  and  held  as  a  mental  concept 
in  every  human  mind.  The  material  universe  is  but  the  human 
mind's  concept  of  a  universe,  and  can  only  be  this  mentality's 
translation  to  itself  of  infinite  Mind's  purely  mental  Creation. 

"And  so,"  he  commented  aloud,  sitting  back  and  regarding 
his  writing,  "all  my  miserable  life  I  have  been  seeing  only  my 
own  thoughts!  And  I  have  let  them  use  me  and  color  my 
whole  outlook!" 

He  extinguished  the  candle  and  threw  himself,  fully 
dressed,  upon  his  bed. 


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CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  10 

MOMENTOUS  changes,  of  far-reaching  effect,  had  come 
swiftly  upon  Jose  de  Rincon  during  the  last  few  days, 
changes  which  were  destined  after  much  vacillation  and 
great  mental  struggle  to  leave  a  reversed  outlook.  But  let  no 
one  think  these  changes  fortuitous  or  casual,  the  chance  result 
of  a  new  throw  of  Fate's  dice.  Jose,  seeing  them  dimly  out 
lined,  did  not  so  regard  them,  but  rather  looked  upon  them  as 
the  working  of  great  mental  laws,  still  unknown,  whose  cumu 
lative  effect  had  hegun  a  transformation  in  his  soul.  How 
often  in  his  seminary  days  he  had  pondered  the  scripture,  "He 
left  not  Himself  without  witness."  How  often  he  had  tried  to 
see  the  hopeless  confusion  of  good  and  evil  in  the  world  about 
him  as  a  witness  to  the  One  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  be 
hold  evil.  And  he  had  at  last  abandoned  his  efforts  in  despair. 
Yet  that  there  must  be  something  behind  the  complex  phe 
nomena  which  men  call  life,  he  knew.  Call  it  what  he  would 
—law,  force,  mind,  God,  or  even  X,  the  great  unknown  quan 
tity  for  which  life's  intricate  equations  must  be  solved — yet 
something  there  was  in  it  all  which  endured  in  an  eternal 
manifestation.  But  could  that  something  endure  in  an  ex 
pression  both  good  and  evil? 

He  had  long  since  abandoned  all  study  of  the  Bible.  But 
in  these  last  days  there  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  him  the  con 
viction  that  within  that  strange  book  were  locked  mysteries 
which  far  transcended  the  wildest  imaginings  of  the  human 
mind.  With  it  came  also  the  certainty  that  Jesus  had  been  in 
complete  possession  of  those  sacred  mysteries.  There  could 
be  no  question  now  that  his  mission  had  been  woefully  mis 
understood,  often  deliberately  misinterpreted,  and  too  frequent 
ly  maliciously  misused  by  mankind.  His  greatest  sayings, 
teachings  so  pregnant  with  truth  that,  had  they  been  rightfully 
appropriated  by  men,  ere  this  would  have  dematerialized  the 
universe  and  revealed  the  spiritual  kingdom  of  God,  had  been 
warped  by  cunning  minds  into  crude  systems  of  theology  and 
righteous  shams,  behind  which  the  world's  money-changers 
and  sellers  of  doves  still  drove  their  wicked  traffic  and  offered 
insults  to  Truth  in  the  temple  of  the  Most  High. 

Oh,  how  he  now  lamented  the  narrowness  and  the  intel 
lectual  limitations  with  which  his  seminary  training  had  been 
hedged  about!  The  world's  thought  had  been  a  closed  book 
to  him.  Because  of  his  morbid  honesty,  only  such  pages 
reached  his  eye  as  had  passed  the  bigoted  censorship  of  Holy 

72 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Church.  His  religious  instruction  had  been  served  to  him 
with  the  seal  of  infallible  authority.  Of  other  systems  of 
theology  he  had  been  permitted  only  the  Vatican's  biased  in 
terpretation,  for  the  curse  of  Holy  Church  rested  upon  them. 
Of  current  philosophical  thought,  of  Bible  criticism  and  the 
results  of  independent  scriptural  research,  he  knew  practically 
nothing — little  beyond  what  the  explorer  had  told  him  in  their 
memorable  talks  a  few  weeks  before  in  Cartagena.  But,  had  he 
known  it,  these  had  unbarred  the  portals  of  his  mind  to  the 
reception  of  the  new  ideas  which,  under  a  most  powerful  stimu 
lus,  were  now  flowing  so  steadily  through  them.  That  stimu 
lus  was  Carmen. 

To  meet  with  a  child  of  tender  years  who  knows  no  evil 
is,  after  all,  a  not  uncommon  thing.  For,  did  we  but  realize 
it,  the  world  abounds  in  them.  They  are  its  glory,  its  radiance 
—until  they  are  taught  to  heed  the  hiss  of  the  serpent.  Their 
pure  knowledge  of  immanent  good  would  endure — ah,  who 
may  say  how  long? — did  not  we  who  measure  our  wisdom  by 
years  forbid  them  with  the  fear-born  mandate:  "Thus  far!" 
What  manner  of  being  was  he  who  said,  "Suffer  little  children 
to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not?"  Oh,  ye  parents,  who 
forbid  your  little  ones  to  come  to  the  Christ  by  hourly  heaping 
up  before  them  the  limitations  of  fear  and  doubt,  of  faith  in 
the  power  and  reality  of  sin  and  evil,  of  false  instruction,  and 
withering  material  beliefs!  Would  not  the  Christ  pray  for 
you  to-day,  "Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do"? 

When  Jose  met  Carmen  she  was  holding  steadfastly  to  her 
vision — the  immanence  and  allness  of  God.  Each  day  she 
created  the  morrow;  and  she  knew  to  a  certainty  that  it  would 
be  happy.  Would  he,  clanking  his  fetters  of  worldly  beliefs, 
be  the  one  to  shatter  her  illusion,  if  illusion  it  be?  Nay,  rather 
should  he  seek  to  learn  of  her,  if  haply  she  be  in  possession 
of  that  jewel  for  which  he  had  searched  a  vain  lifetime.  Al 
ready  from  the  stimulus  which  his  intercourse  with  the  child 
had  given  his  mental  processes  there  had  come  a  sudden  libera 
tion  of  thought.  Into  his  freer  mentality  the  Christ-idea  now 
flowed. 

Mankind  complain  that  they  cannot  "prove"  God.  But 
Paul  long  since  declared  emphatically  that  to  prove  Him  the 
human  mind  must  be  transformed.  In  the  light  of  the  great 
ideas  which  had  dawned  upon  him  in  the  past  few  days — the 
nature  of  God  as  mind,  unlimited,  immanent,  eternal,  and 
good;  and  the  specious  character  of  the  five  physical  senses, 
which  from  the  beginning  have  deluded  mankind  into  the 
false  belief  that  through  them  comes  a  true  knowledge  of  the 
cosmos — Jose's  mentality  was  being  formed  anew. 

15  73 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Hegel,  delving  for  truth  in  a  world  of  illusion,  summed  up 
a  lifetime  of  patient  research  in  the  pregnant  statement,  "The 
true  knowledge  of  God  begins  when  we  know  that  things  as 
they  are  have  no  truth  in  them."  The  testimony  of  the  live 
physical  senses  constitutes  "things  as  they  are."  But — if  Jose's 
reasoning  be  not  illogical — the  human  mind  receives  no  testi 
mony  from  these  senses,  which,  at  most,  can  offer  but  in 
sensate  and  meaningless  vibrations  in  a  pulpy  mass  called  the 
brain.  The  true  knowledge  of  God,  for  which  Jose  had  yearned 
and  striven,  begins  only  when  men  turn  from  the  mesmeric 
deception  of  the  physical  senses,  and  learn  that  there  is  some 
thing,  knowable  and  usable,  behind  them,  and  of  whose  exist 
ence  they  give  not  the  slightest  intimation. 

It  was  Saturday.  The  church  edifice  was  so  far  put  in  order 
that  Jose  found  no  reason  for  not  holding  service  on  the  mor 
row.  He  therefore  announced  the  fact,  and  told  Carmen  that 
he  must  devote  the  day  to  preparation.  Their  lessons  must 
go  over  to  Monday.  Seeking  the  solitude  of  his  house,  Jose 
returned  to  his  Bible. 

He  began  with  Genesis.  "In  the  beginning — God."  Not,  as 
in  the  codes  of  men,  God  last,  and  after  every  material  ex 
pedient  has  been  exhausted — but  "to  begin  with."  Jose  could 
not  deny  that  for  all  that  exists  there  is  a  cause.  Nor  can  the 
human  mind  object  to  the  implication  that  the  cause  of  an 
existing  universe  must  itself  continue  to  exist.  Even  less  can 
it  deny  that  the  framer  of  the  worlds,  bound  together  in  in 
finite  space  by  the  unbreakable  cables  of  infinite  laws,  must  be 
omnipotent.  And  to  retain  its  omnipotence,  that  cause  must  be 
perfect — absolutely  good — every  whit  pure,  sound,  and  harmo 
nious;  for  evil  is  demonstrably  self-destructive.  And,  lastly, 
what  power  could  operate  thus  but  an  infinite  intelligence,  an 
all-inclusive  mind? 

Now  let  the  human  mentality  continue  its  own  reasoning, 
if  so  be  that  it  hold  fast  to  fact  and  employ  logical  processes. 
If  "like  produces  like" — and  from  thistles  figs  do  not  grow — 
that  which  mind  creates  must  be  mental.  And  a  good  cause 
can  produce  only  a  good  effect.  So  the  ancient  writer,  "And 
God  saw  every  thing  that  He  had  made,  and,  behold,  it  was 
very  good."  The  inspired  scribe — inspired?  Yes,  mused  Jose, 
for  inspiration  is  but  the  flow  of  truth  into  one's  mentality- 
stopped  not  until  he  had  said,  "So  God  created  man  in  His 
owTn  image"- 

Wait!     He  will  drive  that  home. 

-"in  the  image  of  God" — not  in  the  image  of  matter,  not 
in  the  likeness  of  evil— "created  He  him."  But  what  had  now 
become  of  that  man? 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


So  Jesus,  centuries  later,  "God  is  spirit,"  and,  "That  which 
is  born  of  the  Spirit  is  spirit."  Or,  man — true  man — expresses 
mind,  God,  and  is  His  eternal  and  spiritual  likeness  and  re 
flection.  But,  to  make  this  still  clearer  to  torpid  minds,  Paul 
wrote,  "For  in  Him  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being." 
Then  he  added,  "To  be  spiritually  minded  is  life."  As  if  he 
would  say,  True  life  is  the  consciousness  of  spiritual  things 
only. 

Is  human  life  aught  but  a  series  of  states  of  consciousness? 
And  is  consciousness  aught  but  mental  activity? — for  when  the 
mind's  activity  ceases,  the  man  dies.  But  mental  activity  is 
the  activity  of  thought. 

"It  is  the  activity  of  thought,"  said  Jose  aloud,  "that  makes 
us  believe  that  fleshly  eyes  see  and  ears  hear.  We  see  only  our 
thoughts;  and  in  some  way  they  become  externalized  as  our 
environment." 

His  reasoning  faculty  went  busily  on.  Thought  builds 
images,  or  mental  concepts,  within  the  mind.  These  are  the 
thought-objects  which  mankind  believe  they  see  as  material 
things  in  an  outer  world.  And  so  the  world  is  within,  not 
without.  Jesus  must  have  known  this  when  he  said,  "The 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you."  Did  he  not  know  the  tre 
mendous  effects  of  thought  when  he  said,  "For  as  a  man 
thinketh,  so  is  he"?  In  other  words,  a  man  builds  his  own 
mental  image  of  himself,  and  conveys  it  to  the  fellow-minds 
about  him. 

Jose  again  opened  his  Bible  at  random.  His  eye  fell  upon 
the  warning  of  Jeremiah,  "Hear,  O  earth,  behold  I  will  bring 
evil  upon  this  people,  even  the  fruit  of  their  thoughts!"  Alas! 
he  needed  no  \varning  to  show  him  now  the  dire  results  of  his 
own  past  wrong  thinking. 

Evil  is  but  wrong  thinking  wrought  out  in  life  experience. 
And  so  the  chief  of  sins  is  the  breaking  of  the  very  first  Com 
mandment,  the  belief  in  other  powers  than  God,  the  infinite 
mind  that  framed  the  spiritual  universe. 

"But  we  simply  can't  help  breaking  the  Commandment," 
cried  Jose,  "when  we  see  nothing  but  evil  about  us!  And  yet 
—we  are  seeing  only  the  thoughts  in  our  own  minds.  True — 
but  how  came  they  there?  And  whence?  From  God?" 

Jose  was  quite  ready  to  concede  a  mental  basis  for  every 
thing;  to  believe  that  even  sin  is  but  the  thought  of  sin,  false 
thought  regarding  God  and  His  Creation.  But,  if  God  is  all- 
inclusive  mind,  He  must  be  the  only  thinker.  And  so  all 
thought  must  proceed  from  Him.  All  thought,  both  good  and 
evil?  No,  for  then  were  God  maintaining  a  house  divided 
against  itself.  And  that  would  mean  His  ultimate  dissolution. 

75 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Infinite,  omnipotent  mind  is  by  very  logic  compelled  to  be  per 
fect.  Then  the  thoughts  issuing  from  that  mind  must  be  good. 
So  it  must  follow  that  evil  thoughts  come  from  another  source. 
But  if  God  is  infinite,  there  is  no  other  source,  no  other  cause. 
Then  there  is  but  the  single  alternative  left — evil  thoughts 
must  be  unreal. 

What  was  it  that  the  explorer  had  said  to  him  in  regard  to 
Spencer's  definition  of  reality?  "That  which  endures."  But, 
for  that  matter,  evil  seems  to  be  just  as  enduring  as  good,  and 
to  run  its  course  as  undeviatingly.  After  all,  what  is  it  that 
says  there  is  evil?  The  five  physical  senses.  But  that  again 
reduces  to  the  thought  of  evil,  for  men  see  only  their  thoughts. 
These  so-called  senses  say  that  the  world  is  flat — that  the  sun 
circles  the  earth — that  objects  diminish  in  size  with  distance. 
They  testify  not  to  truth.  Jesus  said  that  evil,  or  the  "devil," 
was  "a  liar  and  the  father  of  lies."  Then  the  testimony  of  the 
physical  senses  to  evil — and  there  is  no  other  testimony  to 
its  existence  and  power — is  a  lie.  A  lie  is — what?  Nothing. 
Reason  has  had  to  correct  sense-testimony  in  the  field  of 
astronomy  and  show  that  the  earth  is  not  flat.  Where,  indeed, 
has  reason  not  had  to  correct  sense-testimony?  For  Jose  could 
now  see  that  all  such  testimony  was  essentially  false.  "Things 
as  they  are  have  no  truth  in  them."  In  other  words,  sense- 
testimony  is  false  belief.  Again,  a  lie.  And  the  habitat  of  a 
lie  is — nowhere.  Did  the  world  by  clinging  to  evil  and  trying 
to  make  something  of  it,  to  classify  it  and  reduce  it  to  definite 
rules  and  terms,  thus  tend  to  make  it  real?  Assuredly  so.  And 
as  long  as  the  world  held  evil  to  be  real,  could  evil  be  over 
come?  Again,  no.  A  reality  endures  forever. 

Jose  arose  from  his  study.  He  believed  he  was  close  to 
the  discovery  of  that  solid  basis  of  truth  on  which  to  stand 
while  teaching  Carmen.  At  any  rate,  her  faith,  which  he 
could  no  longer  believe  to  be  baseless  illusion,  would  not  be 
shattered  by  him. 

CHAPTER  11 

TWO  weeks  after  his  arrival  in  Simiti  Jose  conducted  his 
first  services  in  the  ancient  church.     After  four  years  of 
silence,  the  rusty  bell  sent  out  its  raucous  call  from  the 
old  tower  that   still   morning   and   announced   the   revival   of 
public  worship. 

As  the  priest  stepped  from  the  sacristy  and  approached  the 
altar  his  heart  experienced  a  sudden  sinking.  Before  him  his 
little  flock  bowed  reverently  and  expectantly.  Looking  out  at 

76 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


them,  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat.  He  was  their  pastor,  and 
daily  his  love  had  grown  for  these  kindly,  simple  folk.  And 
now,  what  would  he  not  have  given  could  he  have  stretched 
forth  his  hands,  as  did  the  Master,  to  heal  them  of  their  ills 
and  lift  them  out  of  the  shadows  of  ignorance!  Ah,  if  he  could 
have  thrown  aside  the  mummery  and  pagan  ceremonialism 
which  he  was  there  to  conduct,  and  have  sat  down  among  them, 
as  Jesus  was  wont  to  do  on  those  still  mornings  in  Galilee! 
Instead,  he  stood  before  them  an  apostate  vassal  of  Rome, 
hypocritically  using  the  Church  to  shield  and  maintain  him 
self  in  Simiti  while  he  reared  away  from  her  the  child  Carmen. 

Yet,  what  could  he  do?  He  had  heard  the  call;  and  he  had 
answered,  "Master,  here  am  I."  And  now  he  was  occupying, 
while  waiting  to  be  led,  step  by  step,  out  of  his  cruelly  anoma 
lous  position  and  into  his  rightful  domain.  A  traitor  to  Holy 
Church?  Nay,  he  thought  he  would  have  been  a  traitor  to  all 
that  was  best  and  holiest  within  himself  had  he  done  other 
wise.  In  the  name  of  the  Church  he  would  serve  these  humble 
people.  Serving  them,  he  honored  the  Master.  And  honoring 
Christ,  he  could  not  dishonor  the  Church. 

Jose's  conduct  of  the  Mass  was  perfunctory.  Vainly  he 
strove  to  hold  in  thought  the  symbolism  of  the  service,  the 
offering  of  Christ  as  a  propitiation  for  the  world's  sins.  But 
gradually  the  folly  of  Milton's  extravagant,  wild  dream,  which 
the  poet  clothed  in  such  imperishable  beauty,  stole  over  him 
and  blinded  this  vision.  He  saw  the  Holy  Trinity  sitting  in 
solemn  council  in  the  courts  of  heaven.  He  heard  their  per 
plexed  discussion  of  the  ravages  of  Satan  in  the  terrestrial  para 
dise  below.  He  heard  the  Father  pronounce  His  awful  curse 
upon  mankind.  And  he  beheld  the  Son  rise  and  with  celestial 
magnanimity  offer  himself  as  the  sacrificial  lamb,  whose  blood 
should  wash  away  the  serpent-stain  of  sin.  How  inept  the 
whole  drama! 

And  then  he  thought  of  Carmen.  He  had  seen  her,  as  he 
looked  out  over  his  people,  sitting  with  Dona  Maria,  arrayed  in 
a  clean  white  frock,  and  swinging  her  plump  bare  legs  beneath 
the  bench,  \vhile  wonder  and  amazement  peered  out  from  her 
big  brown  eyes  as  she  followed  his  every  move.  What  would 
such  things  mean  to  her,  whose  God  was  ever-present  good? 
What  did  they  mean  to  the  priest  himself,  who  was  beginning 
to  see  Him  as  infinite,  divine  mind,  knowing  no  evil — the  One 
whose  thoughts  are  not  as  ours? 

He  took  up  the  holy  water  and  sprinkled  the  assemblage. 
"Purge  me  with  hyssop,  and  I  shall  be  clean:  wash  me,  and  I 
shall  be  whiter  than  snow."  But  how  is  the  human  mind 
purged  of  error?  By  giving  it  truth.  And  does  the  infinite 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


mind  purge  the  thought  of  men  in  any  other  way?  His  mind 
was  full  as  he  took  up  the  Missal.  "Kyrie  Eleison,  Christe 
Eleison." 

He  hesitated.  With  a  tug  he  pulled  his  mind  back  to  the 
work  before  him.  But  why  was  he  invoking  clemency  from 
One  who  knows  no  evil?  Heretofore  he  had  always  thought 
that  God  knew  evil,  that  He  must  recognize  it,  and  that  He 
strove  Himself  to  overcome  it.  But  if  God  knew  evil,  then  evil 
were  real  and  eternal !  Dreamily  he  began  to  intone  the  Gloria 
in  Excelsis  Deo.  All  hail,  thou  infinite  mind,  whose  measure 
less  depths  mortal  man  has  not  even  begun  to  sound!  His 
soul  could  echo  that  strain  forever. 

He  turned  to  the  Lesson  and  read:  "But  there  went  up  a 
mist  from  the  earth,  and  watered  the  whole  face  of  the  ground. 
And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the  ground."  He 
stopped  a  moment  for  thought.  The  Lord  God!  The  mist  of 
error  watered  the  false  thought — the  one  lie  about  God — and 
out  of  it  formed  the  man  of  flesh,  the  false  concept  which  is 
held  in  the  minds  of  mortals.  Aye,  it  was  the  lie,  posing  as 
the  Lord  of  creation,  which  had  formed  its  false  man  out  of 
the  dust  of  the  ground,  and  had  forced  it  upon  the  acceptance 
of  mankind!  Jose  turned  back  and  read  the  whole  of  the  first 
chapter  of  Genesis,  where  he  felt  that  he  stood  upon  truth. 

The  tapers  on  the  altar  flickered  fitfully.  The  disturbed 
bats  blundered  among  the  rafters  overhead.  Outside,  the  dusty 
roads  burned  with  a  white  glare.  Within,  he  and  the  people 
were  worshiping  God.  Worship?  This?  "God  is  a  spirit,  and 
they  that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth."  In  Truth! 

Jose  recited  the  Nicene  creed,  with  the  thought  that  its 
man-made  fetters  had  bound  the  Christian  world  for  dreary 
centuries.  Then,  the  Preface  and  Canon  concluded,  he  pro 
nounced  the  solemn  words  of  consecration  which  turned  the 
bread  and  wine  before  him  into  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Christ 
Jesus.  He  looked  at  the  wafer  and  the  chalice  long  and 
earnestly.  He — Jose  de  Rincon — mortal,  human,  a  weakling 
among  weaklings — could  he  command  God  by  his  "Hoc  est 
enim  corpus  meum"  to  descend  from  heaven  to  this  altar? 
Could  he  so  invoke  the  power  of  the  Christ  as  to  change  bread 
and  wine  into  actual  flesh  and  blood?  And  yet,  with  all  the 
priestly  powers  which  Holy  Church  had  conferred  upon  him, 
he  could  not  heal  a  single  bodily  ill,  nor  avert  one  human 
misfortune! 

Ah,  pagan  Rome!  Well  have  you  avenged  yourself  upon 
those  who  wrought  your  fall,  for  in  the  death  conflict  you  left 
the  taint  of  your  paganism  upon  them,  and  it  endures  in  their 
sons  even  to  this  fair  day! 

78 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Jose  deferred  his  sermon  until  the  close  of  the  service.  He 
wanted  time  to  think  over  again  what  he  could  say  to  these 
simple  people.  They  sat  before  him,  dull,  inert,  yet  impres 
sionable — bare  of  feet,  or  wearing  hempen  sandals,  and  clad  in 
cheap  cottons  and  calicos,  with  here  and  there  a  flash  of  bright 
ribbon  among  the  women,  and  occasionally  a  parasol  of  bril 
liant  hue,  which  the  owner  fondly  clasped,  while  impatiently 
awaiting  the  close  of  the  service  that  she  might  proudly  parade 
it.  A  few  of  the  men  wore  starched  linen  shirts,  but  without 
collars.  The  Alcalde,  with  his  numerous  family,  and  the 
family  of  Don  Felipe  Alcozer,  sat  well  in  front.  The  former 
regarded  Jose  expectantly,  as  the  priest  turned  to  deliver  his 
simple  sermon. 

"My  children,"  Jose  began,  "when  the  good  man  whom  we 
call  the  Saviour  sent  his  disciples  out  into  the  world  he  told 
them  to  preach  the  gospel  and  heal  the  sick.  We  have  no 
record  that  he  asked  them  to  do  more,  for  that  included  his 
whole  mission.  I  am  here  to  do  his  work.  And,  as  I  believe 
myself  to  have  been  led  to  you,  so  I  shall  preach  what  I  be 
lieve  to  be  given  me  by  the  great  Father  of  us  all.  I  shall  teach 
you  the  Christ  as  I  comprehend  him.  I  would  I  could  heal 
the  sick  as  well.  But  the  gift  of  healing  which  Jesus  bestowed 
has  been  lost  to  mankind."  He  paused  and  seemed  to  think 
deeply.  Then  he  continued: 

"I  am  your  servant,  and  your  friend.  I  want  you  to  believe 
that  whatever  I  do  in  your  midst  and  whatever  I  say  to  you 
follows  only  after  I  have  prayerfully  considered  your  welfare. 
As  time  has  passed  I  have  seemed  to  see  things  in  a  clearer1 
light  than  before.  What  I  may  see  in  the  future  I  shall  point 
out  to  you  as  you  are  able  to  understand  me.  To  that  end  we 
must  suffer  many  things  to  be  as  they  are  for  the  present,  for 
I  am  learning  with  you.  I  shall  give  you  a  single  thought  to 
take  with  you  to-day.  Jesus  once  said,  'As  a  man  thinketh,  so 
is  he.'  I  want  you  to  remember  that,  if  you  would  be  well  and 
happy  and  prosperous,  you  must  think  only  about  good  things. 
Some  day  you  will  see  why  this  is  so.  But  go  back  now  to 
your  fincas  and  your  fishing,  to  your  little  stores  and  your 
humble  homes,  firmly  resolving  never  to  think  a  bad  thought, 
whether  about  yourself  or  your  neighbor.  And  pray  for  your 
selves  and  me — 

He  looked  off  into  the  gloom  overhead.  Again  he  seemed  to 
hear  the  Man  of  Galilee :  "Ask  and  ye  shall  receive." 

"And,  my  children — " 

He  thought  suddenly  of  Carmen  and  her  visits  to  the  shales. 
His  face  shone  for  a  moment  with  a  new  light. 

— let  your  prayers  be  no  mere  requests  that  God  will  bless 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


us,  but  rather  let  them  be  statements  that  He  is  infinite  good, 
and  that  He  cannot  do  otherwise  than  give  us  all  we  need.  No, 
I  ask  not  that  you  intercede  for  me;  nor  shall  I  do  so  for  you. 
But  I  do  ask  that  you  join  with  me  in  trying  to  realize  that 
God  is  good;  that  He  loves  us  as  His  dear  children;  and  that 
He  is  daily,  hourly  pouring  out  His  inexhaustible  goodness 
upon  us.  We  shall  all  see  that  goodness  when  we  learn  to 
think  no  evil." 

His  eyes  rested  upon  Carmen  as  he  spoke  these  last  words. 
Then  with  a  simple  invocation  he  dismissed  the  congregation. 

The  Alcalde  carried  Jose  off  to  dinner  with  him,  much 
against  the  inclination  of  the  priest,  who  preferred  to  be  alone. 
But  the  Alcalde  was  the  chief  influence  in  the  towrn,  and  it 
was  policy  to  cultivate  him. 

"The  blessed  Virgin  shows  that  she  has  not  forgotten  Simiti, 
Padre,  by  sending  you  here,"  said  Don  Mario,  when  they  were 
seated  in  the  shade  of  the  ample  patio. 

Jose  knew  the  Alcalde  was  sounding  him.  "Yes,  friend," 
with  just  a  trace  of  amusement  in  his  voice.  "It  was  doubtless 
because  of  the  Virgin  that  I  was  directed  here,"  he  replied, 
thinking  of  Carmen. 

"Excellent  advice  that  you  gave  the  people,  Padre;  but  it 
is  not  likely  they  understood  you,  poor  fools!  Now  if  Padre 
Diego  had  been  preaching  he  would  have  ranted  like  a  wind 
storm;  but  he  would  have  made  an  impression.  I  am  afraid 
soft  words  will  not  sink  into  their  thick  skulls." 

Dinner  was  served  in  the  open,  during  which  the  Alcalde 
chattered  volubly. 

"Don  Rosendo  returns  soon?"  he  finally  ventured.  Jose 
knew  that  for  some  time  he  had  been  edging  toward  the  ques 
tion. 

"Quien  sabe,  senor!"  replied  the  priest,  with  a  careless 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"But — Caramba!  he  is  old  to  prospect  for  gold — and  alone, 
too!"  Don  Mario  eyed  Jose  sharply. 

"Ah,  you  priests!"  he  burst  out  laughing.  "You  are  all 
alike  when  it  comes  to  money.  Padre  Diego  was  up  to  the 
same  schemes;  and  before  he  left  he  had  a  hat  full  of  titles  to 
mines." 

"But  I  am  not  seeking  to  acquire  mineral  property!"  ex 
claimed  Jose  with  some  aspersion. 

"No?     Then  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  Rosendo's  trip?" 

Jose  kept  silence. 

"Na,  Padre,  let  us  be  confidential,"  said  the  Alcalde,  hitch 
ing  his  chair  closer  to  the  priest.  "Look,  I  understand  why 
Rosendo  went  into  the  Guamoco  country — but  you  can  trust 

80 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


me  to  say  nothing  about  it.  Only,  Padre,  if  he  should  find  the 
mine  he  will  have  trouble  enough  to  hold  it.  But  I  can  help 
you  both.  You  know  the  denouncement  papers  must  go 
through  my  hands,  and  I  send  them  to  Cartagena  for  registra 
tion." 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  a  knowing  look. 

"There  is  only  one  man  here  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  resumed; 
"and  that  is  Don  Felipe  Alcozer;  although  he  may  never  return 
to  Simiti."  He  reflected  a  few  moments.  Then: 

"Now,  Padre,  let  us  have  some  understanding  about  inter 
ests  in  the  mine,  should  Rosendo  find  it.  The  mine  will  be 
useless  to  us  unless  we  work  it,  for  there  is  no  one  to  buy  it 
from  us.  To  work  it,  we  must  have  a  stamp-mill,  or  arrastras. 
The  Antioquanians  are  skilled  in  the  making  of  wooden  stamp- 
mills;  but  one  would  cost  perhaps  two  thousand  pesos  oro. 
Nobody  here  can  furnish  so  much  money  but  Don  Felipe.  I 
will  arrange  with  him  for  a  suitable  interest.  And  I  will  fix 
all  the  papers  so  that  the  title  will  be  held  by  us  three.  Ro 
sendo  is  only  a  peon.  You  can  pay  him  for  his  trouble,  and 
he  need  not  have  an  interest." 

Jose  breathed  easier  while  this  recital  was  in  progress.  So 
Don  Mario  believed  Rosendo  to  have  gone  in  search  of  the  lost 
mine,  La  Libertad!  Good;  for  Cartagena  would  soon  get  the 
report,  and  his  own  tenure  of  the  parish  would  be  rendered 
doubly  sure  thereby.  The  monthly  greasing  of  Wenceslas' 
palm  with  what  Rosendo  might  extract  from  the  Guamoco 
sands,  coupled  with  the  belief  that  Jose  was  maintaining  a  man 
in  the  field  in  search  of  Don  Ignacio's  lost  mine,  rendered 
Cartagena's  interference  a  very  remote  contingency.  He  almost 
laughed  as  he  replied: 

"Rosendo  will  doubtless  prospect  for  some  months,  Don 
Mario,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  discuss 
any  arrangement  of  interests  later,  should  occasion  arise.  But 
this  is  the  Sabbath  day.  So  let  us  not  talk  business  any 
further." 

When  the  afternoon  heat  began  to  wane,  Jose  left  the 
Alcalde  and  returned  to  his  cottage.  Since  the  service  of  the 
morning  he  had  been  fighting  a  constantly  deepening  sense  of 
depression.  An  awful  loneliness  now  gripped  his  heart,  and, 
dank  gloom  was  again  sweeping  through  the  corridors  of  his 
soul.  God,  what  a  sacrifice,  to  remain  buried  in  that  dismal 
town!  His  continuance  in  the  priesthood  of  an  abjured  faith 
was  violative  of  every  principle  of  honesty!  The  time  would 
come  when  the  mask  of  hypocrisy  would  have  to  be  raised, 
and  the  resultant  exposure  would  be  worse  then  than  open 
apostasy  now! 

81 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


He  entered  his  dreary  little  abode  and  threw  himself  upon 
a  chair.  There  had  been  no  reaction  like  this  for  days.  He 
looked  out  into  the  deserted  street.  Mud  hovels;  ragged, 
thatched  roofs;  lowly  peones  drowsing  away  life's  little  hour 
within !  There  was  scarcely  a  book  in  the  town.  Few  of  its 
inhabitants  could  even  read  or  write.  Culture,  education,  re 
finement — all  wanting.  Nothing  but  primal  existence — the 
barest  necessities  of  real  life.  He  could  not  stand  it!  He  had 
been  a  fool  all  his  years!  He  would  throw  everything  to  the 
winds  and  go  out  into  the  world  to  live  his  life  as  it  had  been 
intended  he  should  live  it.  He  would  send  his  resignation  to 
the  Bishop  to-morrow.  Then  he  would  hire  Juan  to  take  him 
to  Bodega  Central;  and  the  few  pesos  he  had  left  would  get 
him  to  Barranquilla.  There  he  would  work  until  he  had  earned 
enough  for  his  passage  to  the  great  States  up  north,  of  which 
the  explorer  had  told  such  wonderful  tales.  Once  there,  he 
could  teach,  or — 

His  thought  turned  to  Rosendo.  He  saw  him,  bent  with 
age,  and  wearied  with  toil,  alone  in  the  awful  solitude  of  the 
jungle,  standing  knee  deep  in  the  cold  mountain  water,  while 
from  early  dawn  till  sunset  he  incessantly  swung  the  heavy 
batea  to  concentrate  the  few  flakes  of  precious  gold  it  might 
contain.  And  the  old  man  was  facing  years  of  just  such  lone 
liness  and  heavy  toil — facing  them  gladly. 

He  thought  of  Carmen.  Was  she  worth  such  sacrifice  as  he 
and  Rosendo  were  making?  God  forgive  him!  Yes — a  thou 
sand  times  yes!  If  he  betrayed  Rosendo's  confidence  and  fled 
like  a  coward  now,  leaving  her  to  fall  into  the  sooty  hands  of 
men  like  Padre  Diego,  to  be  crushed,  warped,  and  squeezed 
into  the  molds  of  Holy  Church,  could  he  ever  again  face  his 
fellow-men? 

He  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan!"  he 
cried  in  a  voice  that  echoed  through  the  barren  rooms.  He 
smote  his  chest  and  paced  the  floor.  Then  he  stopped  still. 
He  heard  Carmen's  voice  again.  It  was  the  same  simple 
melody  she  had  sung  the  day  he  awoke  from  his  fever.  He 
stood  listening.  His  eyes  filled.  Then — 

"Love  took  up  the  harp  of  life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords 

with  might, 

Smote  the  chord  of  self,  that,  trembling,  passed  in  music 
out  of  sight." 


82 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  12 

IN  the  days  that  followed,  while  at  times  Jose  still  struggled 
desperately  against  the  depression  of  his  primal  environ 
ment,  and  against  its  insidious  suggestions  of  license,  Car-, 
men  moved  before  him  like  the  shechinah  of  Israel,  symboliz 
ing  the  divine  presence.  When  the  dark  hours  came  and  his 
pronounced  egoism  bade  fair  to  overwhelm  him;  when  his  self- 
centered  thought  clung  with  the  tenacity  of  a  limpet  to  his 
dreary  surroundings  and  his  unfilled  longings;  when  self-con 
demnation  and  self-pity  rived  his  soul,  and  despair  of  solving 
life's  intricate  problems  settled  again  like  a  pall  upon  him,  he 
turned  to  her.  Under  the  soft  influence  of  her  instinct  for 
primitive  good,  he  was  learning,  even  if  slowly,  to  jettison  his 
heavily  laden  soul,  and  day  by  day  to  ride  the  tossing  waves 
of  his  stormy  thought  with  a  lighter  cargo.  Her  simple  faith 
in  immanent  good  was  working  upon  his  mind  like  a  spiritual 
catharsis,  to  purge  it  of  its  clogging  beliefs.  Her  unselfed  love 
flowed  over  him  like  heavenly  balm,  salving  the  bleeding 
wounds  of  the  spiritual  mayhem  which  he  had  suffered  at 
the  violent  hands  of  Holy  Church's  worldly  agents. 

Carmen's  days  were  filled  to  the  brim  with  a  measure  of 
joy  that  constantly  overflowed  upon  all  among  whom  she  moved. 
Her  slight  dependence  upon  her  impoverished  material  en 
vironment,  her  contempt  of  its  ennui,  were  constant  reminders 
to  Jose  that  heaven  is  but  a  state  of  mind.  Even  in  desolate 
Simiti,  life  to  her  was  an  endless  series  of  delightful  expe 
riences,  of  wonderful  surprises  in  the  discovery  of  God's  pres 
ence  everywhere.  Her  enthusiasms  were  always  ardent  and 
inexhaustible.  Sparkling  animation  and  abounding  vitality 
characterized  her  every  movement.  Her  thought  was  free,  un 
strained,  natural,  and  untrammeled  by  those  inherited  and 
educated  beliefs  in  evil  in  which  Jose  had  early  been  so  com 
pletely  swamped.  In  worldly  knowledge  she  was  the  purest 
novice;  and  the  engaging  naivete  with  which  she  met  the 
priest's  explanations  of  historical  events  and  the  motives  from 
which  they  sprang  charmed  him  beyond  measure,  and  made 
his  work  with  her  a  constant  delight.  Her  sense  of  humor  was 
keen,  and  her  merriment  when  his  recitals  touched  her  risi 
bility  was  extravagant.  She  laughed  at  danger,  laughed  at  the 
weaknesses  and  foibles  of  men,  when  he  told  of  the  political 
and  social  ambitions  which  stirred  mankind  in  the  outside 
W7orld.  But  he  knew  that  her  merriment  proceeded  not  from  an 
ephemeral  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  but  from  a  righteous  ap- 

83 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


praisal  of  the  folly  and  littleness  of  those  things  for  which 
the  world  so  sorely  strives. 

And  daily  the  little  maid  wrapped  herself  about  his  heart. 
Daily  her  wondrous  love  coiled  its  soft  folds  tighter  around 
him,  squeezing  from  his  atrabilious  soul,  drop  by  drop,  its 
sad  taciturnity  and  inherent  morbidness,  that  it  might  later  fill 
his  empty  life  with  a  spiritual  richness  which  he  had  never 
known  before. 

On  the  day  following  the  opening  of  the  church  Carmen 
had  asked  many  questions.  It  was  the  first  religious  service 
she  had  ever  voluntarily  attended.  To  her  former  queries  re 
garding  the  function  of  the  church  edifice,  Rosendo  had  vouch 
safed  but  one  reply:  it  was  the  house  of  God,  and  in  it  the 
people  used  to  gather  to  learn  of  Him.  But  she  protested  that 
she  had  no  need  of  the  musty,  ramshackle,  barn-like  old 
building  as  a  locus  in  which  to  center  her  thought  upon  God. 
She  walked  with  Him,  and  she  much  preferred  the  bright, 
sunlit  out-of-doors  in  which  to  commune  with  Him.  Jose  ex 
plained  the  need  of  a  central  gathering  place  as  a  shelter  from 
the  hot  sun.  But  the  images — the  pictures  of  Saints  and 
Virgin — and  the  Mass  itself? 

"They  are  what  the  people  are  accustomed  to,  dear  child, 
to  direct  their  thought  toward  God,"  he  explained.  "And  we 
will  use  them  until  we  can  teach  them  something  better."  He 
had  omitted  from  the  church  service  as  far  as  possible  the 
collects  and  all  invocations  addressed  to  the  Virgin  and  the 
Saints,  and  had  rendered  it  short  and  extremely  simple.  Car 
men  seemed  satisfied  with  his  explanation,  and  with  his  in 
sistence  that,  for  the  sake  of  appearance,  she  attend  the  Sun 
day  services.  He  would  trust  her  God  to  guide  them  both. 

The  days  sped  by  silently  and  swiftly.  Jose  and  the  child 
dwelt  together  apart  from  the  world,  in  a  universe  purely 
mental.  As  he  taught  her,  she  hung  upon  his  every  word,  and 
seized  the  proffered  tutelage  with  avidity.  Often,  after  the 
day's  work,  Jose,  in  his  customary  strolls  about  the  little  town, 
would  come  across  the  girl  in  the  doorway  of  a  neighboring 
house,  with  a  group  of  wide-eyed  youngsters  about  her,  re 
lating  again  the  wonder-tales  which  she  had  gathered  from 
him.  Marvelous  tales  they  were,  too,  of  knight  and  hidalgo, 
of  court  and  camp,  of  fairies,  pyxies,  gnomes  and  sprites,  of 
mossy  legend  and  historic  fact,  bubbling  from  the  girl's  child 
ish  lips  with  an  engaging  naivete  of  interpretation  that  held  the 
man  enchanted.  Even  the  schoolmaster,  who  had  besought 
Jose  in  vain  to  turn  Carmen  over  to  him,  was  often  a  spell 
bound  listener  at  these  little  gatherings. 

The  result  was  that  in  a  short  time  a  delegation,  headed 

84 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


by  the  Alcalde  himself,  waited  upon  Jose  and  begged  him  to 
lecture  to  the  people  of  Simiti  in  the  church  building  at  least 
two  or  three  evenings  a  week  upon  places  and  people  he  had 
seen  in  the  great  world  of  which  they  knew  nothing.  Jose's 
eyes  were  moist  as  he  looked  at  the  great,  brawny  men,  stout 
of  heart,  but  simple  as  children.  He  grieved  to  give  up  his 
evenings,  for  he  had  formed  the  habit  of  late  of  devoting  them 
to  the  study  of  his  Bible,  and  to  meditation  on  those  ideas 
which  had  so  recently  come  to  him.  But  the  appeal  from  these 
innocent,  untutored  people  again  quenched  the  thought  of 
self,  and  he  bade  them  be  assured  that  their  request  was 
granted. 

The  new  ideas  which  had  found  entrance  into  Jose's  liber 
ated  mentality  in  the  past  few  days  had  formed  a  basis  on 
which  he  was  not  afraid  to  stand  while  teaching  Carmen;  and 
his  entire  instruction  was  thenceforth  colored  by  them.  He 
knew  not  why,  in  all  the  preceding  years,  such  ideas  had  not 
come  to  him  before.  But  he  was  to  learn,  some  day,  that  his 
previous  tenacious  clinging  to  evil  as  a  reality,  together  with 
his  material  beliefs  and  his  worldly  intellectuality,  had  stood 
as  barriers  at  the  portals  of  -his  thought,  and  kept  the  truth 
from  entering.  His  mind  had  been  already  full— but  its  con 
tents  were  unbelief,  fear,  the  conviction  of  evil  as  real  and 
operative,  and  the  failure  to  know  God  as  immanent,  omnipo 
tent  and  perfect  mind,  to  whom  evil  is  forever  unknown  and 
unreal.  Pride,  egoism,  and  his  morbid  sense  of  honesty  had 
added  their  portion  to  the  already  impassable  obstruction  at 
the  gateway  of  his  thought.  And  so  the  error  had  been  kept 
within,  the  good  without.  The  "power  of  the  Lord"  had  not 
been  absent;  but  it  had  remained  unapplied.  Thus  he  had 
wandered  through  the  desolate  wilderness;  but  yet  sustained 
and  kept  alive,  that  he  should  not  go  down  to  the  pit. 

Jose's  days  were  now  so  crowded  that  he  was  forced  to 
borrow  heavily  from  the  night.  The  Alcalde  continued  his 
unctuous  flattery,  and  the  priest,  in  turn,  cultivated  him  assidu 
ously.  To  that  official's  query  as  to  the  restitution  of  the  con 
fessional  in  the  church,  the  priest  replied  that  he  could  spare 
time  to  hear  only  such  confessions  from  his  flock  as  might  be 
necessary  to  elicit  from  him  the  advice  or  assistance  requisite 
for  their  needs.  He  was  there  to  help  them  solve  their  life 
problems,  not  to  pry  into  their  sacred  secrets;  and  their  con 
fessions  must  relate  only  to  their  necessities. 

The  Alcalde  went  away  with  a  puzzled  look.  Of  a  truth  a 
new  sort  of  priest  had  now  to  be  reckoned  with  in  Simiti — a 
very  different  sort  from  Padre  Diego. 

In  the  first  days  of  Jose's  incumbency  he  found  many  seri- 

85 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ous  matters  to  adjust.  He  had  learned  from  Rosendo  that 
not  half  the  residents  of  Simiti  were  married  to  the  consorts 
with  whom  they  lived,  and  that  many  of  the  children  who 
played  in  the  streets  did  not  know  who  their  fathers  were.  So 
prevalent  was  this  evil  condition  that  the  custom  among  the 
men  of  having  their  initials  embroidered  upon  the  bosoms  of 
their  shirts  was  extended  to  include  the  initial  of  the  mother's 
family  name.  Jose  had  questioned  Rosendo  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  letters  R.  A.  S.  upon  his  shirt. 

"The  S,  Padre,  is  the  initial  of  my  mother's  family  name. 
I  am  Rosendo  Ariza,  son  of  the  daughter  of  Saurez.  My 
parents  were  married  by  a  priest.  But  half  the  people  of 
Simiti  have  never  been  really  married." 

Jose  sought  the  cause  of  this  dereliction.  Fidel  Avila  was 
living  with  a  woman,  by  whom  he  had  three  children.  The 
priest  summoned  him  to  the  parish  house. 

"Fidel,"  he  questioned  sternly,  "Jacinta,  the  woman  you 
live  with,  is  your  wife?" 

"Yes,  Senor  Padre." 

"And  you  were  married  by  the  Church?" 

"No,  Padre." 

"But  wras  there  a  priest  here  when  you  began  to  live  with 
Jacinta?" 

"Yes,  Padre.     The  Cura,  Don  Diego  Polo,  was  here." 

"Then  why  were  you  not  married  by  him?  Do  you  not 
know  how  wicked  it  is  to  live  as  you  are  doing?  Think  of 
your  children!" 

"Yes,  Padre,  and  I  asked  the  Cura,  Don  Diego,  to  marry 
us.  But  he  charged  twenty  pesos  oro  for  doing  it;  and  I  could 
not  afford  it.  I  loved  Jacinta.  And  so  we  decided  to  live  to 
gether  without  the  marriage." 

"But — !"  Jose  stopped.  He  knew  that  the  Church  recog 
nized  no  marriage  unless  it  were  performed  by  a  priest.  The 
civil  magistrate  had  no  jurisdiction  in  such  a  case.  And  a 
former  priest's  rapacity  had  resulted  in  forcing  illegitimacy 
upon  half  the  children  of  this  benighted  hamlet,  because  of 
their  parents'  inability  to  afford  the  luxury  of  a  canonical 
marriage. 

"Fidel,  were  your  father  and  mother  married?"  he  asked 
in  kinder  tones. 

"I  do  not  know,  Padre.  Only  a  few  people  in  Guamoco  can 
afford  to  pay  to  be  married.  The  men  and  women  live  to 
gether,  perhaps  for  all  time,  perhaps  for  only  a  few  months. 
If  a  man  wishes  to  leave  his  woman  and  live  with  another,  he 
does  so.  If  there  are  children,  the  woman  always  has  to  keep 
and  care  for  them." 

86 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"And  could  you  leave  Jacinta  if  you  wished,  and  live  with 
another  woman?" 

"Yes,  Padre." 

"And  she  would  have  to  take  care  of  your  children?" 

"Yes." 

"And  all  because  you  are  not  married?" 

"I  think  so,  Padre." 

"Hombre!     But  that  will  do,  Fidel." 

Oh,  the  sordid  greed  of  those  who  abuse  their  sacred  com 
mission!  What  punishment  is  mete  for  such  as  exploit  these 
lowly  folk  in  the  name  of  religion!  Jose  strode  off  to  consult 
the  Alcalde. 

"Don  Mario,  the  men  in  Simiti  who  are  living  with  women 
have  got  to  be  married  to  them!  It  is  shameful!  I  shall  make 
a  canvass  of  the  town  at  once!" 

The  Alcalde  laughed.  "Costumbre,  Padre.  You  can't 
change  it." 

Costumbre  del  pais!  It  is  a  final  answer  all  through  South 
America.  No  matter  how  unreasonable  a  thing  may  be,  if  it 
is  the  custom  of  the  country  it  is  a  Medean  law. 

"But  you  know  this  is  subversive  of  Church  discipline!" 
Jose  retorted  warmly.  "Look  you,  Don  Mario,"  he  added  sug 
gestively,  "you  and  I  are  to  work  together,  are  we  not?" 

The  Alcalde  blinked  his  pig  eyes,  but  thought  hard  about 
La  Libertad.  "Cierto,  Senor  Padre!"  he  hastened  to  exclaim. 

"Then  I  demand  that  you  summon  before  me  every  man 
and  woman  who  are  living  together  unmarried." 

With  a  thought  single  to  his  own  future  advantage,  the 
wary  Alcalde  complied.  Within  the  week  following  this  inter 
view  Jose  married  twenty  couples,  and  without  charge.  Some 
offered  him  a  few  pesos.  These  he  took  and  immediately 
turned  over  to  Don  Mario  as  treasurer  of  the  parish.  Those 
couples  who  refused  to  be  married  were  forced  by  the  Alcalde 
to  separate.  But  of  these  there  were  few.  Among  them  was 
one  Julio  Gomez.  Packing  his  few  household  effects  upon  his 
back,  and  muttering  imprecations  against  the  priest,  Gomez 
set  out  for  the  hills,  still  followed  by  his  woman,  with  a  babe 
slung  over  her  shoulders  and  two  naked  children  toddling  at 
her  bare  heels. 

Verily,  the  ancient  town  was  being  profoundly  stirred  by 
the  man  who  had  sought  to  find  his  tomb  there.  Gradually  the 
people  lost  their  suspicions  and  distrust,  bred  of  former  bitter 
experience  with  priests,  and  joined  heartily  with  Jose  to 
ameliorate  the  social  status  of  the  place.  His  sincere  love  for 
them,  and  his  utter  selflessness,  secured  their  confidence,  and 
ere  his  first  month  among  them  closed,  he  had  won  them, 
almost  to  a  man. 

87 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Meantime,  six  weeks  had  passed  since  Rosendo  had  departed 
to  take  up  his  lonely  task  of  self-renouncing  love.  Then  one 
day  he  returned,  worn  and  emaciated,  his  great  frame  shaking 
like  a  withered  leaf  in  a  chill  blast. 

"It  is  the  terciana,  Padre,"  he  said,  as  he  sank  shuddering 
upon  his  bed.  "It  comes  every  third  day.  I  went  as  far  as 
Tachi — fifty  leagues  from  Simiti — and  there  the  fever  over 
took  me.  I  have  been  eight  days  coming  back;  and  day  before 
yesterday  I  ran  out  of  food.  Last  evening  I  found  a  wild  melon 
at  the  side  of  the  trail.  A  coral  snake  struck  at  me  when  I 
reached  for  it,  but  he  hit  my  machete  instead.  Caramba!" 

Jose  pressed  his  wet  hand,  while  Dona  Maria  laid  damp 
cloths  upon  his  burning  forehead. 

"The  streams  are  washed  out,  Padre,"  Rosendo  continued 
sadly.  "I  worked  at  Colorado,  Popales,  and  Tambora.  But  I 
got  no  more  than  five  pesos  worth.  And  that  will  not  pay  for 
half  of  my  supplies.  It  is  there  in  a  little  bag,"  pointing  to 
his  soaked  and  muddy  kit. 

Jose's  heart  was  wrung  by  the  suffering  and  disappoint 
ment  of  the  old  man.  Sadly  he  carried  the  little  handful  of 
gold  flakes  to  Don  Mario,  and  then  returned  to  the  exhausted 
Rosendo. 

All  through  the  night  the  sick  man  tossed  and  moaned.  By 
morning  he  was  delirious.  Then  Jose  and  Dona  Maria  be 
came  genuinely  alarmed.  The  toil  and  exposure  had  been  too 
much  for  Rosendo  at  his  advanced  age.  In  his  delirium  he 
talked  brokenly  of  the  swamps  through  which  he  had  floun 
dered,  for  he  had  taken  the  trail  in  the  wet  season,  and  fully 
half  of  its  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  length  was  oozy 
and  all  but  impassable  bog. 

.  By  afternoon  the  fever  had  greatly  increased.     Don  Mario 
shook  his  head  as  he  stood  over  him. 

"I  have  seen  many  in  that  condition,  Padre,  and  they  didn't 
wake  up !  If  we  had  quinine,  perhaps  he  might  be  saved.  But 
there  isn't  a  flake  in  the  town." 

"Then  send  Juan  to  Bodega  Central  at  once  for  it!"  cried 
Jose,  wild  with  apprehension. 

"I  doubt  if  he  would  find  it  there  either,  Padre.  But  we 
can  try.  However,  Juan  cannot  make  the  trip  in  less  than  two 
days.  And  I  fear  Rosendo  will  not  last  that  long." 

Dona  Maria  sat  by  the  bedside,  dumb  with  grief.  Jose 
wrung  his  hands  in  despair.  The  day  drew  slowly  to  a  close. 
The  Alcalde  had  dispatched  Juan  down  to  the  river  to  signal 
any  steamer  that  he  should  meet,  if  perchance  he  might  pur 
chase  a  few  grains  of  the  only  drug  that  could  save  the  sick 
man.  Carmen  had  absented  herself  during  the  day;  but  she 

88 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


returned  in  time  to  assist  Dona  Maria  with  the  evening  meal, 
after  which  she  went  at  once  to  her  bed. 

Late  at  night,  when  the  sympathizing  townsmen  had  sor 
rowfully  departed  and  Jose  had  induced  Dona  Maria  to  seek  a 
few  moments  rest  on  her  petate  in  the  living  room,  Carmen 
climbed  quietly  out  of  her  bed  and  came  to  where  the  priest 
sat  alone  with  the  unconscious  Rosendo. 

Jose  was  bending  over  the  delirious  man.  "Oh,  if  Jesus 
were  only  here  now!"  he  murmured. 

"Padre  dear." 

Jose  looked  down  into  the  little  face  beside  him. 

"People  don't  die,  you  know.  They  don't  really  die."  The 
little  head  shook  as  if  to  emphasize  the  words. 

Jose  was  startled.  But  he  put  his  arm  about  the  child  and 
drew  her  to  him.  "Chiquita,  why  do  you  say  that?"  he  asked 
sorrowfully. 

"Because  God  doesn't  die,  you  know,"  she  quickly  replied. 
"And  we  are  like  Him,  Padre,  aren't  we?" 

"But  He  calls  us  to  him,  chiquita.  And — I  guess — He  is — 
is  calling  your  padre  Rosendo  now." 

Does  God  kill  mankind  in  order  to  give  them  life?  Is  that 
His  way?  Death  denies  God,  eternal  Life.  And — 

"Why,  no,  Padre,"  returned  the  innocent  child.  "He  is 
always  here;  and  we  are  always  with  Him,  you  know.  He  can 
not  call  people  away  from  where  He  is,  can  He?" 

Lo,  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world.  The 
Christ-principle,  the  saving  truth  about  God  and  man,  is  ever 
present  in  an  uncomprehending  world. 

Jose  knew  that  there  was  no  material  dependence  now. 
Something  told  him  that  Rosendo  lay  dying.  There  was  no 
physician,  no  drug,  in  the  isolated  little  town.  There  was  none 
but  God  to  save.  And  He — 

But  only  sinners  are  taught  by  priests  and  preachers  to 
look  to  God  for  help.  The  sick  are  not  so  taught.  How  much 
more  deplorable,  then,  is  their  condition  than  that  of  the 
wicked ! 

"I  told  God  out  on  the  shales  this  afternoon  that  I  just 
knew  padre  Rosendo  wouldn't  die!"  The  soft,  sweet  voice 
hovered  on  the  silence  like  celestial  melody. 

//  ye  ask  anything  in  my  name — in  my  character — it  shall 
be  given  you.  Carmen  asked  in  the  character  of  the  sinless 
Christ,  for  her  asking  wras  an  assertion  of  what  she  instinc 
tively  knew  to  be  truth,  despite  the  evidence  of  the  physical 
senses.  Her  petitions  were  affirmations  of  Immanuel — God 
with  us. 

"Carmen,"  whispered  the  priest  hoarsely,  "go  back  to  your 

16  89 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


bed,  and  know,  just  know  that  God  is  here!  Know  that  He 
did  not  make  padre  Rosendo  sick,  and  that  He  will  not  let  him 
die!  Know  it  for  him— and  for  me!" 

"Why,  Padre,  I  know  that  now!"  The  child  looked  up 
into  the  priest's  face  with  her  luminous  eyes  radiating  un 
shaken  trust — a  trust  that  seemed  born  of  understanding.  Yea, 
she  knew  that  all  good  was  there,  for  God  is  omnipotent.  They 
had  but  to  stretch  forth  their  hands  to  touch  the  robe  of  His 
Christ.  The  healing  principle  which  cleansed  the  lepers  and 
raised  the  dead  was  even  with  them  there  in  that  quiet  room. 
Jose  had  only  to  realize  it,  nothing  doubting.  Carmen  had  done 
her  work,  and  her  mind  now  was  stayed  on  Him.  Infinite  In 
telligence  did  not  know  Rosendo  as  Jose  was  trying  to  know 
him,  sick  and  dying.  God  is  Life — and  there  is  no  death! 

Carmen  was  again  asleep.  Jose  sat  alone,  his  open  Bible  be 
fore  him  and  his  thought  with  his  God. 

Oh,  for  even  a  slight  conception  of  Him  who  is  Life!  Moses 
worked  "as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible."  Carmen  lived  with 
her  eyes  on  Him,  despite  her  dreary  mundane  encom- 
passment.  And  Jose,  as  he  sat  there  throughout  the  watches  of 
the  night,  facing  the  black  terror,  was  striving  to  pierce  the 
mist  which,  had  gone  up  from  the  face  of  the  ground  and  was 
separating  him  from  his  God.  Through  the  long,  dark  hours, 
with  the  quiet  of  death  upon  the  desolate  chamber,  he  sat 
mute  before  the  veil  that  was  "still  untaken  away." 

What  was  it  that  kept  telling  him  that  Rosendo  lay  dying 
before  him?  Does  matter  talk?  Did  the  serpent  talk  to  Eve? 
Do  fleshly  nerves  and  frail  bodily  organs  converse  with  men? 
Can  the  externalization  of  thought  report  back  to  the  thought 
itself?  Nay,  the  report  came  to  him  from  the  physical  senses — 
naught  else.  And  they  reported — nothing!  He  \vas  seeing  but 
his  own  thoughts  of  mixed  good  and  evil.  And  they  were 
false,  because  they  testified  against  God. 

Surely  God  knew  Rosendo.  But  not  as  the  physical  senses 
were  trying  to  make  Jose  know  him,  sick  and  dying.  Surely 
the  subjective  determines  the  objective;  for  as  we  think,  so  are 
we — the  Christ  said  that.  From  his  human  standpoint  Jose 
was  seeing  his  thoughts  of  a  dying  mortal.  And  now  he  was 
trying  to  know  that  those  thoughts  did  not  come  from  God- 
that  they  had  no  authority  back  of  them — that  they  were 
children  of  the  "one  lie"  about  God — that  they  were  false, 
false  as  hell,  and  therefore  impotent  and  unreal. 

What,  then,  had  he  to  fear?  Nothing,  for  truth  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  personal  sense.  So  God  and  His  ideas,  reflected  by 
the  real  Rosendo,  were  beyond  the  reach  of  evil. 

If  this  were  true,  then  he  must  clear  his  own  mentality — 

90 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


even  as  he  now  knew  Carmen  had  done  out  on  the  shales  that 
afternoon.  He  was  no  longer  dealing  with  a  material  Rosendo, 
but  with  false  beliefs  about  a  son  of  God.  He  was  handling 
mental  concepts.  And  to  the  serpent,  error,  he  was  trying  to 
say:  "What  is  your  authority?" 

If  man  lives,  he  never  dies.  If  man  is,  then  he  always  has 
been.  And  he  was  never  born — and  never  passes  into  oblivion. 
A  fact  never  changes.  If  two  and  two  make  four  to-day,  they 
always  have  done  so,  and  always  will. 

Can  good  produce  evil?  Then  evil  can  have  no  creator. 
Rosendo,  when  moved  by  good,  had  gone  into  the  wilds  of 
Guamoco  on  a  mission  of  love.  Did  evil  have  power  to  smite 
him  for  his  noble  sacrifice? 

What  is  this  human  life  of  ours?  Real  existence?  No,  but 
a  sense  of  existence — and  a  false  sense,  for  it  postulates  a  god 
of  evil  opposed  to  the  one  supreme  Creator  of  all  that  really  is. 
Then  the  testimony  that  said  Rosendo  must  die  was  cruelly 
false.  And,  more,  it  was  powerless — unless  Jose  himself  gave 
it  power. 

Did  Carmen  know  that?  Had  she  so  reasoned?  Assuredly 
no!  But  she  knew  God  as  Jose  had  never  known  Him.  And, 
despite  the  testimony  of  the  fleshly  eyes,  she  had  turned  from 
physical  sense  to  Him. 

"It  is  not  practicable!"  the  world  cries  in  startled  protest. 

But,  behold  her  life! 

Jose  had  begun  to  see  that  discord  was  the  result  of  un 
righteousness,  false  thought.  He  began  to  understand  why  it 
was  that  Jesus  always  linked  disease  with  sin.  His  own  para 
doxical  career  had  furnished  ample  proof  of  that.  Yet  his 
numberless  tribulations  were  not  due  solely  to  his  own  wrong 
thinking,  but  likewise  to  the  wrong  thought  of  others  with  re 
spect  to  him,  thought  which  he  knew  not  how  to  neutralize. 
And  the  channels  for  this  false,  malicious,  carnal  thought  had 
been  his  beloved  parents,  his  uncle,  the  Archbishop,  his  tutors, 
and,  in  fact,  all  with  whom  he  had  been  associated  until  he 
came  to  Simiti.  There  he  had  found  Carmen.  And  there  the 
false  thought  had  met  a  check,  a  reversal.  The  evil  had  begun 
to  destroy  itself.  And  he  was  slowly  awaking  to  find  nothing 
but  good. 

The  night  hours  flitted  through  the  heavy  gloom  like  spec 
tral  acolytes.  Rosendo  sank  into  a  deep  sleep.  The  steady  roll 
of  the  frogs  in  the  lake  at  length  died  away.  A  flush  stole  tim 
idly  across  the  eastern  sky. 

"Padre  dear,  he  will  not  die." 

It  was  Carmen's  voice  that  awoke  the  slumbering  priest. 
The  child  stood  at  his  side,  and  her  little  hand  clasped  his. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rosendo  slept.  His  chest  rose  and  fell  with  the  rhythmic 
breathing.  Jose  looked  down  upon  him.  A  great  lump  came 
into  his  throat,  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  spoke. 

"You  are  right,  chiquita.     Go,  call  your  madre  Maria  now, 
and  I  will  go  home  to  rest." 


CHAPTER  13 

THAT  day  Rosendo  left  his  bed.     Two  days  later  he  again 
set  out  for  Guamoco. 
"There    is    gold    there,    and    I   must,   I    will  find   it!"    he 
repeatedly  exclaimed  as  he  pushed  his  preparations. 

The  courage  of  the  man  was  magnificent.  On  its  rebound 
it  carried  him  over  the  protest  of  Dona  Maria  and  the  gloomy 
forebodings  of  his  fellow-townsmen,  and  launched  him  again  on 
the  desolate  trail. 

But  Jose  had  uttered  no  protest.  He  moved  about  wrapped 
in  undefmable  awe.  For  he  believed  he  had  seen  Rosendo 
lifted  from  the  bed  of  death.  And  no  one  might  tell  him  that 
it  was  not  by  the  same  power  that  long  ago  had  raised  the  dead 
man  of  Nain.  Carmen  had  not  spoken  of  the  incident  again; 
and  something  laid  a  restraint  upon  Jose's  lips. 

The  eyes  of  the  Alcalde  bulged  with  astonishment  when 
Rosendo  entered  his  store  that  morning  in  quest  of  further  sup 
plies. 

"Caramba!  Go  back  to  your  bed,  compadre!"  he  exclaimed, 
bounding  from  his  chair.  "You  are  walking  in  your  delirium!" 

"Na,  amigo,"  replied  Rosendo  with  a  smile,  "the  fever  has 
left  me.  And  now  I  must  have  another  month's  supplies,  for 
I  go  back  to  Guamoco  as  soon  as  my  legs  tremble  less." 

"Caramba!  caramba!" 

The  Alcalde  acted  as  if  he  were  in  the  presence  of  a  ghost. 
But  at  length  becoming  convinced  that  Rosendo  was  there  on 
matters  of  business,  and  in  his  right  mind,  he  checked  further 
expression  of  wonder  and,  with  a  shrug  of  his  fat  shoulders, 
assumed  his  wonted  air  of  a  man  of  large  affairs. 

"I  can  allow  you  five  pesos  oro  on  account  of  the  gold  which 
the  Cura  brought  me  yesterday,"  he  said  severely.  "But  that 
leaves  you  still  owing  ten  pesos  for  your  first  supplies;  and 
thirty  if  I  give  you  what  you  ask  for  now.  If  you  cannot  pay 
this  amount  when  you  return,  you  will  have  to  work  it  out  for 
me." 

His  little  eyes  grew  steely  and  cold.  Rosendo  well  knew 
what  the  threat  implied.  But  he  did  not  falter. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Bien,  compadre,"  he  quietly  replied,  "it  will  be  as  you 
say." 

Late  that  afternoon  Juan  returned  from  Bodega  Central 
with  a  half  ounce  of  quinine.  He  had  made  the  trip  with 
astonishing  celerity,  and  had  arrived  at  the  riverine  town  just 
as  a  large  steamer  was  docking.  The  purser  supplied  him 
with  the  drug,  and  he  immediately  started  on  his  return. 

The  Alcalde  set  out  to  deliver  the  drug  to  Rosendo;  but  not 
finding  him  at  home,  looked  in  at  the  parish  house.  Jose  and 
Carmen  were  deep  in  their  studies. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  Senor  Padre,  but  I  have  the  medicine 
you  ordered  for  Rosendo,"  placing  the  small  package  upon  the 
table. 

"You  may  set  it  down  against  me,  Don  Mario,"  said  Jose. 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  Alcalde,  "this  must  not  be  charged  to 
the  parish!" 

"I  said  to  me,  amigo,"  replied  the  priest  firmly. 

"It  is  the  same  thing,  Padre!"  blurted  the  petty  merchant. 

The  priest's  anger  began  to  rise,  but  he  restrained  it.  "Padre 
Diego  is  no  longer  here,  you  must  remember,"  he  said  quietly. 

"But  the  parish  pays  your  debts;  and  it  would  not  pay  the 
full  value  of  this  and  Juan's  trip,"  was  the  coarse  retort. 

"Very  well,  then,  Don  Mario,"  answered  Jose.  "You  may 
charge  it  to  Rosendo.  But  tell  me  first  how  much  you  will 
place  against  him  for  it." 

The  Alcalde  reflected  a  moment.  "The  quinine  will  be  five 
pesos  oro,  and  Juan's  trip  three  additional.  Is  it  not  worth 
it?"  he  demanded,  blustering  before  Jose's  steady  gaze.  "If 
Rosendo  had  been  really  sick  it  would  have  saved  his  life!" 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  he  was  dangerously  ill?"  asked 
Jose  with  some  curiosity. 

"He  couldn't  have  been  really  sick  and  be  around  to-day- 
could  he?"  the  Alcalde  demanded. 

The  priest  glanced  at  Carmen.  She  met  the  look  with  a 
smile. 

"No,"  he  said  slowly,  "not  really  sick."  Then  he  quickly 
added : 

"If  you  charge  Rosendo  eight  pesos  for  that  bit  of  quinine, 
Don  Mario,  you  and  I  are  no  longer  working  together,  for  I  do 
not  take  base  advantage  of  any  man's  necessities." 

The  Alcalde  became  confused.  He  was  going  too  far.  "Na, 
Senor  Padre,"  he  said  hastily,  with  a  sheepish  grin.  "I  will 
leave  the  quinine  with  you,  and  do  you  settle  the  account  with 
Juan."  With  which  he  beat  a  disordered  retreat. 

Jose  was  thankful  that,  for  a  few  months,  at  least,  he  would 
have  a  powerful  hold  on  this  man  through  his  rapacity.  What 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


would  happen  when  the  Alcalde  at  length  learned  that  Rosendo 
wTas  not  searching  for  Don  Ignacio's  lost  mine,  he. did  not  care 
to  conjecture.  That  matter  was  in  other  hands  than  his,  and  he 
was  glad  to  leave  it  there.  He  asked  now  only  to  see  each 
single  step  as  he  progressed. 

"Did  Don  Mario  say  that  stuff  would  cure  padre  Rosendo?" 
asked  Carmen,  pointing  to  the  quinine. 

"Yes,  chiquita." 

"Why  did  he  say  so,  Padre?" 

"Because  he  really  believed  it,  carita." 

"But  what  is  it,  Padre — and  how  can  it  cure  sick  people?" 

"It  is  the  bark  of  a  certain  tree,  little  one,  that  people  take 
as  medicine.  It  is  a  sort  of  poison  which  people  take  to  coun 
teract  another  poison.  A  great  school  of  medicine  is  founded 
upon  that  principle,  Carmen,"  he  added.  And  then  he  fell  to 
wondering  if  it  really  was  a  principle,  after  all.  If  so,  it  was 
evil  overcoming  evil.  But  would  the  world  believe  that  both 
he  and  Rosendo  had  been  cured  by — what?  Faith?  True 
prayer?  By  the  operation  of  a  great,  almost  unknown  prin 
ciple?  Or  would  it  scoff  at  such  an  idea? 

But  what  cared  he  for  that?  He  saw  himself  and  Rosendo 
restored,  and  that  was  enough.  He  turned  to  the  child.  "They 
think  the  quinine  cures  fever,  little  one,"  he  resumed. 

"And  does  it?"  The  little  face  wore  an  anxious  look  as  she 
put  the  question. 

"They  think  it  does,  chiquita,"  replied  the  priest,  wondering 
what  he  should  say. 

"But  it  is  just  because  they  think  so  that  they  get  well, 
isn't  it?"  the  girl  continued. 

"I  guess  it  is,  child." 

"And  if  they  thought  right  they  would  be  cured  without 
this — is  it  not  so,  Padre  dear?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it — now,"  replied  the  priest.  "In  fact,  if  they 
always  kept  their  thoughts  right  I  am  sure  they  would  never 
be  sick." 

"You  mean,  if  they  always  thought  about  God,"  the  child 
amended. 

"yes — I  mean  just  that.  If  they  knew,  really  knew,  that 
God  is  everywhere,  that  He  is  good,  and  that  He  never  makes 
people  sick,  they  would  always  be  well." 

"Of  course,  Padre.  It  is  only  their  bad  thoughts  that  make 
them  sick.  And  even  then  they  are  not  really  sick,"  the  child 
concluded.  "They  think  they  are,  and  they  think  they  die— 
and  then  they  wake  up  and  find  it  isn't  so  at  all." 

Had  the  child  made  this  remark  to  him  a  few  weeks  before, 
he  had  crushed  it  with  the  dull,  lifeless,  conventional  formulae 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  human  belief.  To-day  in  penitent  humility  he  was  trying  to 
walk  hand  in  hand  with  her  the  path  she  trod.  For  he  was 
learning  from  her  that  righteousness  is  salvation.  A  few  weeks 
ago  he  had  lain  at  death's  door,  yearning  to  pass  the  portal. 
Yesterday  he  believed  he  had  again  seen  the  dark  angel,  hover 
ing  over  the  stricken  Rosendo.  But  in  each  case  something  had 
intervened.  Perhaps  that  "something  not  ourselves  that  makes 
for  righteousness,"  the  unknown,  almost  unacknowledged  force 
that  ceases  not  to  combat  evil  in  the  human  consciousness. 
Clinging  to  his  petty  egoisms;  hugging  close  his  shabby  con 
victions  of  an  evil  power  opposed  to  God;  stuffed  with  worldly 
learning  and  pride  of  race  and  intellect,  in  due  season,  as  he 
sank  under  the  burden  of  his  imaginings,  the  veil  had  been 
drawn  aside  for  a  fleeting  moment — and  his  soul  had  frozen 
with  awe  at  what  it  beheld! 

For,  back  of  the  density  of  the  human  concept,  the  fleeting, 
inexplicable  medley  of  good  and  evil  which  constitutes  the 
phenomenon  of  mortal  existence,  he  had  seen  God!  He  had 
seen  Him  as  all-inclusive  mind,  omnipotent,  immanent,  perfect, 
eternal.  He  had  caught  a  moment's  glimpse  of  the  tremendous 
Presence  which  holds  all  wisdom,  all  knowledge,  yet  knows  no 
evil.  He  had  seen  a  blinding  flash  of  that  "something"  toward 
which  his  life  had  strained  and  yearned.  With  it  had  come  a 
dim  perception  of  the  falsity  of  the  testimony  of  physical  sense, 
and  the  human  life  that  is  reared  upon  it.  And  though  he 
counted  not  himself  to  have  apprehended  as  yet,  he  was  strug 
gling,  even  with  thanksgiving,  up  out  of  his  bondage,  toward 
the  gleam.  The  shafts  of  error  hissed  about  him,  and  black 
doubt  and  chill  despair  still  felled  him  with  their  awful  blows. 
But  he  wralked  with  Carmen.  With  his  hand  in  hers,  he  knew 
he  was  journeying  toward  God. 

On  the  afternoon  before  his  departure  Rosendo  entered  the 
parish  house  in  apprehension.  "I  have  lost  my  escapulario, 
Padre!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  string  caught  in  the  brush,  and 
the  whole  thing  was  torn  from  my  neck.  I — I  don't  like  to  go 
back  without  one,"  he  added  dubiously. 

"Ah,  then  you  have  nothing  left  but  Christ,"  replied  Jose 
with  fine  irony.  "Well,  it  is  of  no  consequence." 

"But,  Padre,  it  had  been  blessed  by  the  Bishop!" 

"Well,  don't  worry.  Why,  the  Holy  Father  himself  once 
blessed  this  republic  of  ours,  and  now  it  is  about  the  most  un 
fortunate  country  in  the  whole  world!  But  you  are  a  good 
Catholic,  Rosendo,  so  you  need  not  fear." 

Rosendo  was,  indeed,  a  good  Catholic.  He  accepted  the 
faith  of  his  fathers  without  reserve.  He  had  never  known  any 
other.  Simple,  superstitious,  and  great  of  heart,  he  held  with 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


rigid  credulity  to  all  that  had  been  taught  him  in  the  name  of 
religion.  But  until  Jose's  advent  he  had  feared  and  hated 
priests.  Nevertheless,  his  faith  in  signs  and  miracles  and  the 
healing  power  of  blessed  images  was  child-like.  Once  when 
he  saw  in  the  store  of  Don  Mario  a  colored  chromo  of  Venus 
and  Cupid,  a  cheap  print  that  had  come  with  goods  imported 
from  abroad,  he  had  devoutly  crossed  himself,  believing  it  to 
be  the  Virgin  Mary  with  the  Christ-child. 

"But  I  will  fix  you  up,  Rosendo,"  said  Jose,  noting  the  man's 
genuine  anxiety.  "Have  Dona  Maria  cut  out  a  cloth  heart  and 
fasten  it  to  a  stout  cord.  I  will  take  it  to  the  church  altar  and 
bless  it  before  the  image  of  the  Virgin.  You  told  me  once  that 
the  Virgin  was  the  Rincon  family's  patron,  you  know." 

"Bueno!"  ejaculated  the  pleased  Rosendo,  as  he  hastened 
off  to  execute  the  commission. 

Several  times  before  Rosendo  went  back  to  Guamoco  Jose 
had  sought  to  draw  him  into  conversation  about  his  illness,  and 
to  get  his  view  of  the  probable  cause  of  his  rapid  recovery. 
But  the  old  man  seemed  loath  to  dwell  on  the  topic,  and  Jose 
could  get  little  from  him.  At  any  mention  of  the  episode  a 
troubled  look  would  come  over  his  face,  and  he  would  fall 
silent,  or  would  find  an  excuse  to  leave  the  presence  of  the 
priest. 

"Rosendo,"  Jose  abruptly  remarked  to  him  as  he  was  busy 
with  his  pack  late  the  night  before  his  departure,  "will  you 
take  with  you  the  quinine  that  Juan  brought?" 

Rosendo  looked  up  quickly.     "I  can  not,  Padre." 

"And  why?" 

"On  account  of  Carmen." 

"But  what  has  she  to  do  with  it,  amigo?"  Jose  asked  in 
surprise. 

Rosendo  looked  embarrassed.  "I — Bien,  Padre,  I  promised 
her  I  would  not." 

"When?" 

"To-day,  Padre." 

Jose  reflected  on  the  child's  unusual  request.  Then: 

"But  if  you  fell  sick  up  in  Guamoco,  Rosendo,  what  could 
you  do?" 

"Quien  sabe,  Padre!  Perhaps  I  could  gather  herbs  and 
make  a  tea — I  don't  know.  She  didn't  say  anything  about 
that."  He  looked  at  Jose  and  laughed.  Then,  in  an  anxious 
tone: 

"Padre,  what  can  I  do?  The  little  Carmen  asks  me  not  to 
take  the  quinine,  and  I  can  not  refuse  her.  But  I  may  get  sick. 
I — I  have  always  taken  medicine  when  I  needed  it  and  could 
get  it.  But  the  only  medicine  we  have  in  Simiti  is  the  stuff 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


that  some  of  the  women  make — teas  and  drinks  brewed  from 
roots  and  bark.  I  have  never  seen  a  doctor  here,  nor  any  real 
medicines  but  quinine.  And  even  that  is  hard  to  get,  as  you 
know.  I  used  to  make  a  salve  out  of  the  livers  of  mdpina 
snakes — it  was  for  the  rheumatism — I  suffered  terribly  when 
I  worked  in  the  cold  waters  in  Guamoco.  I  think  the  salve 
helped  me.  But  if  I  should  get  the  disease  now,  would  Carmen 
let  me  make  the  salve  again?" 

He  bent  over  his  outfit  for  some  moments.  "She  says  if  I 
trust  God  I  will  not  get  sick,"  he  at  length  resumed.  "She  says 
I  must  not  think  about  it.  Caramba!  What  has  that  to  do 
with  it?  People  get  sick  whether  they  think  about  it  or  not. 
Do  you  believe,  Padre,  this  new  escapulario  will  protect  me?" 

The  man's  words  reflected  the  strange  mixture  of  mature 
and  childish  thought  typical  of  these  untutored  jungle  folk,  in 
which  longing  for  the  good  is  so  heavily  overshadowed  by  an 
educated  belief  in  the  power  of  evil. 

"Rosendo,"  said  Jose,  finding  at  last  his  opportunity,  "tell 
me,  do  you  think  you  were  seriously  ill  day  before  yesterday?" 

"Quien  sabe,  Padre !  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  terciana,  after 
all." 

"Well,  then,"  pursuing  another  tack,  "do  you  think  I  was 
very  sick  that  day  when  I  rushed  to  the  lake—?" 

"Caramba,  Padre!  But  you  were  turning  cold — you  hardly 
breathed — we  all  thought  you  must  die — all  but  Carmen!" 

"And  what  cured  me,  Rosendo?"  the  priest  asked  in  a  low, 
steady  voice. 

"Why — Padre,  I  can  not  say." 

"Nor  can  I,  positively,  my  friend.  But  I  do  know  that  the 
little  Carmen  said  I  should  not  die.  And  she  said  the  same  of 
you  when,  as  I  would  swear,  you  were  in  the  fell  clutches  of 
the  death  angel  himself." 

"Padre —  Rosendo's  eyes  were  large,  and  his  voice  trem 
bled  in  awesome  whisper — "is  she — the  little  Carmen — is  she 
— an  hada?" 

"A  witch?  Hombre!  No!"  cried  Jose,  bursting  into  a 
laugh  at  the  perturbed  features  of  the  older  man.  "No,  amigo, 
she  is  not  an  hada!  Let  us  say,  rather,  as  you  first  expressed 
it  to  me,  she  is  an  angel — and  let  us  appreciate  her  as  such. 

"But,"  he  continued,  "I  tell  you  in  all  seriousness,  there  are 
things  that  such  as  you  and  I,  with  our  limited  outlook,  have 
never  dreamed  of;  and  that  child  seems  to  have  penetrated  the 
veil  that  hides  spiritual  things  from  the  material  vision  of  men 
like  us.  Let  us  wait,  and  if  we  value  that  'something'  which 
she  seems  to  possess  and  know  how  to  use,  let  us  cut  off  our 
right  hands  before  we  yield  to  the  temptation  to  place  any 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


obstacle  in  the  way  of  her  development  along  the  lines  which 
she  has  chosen,  or  which  some  unseen  Power  has  chosen  for 
her.  It  is  for  you  and  me,  Rosendo,  to  stand  aside  and  watch, 
while  we  protect  her,  if  haply  we  may  be  privileged  some  day 
to  learn  her  secret  in  full.  You  and  I  are  the  unlearned, 
while  she  is  filled  with  wisdom.  The  world  would  say  other 
wise,  and  would  condemn  us  as  fools.  Thank  God  we  are  out 
of  the  world  here  in  Simiti!" 

He  choked  back  the  inrush  of  memories  and  brushed  away  a 
tear. 

"Rosendo,"  he  concluded,  "be  advised.  If  Carmen  told  you 
not  to  think  of  sickness  while  in  Guamoco,  then  follow  her  in 
structions.  It  is  not  the  child,  but  a  mighty  Power  that  is 
speaking  through  her.  Of  that  I  have  long  been  thoroughly 
convinced.  And  I  am  as  thoroughly  convinced  that  that  same 
Power  has  appointed  you  and  me  her  protectors  and  her  fol 
lowers.  You  and  I  have  a  mighty  compact — 

"Hombre!"  interrupted  Rosendo,  clasping  the  priest's  hand, 
"my  life  is  hers — you  know  it — she  has  only  to  speak,  and  I 
obey!  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Assuredly,  Rosendo,"  returned  Jose.  "And  now  a  final 
word.  Let  us  keep  solely  to  ourselves  what  we  have  learned 
of  her.  Our  plans  are  well  formulated.  Let  us  adhere  to  them 
in  strict  silence.  I  know  not  whither  we  are  being  led.  But  we 
are  in  the  hands  of  that  'something'  that  speaks  and  works 
through  her — and  we  are  satisfied.  Are  we  not?" 

They  clasped  hands  again.  The  next  morning  Rosendo  set 
his  face  once  more  toward  the  emerald  hills  of  Guamoco. 

As  the  days  passed,  Jose  became  more  silent  and  thoughtful. 
But  it  was  a  silence  bred  of  wonder  and  reverence,  as  he  dwelt 
upon  the  things  that  had  been  revealed  to  him.  Who  and  what 
wras  this  unusual  child,  so  human,  and  yet  so  strangely  re 
moved  from  the  world's  plane  of  thought?  A  child  who  un 
derstood  the  language  of  the  birds,  and  heard  the  grass  grow — 
a  child  whom  Torquemada  would  have  burnt  as  a  witch,  and 
yet  with  whom  he  could  not  doubt  the  Christ  dwelt. 

Jose  often  studied  her  features  while  she  bent  over  her 
work.  He  spent  hours,  too,  poring  over  the  little  locket  which 
had  been  found  among  her  mother's  few  effects.  The  portrait 
of  the  man  was  dim  and  soiled.  Jose  wondered  if  the  poor 
woman's  kisses  and  tears  had  blurred  it.  The  people  of  Badillo 
said  she  had  died  with  it  pressed  to  her  lips.  But  its  condition 
rendered  futile  all  speculation  in  regard  to  its  original.  That 
of  the  mother,  however,  was  still  fresh  and  clear.  Jose  con 
jectured  that  she  must  have  been  either  wholly  Spanish,  or  one 
of  the  more  refined  and  cultured  women  of  Colombia.  And  she 

98 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


had  doubtless  been  very  young  and  beautiful  when  the  portrait 
was  made.  With  what  dark  tragedy  was  that  little  locket  as 
sociated?  Would  it  ever  yield  its  secret? 

But  Carmen's  brown  curls  and  light  skin — whence  came 
they?  Were  they  wholly  Latin?  Jose  had  grave  doubts.  And 
her  keen  mind,  and  deep  religious  instinct?  Who  knew?  He 
could  only  be  sure  that  they  had  come  from  a  source  far,  far 
above  her  present  lowly  environment.  With  that  much  he 
must  for  the  present  be  content. 

****** 

Another  month  unfolded  its  length  in  quiet  days,  and  Ro- 
sendo  again  returned.  Not  ill  this  time,  nor  even  much  ex 
hausted.  Nor  did  the  little  leathern  pouch  contain  more  than 
a  few  pesos  in  gold  dust.  But  determination  was  written  grim 
and  trenchant  upon  his  black  face  as  he  strode  into  the  parish 
house  and  extended  his  great  hand  to  the  priest. 

"I  have  only  come  for  more  supplies,  Padre,"  he  said.  "I 
have  some  three  pesos  worth  of  gold.  Most  of  this  I  got  around 
Culata,  near  Don  Felipe's  quartz  vein,  the  Andandodias.  Car- 
amba,  what  veins  in  those  hills!  If  we  had  money  to  build  a 
mill,  and  knew  how  to  catch  the  gold,  we  would  not  need  to 
wash  the  river  sands  that  have  been  gone  over  again  and  again 
for  hundreds  of  years!" 

But  Jose's  thoughts  were  of  the  Alcalde.  He  determined  to 
send  for  him  at  once,  while  Rosendo  was  removing  the  soil  of 
travel. 

Don  Mario  came  and  estimated  the  weight  of  the  gold  by 
his  hand.  Then  he  coolly  remarked:  "Bien,  Senor  Padre,  I  will 
send  Rosendo  to  my  hacienda  to-morrow  to  cut  cane  and  make 
panela." 

"And  how  is  that,  Don  Mario?"  inquired  Jose. 

The  Alcalde  began  to  bluster.  "He  owes  me  thirty  pesos 
oro,  less  this,  if  you  wish  me  to  keep  it.  I  see  no  likelihood 
that  he  can  ever  repay  me.  And  so  he  must  now  work  out  his 
debt." 

"How  long  will  that  take  him,  amigo?" 

"Quien  sabe?  Senor  Padre,"  the  Alcalde  replied,  his  eyes 
narrowing. 

The  priest  braced  himself,  and  his  face  assumed  an  expres 
sion  that  it  had  not  worn  before  he  came  to  Simiti.  "Look  you 
now,  my  friend,"  he  began  in  tones  pregnant  with  meaning. 
"I  have  made  some  inquiries  regarding  your  system  of  peon 
age.  I  find  that  you  pay  your  peones  from  twenty  to  thirty 
cents  a  day  for  their  hard  labor,  and  at  the  same  time  charge 
them  as  much  a  day  for  food.  Or  you  force  them  to  buy  from 
you  tobacco  and  rum  at  prices  which  keep  them  always  in  your 
debt.  Is  it  not  so?" 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Na,  Padre,  you  have  been  misinformed,"  the  Alcalde  de 
murred,  with  a  deprecating  gesture. 

"I  have  not.  Lazaro  Ortiz  is  now  working  for  you  on  that 
system.  And  daily  he  becomes  more  deeply  indebted  to  you, 
is  it  not  so?" 

"But,  Padre— 

"It  is  useless  for  you  to  deny  it,  Don  Mario,  for  I  have  facts. 
Now  listen  to  me.  Let  us  understand  each  other  clearly,  nor 
attempt  to  dissimulate.  That  iniquitous  system  of  peonage  has 
got  to  cease  in  my  parish!" 

"Caramba,  but  Padre  Diego  had  peones!"  the  Alcalde  ex 
ploded. 

"And  he  was  a  wicked  man,"  added  Jose.  Then  he  con 
tinued: 

"I  know  not  what  information  you  may  have  from  the  Bish 
op  regarding  me,  yet  this  I  tell  you:  I  shall  report  you  to 
Bogota,  and  I  will  band  the  citizens  of  Simiti  together  to  drive 
you  out  of  town,  if  you  do  not  at  once  release  Lazaro,  and  put 
an  end  to  this  wicked  practice.  The  people  will  follow  if  I 
lead!" 

It  was  a  bold  stroke,  and  the  priest  knew  that  he  was  stand 
ing  upon  shaky  ground.  But  the  man  before  him  was  super 
stitious,  untutored  and  child-like.  A  show  of  courage,  backed  by 
an  assertion  of  authority,  might  produce  the  desired  effect. 
Moreover,  Jose  knew  that  he  was  in  the  right.  And  right  must 
prevail ! 

Don  Mario  glared  at  him,  while  an  ugly  look  spread  over 
his  coarse  features.  The  priest  went  on: 

"Lazaro  has  long  since  worked  out  his  debt,  and  you  shall 
release  him  at  once.  As  to  Rosendo,  he  must  have  the  supplies 
he  needs  to  return  to  Guamoco.  You  understand?" 

"Caramba!"  Don  Mario's  face  was  purple  with  rage.  "You 
think  you  can  tell  me  what  to  do — me,  the  Alcalde!"  he  vol 
leyed.  "You  think  you  can  make  us  change  our  customs! 
Caramba!  You  are  no  better  than  the  priest  Diego,  whom  you 
try  to  make  me  believe  so  wicked!  H ombre,  you  were  driven 
out  of  Cartagena  yourself!  A  nice  sort  to  be  teaching  a  little 
girl—!" 

"Stop,  man!"  thundered  Jose,  striding  toward  him  with 
upraised  arm. 

Don  Mario  fell  back  in  his  chair  and  quailed  before  the 
mountainous  wrath  of  the  priest. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  open  doorway.  Glancing  up,  Jose 
saw  Carmen.  For  a  moment  the  girl  stood  looking  in  wonder 
at  the  angry  men.  Then  she  went  quickly  to  the  priest  and 
slipped  a  hand  into  his.  A  feeling  of  shame  swept  over  him, 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  he  went  back  to  his  chair.  Carmen  leaned  against  him, 
but  she  appeared  to  be  confused.  Silence  fell  upon  them  all. 

"Gucumbra  doesn't  fight  any  more,  Padre,"  the  girl  at  length 
began  in  hesitation.  "He  and  the  puppy  play  together  all  the 
time  now.  He  has  learned  a  lot,  and  now  he  loves  the  puppy." 

So  had  the  priest  learned  much.  He  recalled  the  lesson. 
"Bien,"  he  said  in  soft  tones,  "I  think  we  became  a  bit  too  ear 
nest,  Don  Mario.  We  are  good  friends,  is  it  not  so?  And  we 
are  working  together  for  the  good  of  Simiti.  But  to  have  good 
come  to  us,  we  must  do  good  to  others." 

He  went  to  his  trunk  and  took  out  a  wallet.  "Here  are 
twenty  pesos,  Don  Mario."  It  was  all  he  had  in  the  world,  but 
he  did  not  tell  the  Alcalde  so.  "Take  them  on  Rosendo's  ac 
count.  Let  him  have  the  new  supplies  he  needs,  and  I  will  be 
his  surety.  And,  friend,  you  are  going  to  let  me  prove  to  you 
with  time  that  the  report  you  have  from  Cartagena  regarding 
me  is  false." 

Don  Mario's  features  relaxed  somewhat  when  his  hand 
closed  over  the  grimy  bills. 

"Do  not  forget,  amigo,"  added  Jose,  assuming  an  air  of 
mystery  as  he  pursued  the  advantage,  "that  you  and  I  are  as 
sociated  in  various  business  matters,  is  it  not  so?" 

The  Alcalde's  mouth  twitched,  but  finally  extended  in  an 
unctuous  grin.  After  all,  the  priest  was  a  descendant  of  the 
famous  Don  Ignacio,  and — who  knew? — he  might  have  re 
sources  of  which  the  Alcalde  little  dreamed. 

"Cierto,  Padre!"  he  cried,  rising  to  depart.  "And  we  will 
yet  uncover  La  Libertad!  You  guarantee  Rosendo's  debt? 
Bien,  he  shall  have  the  supplies.  But  I  think  he  should  take 
another  man  with  him.  Lazaro  might  do,  no?" 

It  was  a  gracious  and  unlocked  for  condescension. 

"Send  Lazaro  to  me,  Don  Mario,"  said  Jose.  "We  will  find 
use  for  him,  I  think." 

And  thus  Rosendo  was  enabled  to  depart  a  third  time  to 
the  solitudes  of  Guamoco. 


CHAPTER  14 

WITH  Rosendo  again  on  the  trail,  Jose  and  Carmen  bent 
once  more  to  their  work.    Within  a  few  days  the  grate 
ful  Lazaro  was  sent  to  Rosendo's  hacienda,  biding  the 
time  when  the  priest  should  have  a  larger  commission  to  be 
stow  upon  him.     With  the  advent  of  the  dry  season,  peace  set 
tled  over  the  sequestered  town,  while  its  artless  folk  drowsed 

101 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


away  the  long,  hot  days  and  danced  at  night  in  the  silvery 
moonlight  to  the  twang  of  the  guitar  and  the  drone  of  the 
amorous  canzonet.  Jose  was  deeply  grateful  for  these  days  of 
unbroken  quiet,  and  for  the  opportunity  they  afforded  him  to 
probe  the  child's  thought  and  develop  his  own.  Day  after  day 
he  taught  her.  Night  after  night  he  visited  the  members  of  his 
little  parish,  getting  better  acquainted  with  them,  administer 
ing  to  their  simple  needs,  talking  to  them  in  the  church  edifice 
on  the  marvels  of  the  outside  world,  and  then  returning  to  his 
little  cottage  to  prepare  by  the  feeble  rays  of  his  flickering  can 
dle  Carmen's  lessons  for  the  following  day.  He  had  no  texts, 
save  the  battered  little  arithmetic;  and  even  that  was  aban 
doned  as  soon  as  Carmen  had  mastered  the  decimal  system. 
Thereafter  he  wrote  out  each  lesson  for  her,  carefully  wording 
it  that  it  might  contain  nothing  to  shock  her  acute  sense  of  the 
allness  of  God,  and  omitting  from  the  vocabulary  every  refer 
ence  to  evil,  to  failure,  disaster,  sin  and  death.  In  mathemat 
ics  he  was  sure  of  his  ground,  for  there  he  dealt  wholly  with 
the  metaphysical.  But  history  caused  him  many  an  hour  of 
perplexity  in  his  efforts  to  purge  it  of  the  dross  of  human 
thought.  If  Carmen  were  some  day  to  go  out  into  the  world 
she  must  know  the  story  of  its  past.  And  yet,  as  Jose  faced 
her  in  the  classroom  and  looked  down  into  her  unfathomable 
eyes,  in  whose  liquid  depths  there  seemed  to  dwell  a  soul  of 
unexampled  purity,  he  could  not  bring  himself  even  to  mention 
the  sordid  events  in  the  development  of  the  human  race  which 
manifested  the  darker  elements  of  the  carnal  mind.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  she  might  never  go  out  into  the  world.  He  had  not 
the  faintest  idea  how  such  a  thing  could  be  accomplished.  And 
so  under  his  tutelage  the  child  grew  to  know  a  world  of  naught 
but  brightness  and  beauty,  where  love  and  happiness  dwelt 
ever  with  men,  and  wicked  thoughts  were  seen  as  powerless 
and  transient,  harmless  to  the  one  who  knew  God  to  be  "every 
where."  The  man  taught  the  child  with  the  sad  remembrance 
of  his  own  seminary  training  always  before  him,  and  with  a 
desire,  amounting  almost  to  frenzy,  to  keep  from  her  every  lim 
iting  influence  and  benumbing  belief  of  the  carnal  mind. 

The  decimal  system  mastered,  Carmen  was  inducted  into 
the  elements  of  algebra. 

"How  funny,"  she  exclaimed,  laughing,  "to  use  letters  for 
numbers!" 

"They  are  only  general  symbols,  little  one,"  he  explained. 
"Symbols  are  signs,  or  things  that  stand  for  other  things." 

Then  came  suddenly  into  his  mind  how  the  great  Apostle 
Paul  taught  that  the  things  we  see,  or  think  we  see,  are  them 
selves  but  symbols,  reflections  as  from  a  mirror,  and  how  we 

102 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


must  make  them  out  as  best  we  can  for  the  present,  knowing 
that,  in  due  season,  we  shall  see  the  realities  for  which  these 
things  stand  to  the  human  mind.  He  knew  that  back  of  the 
mathematical  symbols  stood  the  eternal,  unvarying,  indestruc 
tible  principles  which  govern  their  use.  And  he  had  begun  to 
see  that  back  of  the  symbols,  the  phenomena,  of  human  exist 
ence  stands  the  great  principle — infinite  God — the  eternal 
mind.  In  the  realm  of  mathematics  the  principles  are  omnipo 
tent  for  the  solution  of  problems — omnipotent  in  the  hands  of 
the  one  who  understands  and  uses  them  aright.  And  is  not 
God  the  omnipotent  principle  to  the  one  who  understands  and 
uses  Him  aright  in  the  solving  of  life's  intricate  problems? 

"They  are  so  easy  when  you  know  how,  Padre  dear,"  said 
Carmen,  referring  to  her  tasks. 

"But  there  will  be  harder  ones,  chiquita." 

"Yes,  Padre.  But  then  I  shall  know  more  about  the  rules 
that  you  call  principles." 

She  took  up  each  problem  with  confidence.  Jose  watched 
her  eagerly.  "You  do  not  know  what  the  answer  will  be, 
chiquita,"  he  ventured. 

"No,  Padre  dear.  But  I  don't  care.  If  I  use  the  rule  in  the 
right  way  I  shall  get  the  correct  answer,  shall  I  not?  Look!" 
she  cried  joyfully,  as  she  held  up  her  paper  with  the  completed 
solution  of  a  problem. 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  correct?"  he  queried. 

"Why — well,  we  can  prove  it — can't  we?"  She  looked  up  at 
him  questioningly.  Then  she  bent  again  over  her  task  and 
worked  assiduously  for  some  moments  in  silence. 

"There!  I  worked  it  back  again  to  the  starting  point.  And 
it  is  right." 

"And  in  proving  it,  little  one,  you  have  proved  the  principle 
and  established  its  correctness.  Is  it  not  so,  chiquita?" 

"Yes,  Padre,  it  shows  that  the  rule  is  right." 

The  child  lapsed  into  silence,  while  Jose,  as  was  becoming 
his  wont,  awaited  the  result  of  her  meditation.  Then: 

"Padre  dear,  there  are  rules  for  arithmetic,  and  algebra,  and 
— and  for  everything,  are  there  not?" 

"Yes,  child,  for  music,  for  art,  for  everything.  We  can  do 
nothing  correctly  without  using  principles." 

"And,  Padre,  there  are  principles  that  tell  us  how  to  live?" 
she  queried. 

"What  is  your  opinion  on  that  point,  queridita?" 

"Just  one  principle,  I  guess,  Padre  dear,"  she  finally  ven 
tured,  after  a  pause. 

"And  that,  little  one?" 

"Just  God." 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"And  God  is — "  Jose  began,  then  hesitated.  The  Apostle 
John  had  dwelt  with  the  Master.  What  had  he  urged  so  often 
upon  the  dull  ears  of  his  timid  followers? 

The  child  looked  up  at  the  priest  with  a  smile  whose  tender 
ness  dissolved  the  rising  clouds  of  doubt. 

"And  God  is — love,"  he  finished  softly. 

"That's  it,  Padre!"  The  child  clapped  her  little  hands  and 
laughed  aloud. 

Love!  Jesus  had  said,  "I  and  my  Father  are  one."  Having 
seen  him,  the  world  has  seen  the  Father.  But  Jesus  was  the 
highest  manifestation  of  love  that  tired  humanity  has  ever 
known.  "Love  God!"  he  had  cried  in  tones  that  have  echoed 
through  the  centuries.  "Love  thy  neighbor!"  Aye,  love  every 
thing,  everybody!  Apply  the  Principle  of  principles,  Love,  to 
every  task,  every  problem,  every  situation,  every  condition! 
For  what  is  the  Christ-principle  but  Love?  All  things  are  pos 
sible  to  him  who  loves,  for  Love  casteth  out  fear,  the  root  of 
every  discord.  Men  ask  why  God  remains  hidden  from  them, 
why  their  understanding  of  Him  is  dim.  They  forget  that 
God  is  Love.  They  forget  that  to  know  Him  they  must  first 
love  their  fellow-men.  And  so  the  world  goes  sorrowfully  on, 
hating,  cheating,  grasping,  abusing;  still  wondering  dully  why 
men  droop  and  stumble,  why  they  consume  with  disease,  and, 
with  the  despairing  conviction  that  God  is  unknowable,  sink 
ing  at  last  into  oblivion. 

Jose,  if  he  knew  aught,  knew  that  Carmen  greatly  loved — • 
loved  all  things  deeply  and  tenderly  as  reflections  of  her  im 
manent  God.  She  had  loved  the  hideous  monster  that  had 
crept  toward  her  as  she  sat  unguarded  on  the  lake's  rim.  Un 
guarded?  Not  so,  for  the  arms  of  Love  were  there  about  her. 
She  had  loved  God — good — with  unshaken  fealty  when  Rosendo 
lay  stricken.  She  had  known  that  Love  could  not  manifest  in 
death  when  he  himself  had  been  dragged  from  the  lake  that 
burning  afternoon  a  few  weeks  before. 

"God  is  the  rule,  isn't  He,  Padre  dear?"  The  child's  un 
exampled  eyes  glowed  like  burning  coals.  "And  we  can  prove 
Him,  too,"  she  continued  confidently. 

Prove  me  now  herewith,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts,  if  I  will  not 
open  you  the  windows  of  heaven,  and  pour  you  out  a  blessing 
that  there  shall  not  be  room  enough  to  receive  it. 

Prove  Him,  O  man,  that  He  is  Love,  and  that  Love,  casting 
out  hate  and  fear,  solves  life's  every  problem!  But  first— 
Bring  ye  all  the  tithes  into  the  storehouse,  that  there  may  be 
meat  in  mine  house.  Bring  your  whole  confidence,  your  trust, 
your  knowledge  of  the  allness  of  good,  and  the  nothingness  of 
evil.  Bring,  too,  your  every  earthly  hope,  every  mad  ambition, 

104 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


every  corroding  fear,  and  carnal  belief;  lay  them  down  at  the 
doorway  of  mine  storehouse,  and  behold  their  nothingness! 

As  Carmen  approached  her  simple  algebraic  problems  Jose 
saw  the  working  of  a  rule  infinite  in  its  adaptation.  She  knew 
not  what  the  answers  should  be,  yet  she  took  up  each  problem 
with  supreme  confidence,  knowing  that  she  possessed  and 
rightly  understood  the  rule  for  correctly  solving  it.  She  knew 
that  speculation  regarding  the  probable  results-  was  an  idle 
waste  of  time.  And  she  likewise  knew  instinctively  that  fear 
of  inability  to  solve  them  would  paralyze  her  efforts  and 
insure  defeat  at  the  outset. 

Nor  could  she  force  solutions  to  correspond  to  what  she 
might  think  they  ought  to  be— as  mankind  attempt  to  force  the 
solving  of  their  life  problems  to  correspond  to  human  views. 
She  was  glad  to  work  out  her  problems  in  the  only  way  they 
could  be  solved.  Love,  humility,  obedience,  enabled  her  to 
understand  and  correctly  apply  the  principle  to  her  tasks.  The 
results  were  invariable — harmony  and  exceeding  joy. 

Jose  had  learned  another  lesson.  Again  that  little  hand  had 
softly  swept  his  harp  of  life.  And  again  he  breathed  in  unison 
with  its  vibrating  chords  a  deep  "Thank  God!" 

"Padre  dear."  Carmen  looked  up  from  a  brown  study. 
"What  does  zero  really  mean?" 

"It  stands  for  nothing,  child,"  the  priest  made  reply,  won 
dering  what  was  to  follow  this  introduction. 

"And  the  minus  sign  in  algebra  is  different  from  the  one  in 
arithmetic.  What  does  it  mean?" 

"Less  than  nothing." 

"But,  Padre,  if  God  is  all,  how  can  you  say  there  is  nothing, 
or  less  than  nothing?" 

The  priest  had  his  answer  ready.  "They  are  only  human 
ways  of  thinking,  chiqnita.  The  plus  sign  always  represents 
something  positive;  the  minus,  something  negative.  The  one 
is  the  opposite  of  the  other." 

"Is  there  an  opposite  to  everything,  Padre?" 

The  priest  hesitated.     Then: 

"No,  chiquita — not  a  real  opposite.  But,"  he  added  hastily, 
"we  may  suppose  an  opposite  to  everything." 

A  moment's  pause  ensued.  "That  is  what  makes  people 
sick  and  unhappy,  isn't  it,  Padre?" 

"What,  child?"  in  unfeigned  surprise. 

"Supposing  an  opposite  to  God.  Supposing  that  there  can 
be  nothing,  when  He  is  everywhere.  Doesn't  all  trouble  come 
from  just  supposing  things  that  are  not  so?" 

Whence  came  such  questions  to  the  mind  of  this  child? 
And  why  did  they  invariably  lead  to  astonishing  deductions  in 

ir  105 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


his  own?  Why  did  he  often  give  a  great  start  as  it  dawned 
again  upon  him  that  he  was  not  talking  to  one  of  mature  age, 
but  to  a  babe? 

He  tore  a  strip  from  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Relatively  the 
paper  had  lost  in  size  and  quantity,  and  there  was  a  distinct 
separation.  Absolutely,  such  a  thing  was  an  impossibility. 
The  plus  was  always  positive  and  real;  the  minus  was  always 
relative,  and  stood  for  unreality.  And  so  it  was  throughout  the 
entire  realm  of  thought.  Every  real  thing  has  its  suppositional 
opposite.  The  difficulty  is  that  the  human  mind,  through  long 
ages  of  usage,  has  come  to  regard  the  opposite  as  just  as  real 
as  the  thing  itself.  The  opposite  of  love  is  hate;  of  health, 
disease;  of  good,  evil;  of  the  real,  the  counterfeit.  God  is  posi 
tive — Truth.  His  opposite,  the  negative,  is  supposition.  Oh, 
stupid,  blundering,  dull-eared  humanity,  not  to  have  realized 
that  this  was  just  what  Jesus  said  when  he  defined  evil  as  the 
lie  about  God!  No  wonder  the  prophet  proclaimed  salvation 
to  be  righteousness,  right  thinking!  But  would  gross  humanity 
have  understood  the  Master  better  if  he  had  defined  it  this  way? 
No,  they  would  have  stoned  him  on  the  spot! 

Jose  knew  that  when  both  he  and  Rosendo  lay  sick  unto 
death  Carmen's  thought  had  been  positive,  while  theirs  had 
been  of  the  opposite  sign.  Was  her  pure  thought  stronger 
than  their  disbelief?  Evidently  so.  Was  this  the  case  with 
Jesus?  And  with  the  prophets  before  him,  whom  the  world 
laughed  to  scorn?  The  inference  from  Scripture  is  plain. 
What,  then,  is  the  overcoming  of  evil  but  the  driving  out  of 
entrenched  human  beliefs? 

Again  Jose  came  back  to  the  thought  of  Principle.  Con 
fucius  had  said  that  heaven  was  principle.  And  heaven  is 
harmony.  But  had  evil  any  principle?  Mankind  are  accus 
tomed  to  speak  lightly  and  knowingly  of  their  "principles." 
But  in  their  search  for  the  Philosopher's  Stone  they  have  over 
looked  the  Principle  which  the  Master  used  to  effect  his  mighty 
works — "that  Mind  which  was  in  Christ  Jesus."  The  Principle 
of  Jesus  was  God.  And,  again,  God  is  Love. 

The  word  evil  is  a  comprehensive  term,  including  errors  of 
every  sort.  And  yet,  in  the  world's  huge  category  of  evils  is 
there  a  single  one  that  stands  upon  a  definite  principle?  Jose 
had  to  admit  to  himself  that  there  was  not.  Errors  in  mathe 
matics  result  from  ignorance  of  principles,  or  from  their  mis 
application.  But  are  the  errors  real  and  permanent? 

"Padre,  when  I  make  a  mistake,  and  then  go  back  and  do 
the  problem  over  and  get  it  right,  what  becomes  of  the  mis 
take?" 

Jose  burst  out  laughing  at  the  tremendous  question.  Car 
men  joined  in  heartily. 

106 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  Padre,"  she  pursued,  "there  are  rules  for  solving 
problems;  but  there  isn't  any  rule  or  principle  for  making  mis 
takes,  is  there?" 

"Surely  not,  child!"  Jose  replied. 

"And  if  I  always  knew  the  truth  about  things,  I  couldn't 
make  mistakes,  could  I?" 

"No." 

Jose  waited  for  her  further  comments.  They  came  after  a 
brief  meditation. 

"Well,  then,  God  doesn't  know  anything  about  mistakes- 
does  He?" 

"No,  chiquita." 

"And  He  knows  everything." 

"Yes." 

"Then,  Padre  dear,  nobody  can  know  anything  about  mis 
takes.  People  just  think  they  can — don't  they?" 

Jose  thought  hard  for  a  few  moments.  "Chiquita,  can  you 
know  that  two  and  two  are  seven?" 

"Why,  Padre  dear,  how  funny!" 

"Yes — it  does  seem  strange — now.  And  yet,  I  used  to  think 
I  could  know  things  just  as  absurd." 

"Why,  what  was  that,  Padre?" 

"I  thought,  chiquita,  that  I  could  know  evil — something  that 
God  does  not  and  can  not  know." 

"But— could  you,  Padre?" 

"No,  child.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  to  know — to  really 
know — error  of  any  sort." 

"If  we  knew  it,  Padre,  it  would  have  a  rule;  or  as  you  say, 
a  principle,  no?" 

"Exactly,  child." 

"And,  since  God  is  everywhere,  He  would  have  to  be  its 
principle." 

"Just  the  point.  Now  take  another  of  the  problems,  chi 
quita,  and  work  on  it  while  I  think  about  these  things,"  he 
said,  assigning  another  of  the  simple  tasks  to  the  child. 

For  an  idea  was  running  through  the  man's  thought,  and 
he  had  traced  it  back  to  the  explorer  in  Cartagena.  Reason  and 
logic  supported  the  thought  of  God  as  mind;  of  the  creation  as 
the  unfolding  of  this  mind's  ideas;  and  of  man  as  the  greatest 
idea  of  God.  It  also  seemed  to  show  that  the  physical  senses 
afforded  no  testimony  at  all,  and  that  human  beings  saw,  heard 
and  felt  only  in  thought,  in  belief.  On  this  basis  everything 
reduced  to  a  mental  plane,  and  man  became  a  mentality.  But 
what  sort  of  mentality  was  that  which  Jose  saw  all  about  him 
in  sinful,  sick  and  dying  humanity?  The  human  man  is  de- 
monstrably  mortal — and  he  is  a  sort  of  mind — ah,  yes,  that 

107 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  it!  The  explorer  had  said  that  up  in  that  great  country 
north  there  were  those  who  referred  to  this  sort  of  mentality 
as  "mortal  mind."  Jose  thought  it  an  excellent  term.  For,  if 
the  mortal  man  is  a  mind  at  all,  he  assuredly  is  a  mortal  mind. 

And  the  mortal  mind  is  the  opposite  of  that  mind  which  is 
the  eternal  God.  But  God  can  have  no  real  opposite.  Any  so- 
called  opposite  to  Him  must  be  a  supposition — or,  as  Jesus  de 
fined  it,  the  lie  about  Him.  This  lie  seems  to  counterfeit  the 
eternal  mind  that  is  God.  It  seems  to  pose  as  a  creative  prin 
ciple,  and  to  simulate  the  powers  and  attributes  of  God  himself. 
It  assumes  to  create  its  universe  of  matter,  the  direct  opposite 
of  the  spiritual  universe.  And,  likewise,  it  assumes  to  create  its 
man,  its  own  idea  of  itself,  and  hence  the  direct  opposite  of 
the  real  man,  the  divine  idea  of  God,  made  in  His  own  image 
and  likeness. 

Jose  rose  and  went  to  the  doorway.  "Surely,"  he  mur 
mured  low,  "the  material  personality,  called  man,  which  sins, 
suffers  and  dies,  is  not  real  man,  but  his  counterfeit,  a  creation 
of  God's  opposite,  the  so-called  mortal  mind.  It  must  be  a  part 
of  the  lie  about  God,  the  'mist'  that  went  up  from  the  ground 
and  watered  the  whole  face  of  the  earth,  leaving  the  veil  of 
supposition  which  obscures  God  from  human  sight.  It  is  this 
sort  of  man  and  this  sort  of  universe  that  I  have  always  seen 
about  me,  and  that  the  world  refers  to  as  human  beings,  or 
mortals,  and  the  physical  universe.  And  yet  I  have  been  look 
ing  only  at  my  false  thoughts  of  man." 

At  that  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Juan  running  toward 
him  from  the  lake.  The  lad  had  just  returned  from  Bodega 
Central. 

"Padre,"  he  exclaimed  breathlessly,  "there  is  war  in  the 
country  again!  The  revolution  has  broken  out,  and  they  are 
fighting  all  along  the  river!" 

Jose  turned  into  the  house  and  clasped  Carmen  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  15 

JUAN'S  startling  announcement  linked  Jose  again  with  a  fad 
ing  past.     Standing  with  his  arm  about  Carmen,  while  the 
child  looked  up  wonderingly  at  her  grimly  silent  protector, 
the  priest  seemed  to  have  fallen  with  dizzy  precipitation  from 
some  spiritual  height  into  a  familiar  material  world  of  men 
and  events.     Into  his  chastened  mentality  there  now  rushed  a 
rabble  rout  of  suggestions,  throwing  into  wild  confusion  the  or 
derly  forces  of  mind  which  he  was  striving  to  marshal  to  meet 

108 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  situation.  He  recalled,  for  the  first  time  in  his  new  environ 
ment,  the  significant  conversation  of  Don  Jorge  and  the  priest 
Diego,  in  Banco.  He  saw  again  the  dark  clouds  that  were  low 
ering  above  the  unhappy  country  when  he  left  Cartagena.  Had 
they  at  last  broken?  And  would  carnal  lust  and  rapine  again 
drench  fair  Colombia  with  the  blood  of  her  misguided  sons? 
Were  the  disturbance  only  a  local  uprising,  headed  by  a  coterie 
of  selfish  politicians,  it  would  produce  but  a  passing  ripple. 
Colombia  had  witnessed  many  such,  and  had,  by  a  judicious 
redistribution  of  public  offices,  generally  met  the  crises  with 
little  difficulty.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  disorder  drew  its 
stimulus  from  the  deep-seated,  swelling  sentiment  of  protest 
against  the  continued  affiliation  of  Church  and  Slate,  then  what 
might  not  ensue  before  reason  would  again  lay  her  restraining 
hand  upon  the  rent  nation!  For — strange  anomaly — no  strife 
is  so  venomous,  no  wars  so  bloody,  no  issues  so  steeped  in 
deadliest  hatred,  as  those  which  break  forth  in  the  name  of  the 
humble  Christ. 

A  buzzing  concourse  was  gathering  in  the  plaza  before  the 
church.  Leaving  Carmen  in  charge  of  Doiia  Maria,  Jose  min 
gled  with  the  excited  people.  Juan  had  brought  no  definite 
information,  other  than  that  already  imparted  to  Jose,  but  his 
elastic  Latin  imagination  had  supplied  all  lacking  essentials, 
and  now,  with  much  gesticulation  and  rolling  of  eyes,  with 
frequent  alternations  of  shrill  chatter  and  dignified  pomp  of 
phrase,  he  was  portraying  in  a  melange  of  picturesque  and 
poetic  Spanish  the  supposed  happenings  along  the  great  river. 

Jose  forced  the  lad  gently  aside  and  addressed  the  thor 
oughly  excited  people  himself,  assuring  them  that  no  reliable 
news  was  as  yet  at  hand,  and  bidding  them  assemble  in  the 
church  after  the  evening  meal,  where  he  would  advise  with 
them  regarding  their  future  course.  He  then  sought  the  Alcalde, 
and  drew  him  into  his  store,  first  closing  the  door  against  the 
excited  multitude. 

"Bien,  Scnor  Padre,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  The 
Alcalde  was  atremble  with  insuppressible  excitement. 

"Don  Mario,  wre  must  protect  Simiti,"  replied  the  priest,  with 
a  show  of  calm  which  he  did  not  possess. 

"Caramba,  but  not  a  man  will  stay!  They  will  run  to  the 
hills!  The  guerrillas  will  come,  and  Simiti  will  be  burned  to 
the  ground!" 

"Will  you  stay— with  me?" 

"Na,  and  be  hacked  by  the  machetes  of  the  guerrillas,  or 
lassoed  by  government  soldiers  and  dragged  off  tc  the  war?" 
The  official  mopped  the  damp  from  his  purple  brow. 

"Caramba!"  he  went  on.    "But  the  Antioquanians  will  come 

109 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


down  the  Simiti  trail  from  Remedies  and  butcher  every  one 
they  meet!  They  hate  us  Simitanians,  since  we  whipped  them 
in  the  revolution  of  seventy-six!  And — Diablo!  if  we  stay  here 
and  beat  them  back,  then  the  federal  troops  will  come  with 
their  ropes  and  chains  and  force  us  away  to  fight  on  their  side! 
Nombre  de  Dios!  I  am  for  the  mountains — pronto!" 

Jose's  own  fear  mounted  by  leaps.  And  yet,  in  the  welter 
of  conflicting  thought  two  objects  stood  out  above  the  rest- 
Carmen  and  Rosendo.  The  latter  was  on  the  trail,  somewhere. 
Would  he  fall  afoul  of  the  bandits  wrho  find  in  these  revolutions 
their  opportunities  for  plunder  and  bloodshed?  As  for  Carmen 
—the  priest's  apprehensions  were  piling  mountain-high.  He 
had  quickly  forgotten  his  recent  theories  regarding  the  nature 
of  God  and  man.  He  had  been  swept  by  the  force  of  ill  tidings 
clean  off  the  lofty  spiritual  plane  up  to  which  he  had  struggled 
during  the  past  wreeks.  Again  he  was  befouled  in  the  mire  of 
material  fears  and  corroding  speculations  as  to  the  probable 
manifestations  of  evil,  real  and  immanent.  Don  Mario  was 
right.  He  must  take  the  child  and  fly  at  once.  He  would  go 
to  Dona  Maria  immediately  and  bid  her  prepare  for  the 
journey. 

"You  had  best  go  to  Don  Nicolas,",  replied  Dona  Maria, 
when  the  priest  had  voiced  his  fears  to  her.  "He  lives  in  Boque, 
and  has  a  hacienda  somewhere  up  that  river.  He  will  send  you 
there  in  his  canoe." 

"And  Boque  is—?" 

"Three  hours  from  Simiti,  across  the  shales.  You  must 
start  with  the  dawn,  or  the  heat  will  overtake  you  before  you 
arrive." 

"Then  make  yourself  ready,  Doiia  Maria,"  said  Jose  in  relief, 
"and  we  will  set  out  in  the  morning." 

"Padre,  I  \vill  stay  here,"  the  woman  quietly  replied. 

"Stay  here!"  ejaculated  the  priest.  "Impossible!  But  why?" 

"There  wrill  be  many  women  too  old  to  leave  the  town, 
Padre.  I  will  stay  to  help  them  if  trouble  comes.  And  I  would 
not  go  without  Rosendo." 

Shame  fell  upon  the  priest  like  a  blanket.  He,  the  Cura, 
was  deserting  his  charge!  And  this  quiet,  dignified  woman 
had  shown  herself  stronger  than  the  man  of  God!  He  turned 
to  the  door.  Carmen  was  just  entering.  He  took  the  child  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  to  his  own  cottage. 

"Carmen,"  he  said,  as  she  stood  expectantly  before  him, 
"we — there  is  trouble  in  the  country — that  is,  men  are  fighting 
and  killing  down  on  the  river — and  they  may  come  here.  We 
must — I  mean,  I  think  it  best  for  us  to  go  away  from  Simiti 
for  a  while."  The  priest's  eyes  fell  before  the  perplexed  gaze 
of  the  girl. 

110 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Go  away?"  she  repeated  slowly.     "But,  Padre — why?" 

"The  soldiers  might  come — wicked  men  might  come  and 
harm  you,  chiquita!" 

The  child  seemed  not  to  comprehend.  "Is  it  that  you  think 
they  will,  Padre?"  she  at  length  spoke. 

"I  fear  so,  little  one,"  he  made  reply. 

"But— why  should  they?" 

"Because  they  want  to  steal  and  kill,"  he  returned  sadly. 

"They  can't,  Padre — they  can't!"  the  girl  said  quickly.  "You 
told  me  that  people  see  only  their  thoughts,  you  know.  They 
only  think  they  want  to  steal — and  they  don't  think  right — 

"But,"  he  interrupted  bitterly,  "that  doesn't  keep  them  from 
coming  here  just  the  same  and — and —  He  checked  his  words, 
as  a  faint  memory  of  his  recent  talks  with  the  girl  glowed 
momentarily  in  his  seething  brain. 

"But  we  can  keep  them  from  coming  here,  Padre — can't 
we?" 

"How,  child?" 

"By  thinking  right  ourselves,  Padre — you  said  so,  days  ago 
— don't  you  remember?"  The  girl  came  to  the  frightened  man 
and  put  her  little  arm  about  his  neck.  It  was  an  action  that 
had  become  habitual  with  her.  "Padre  dear,  you  read  me 
something  from  your  Bible  just  yesterday.  It  was  about  God, 
and  He  said,  'I  am  that  which  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come.' 
Don't  you  remember?  But,  Padre  dear,  if  He  is  that  which  is 
to  come,  how  can  anything  bad  come?" 

O,  ye  of  little  faith !  Could  ye  not  watch  one  hour  with  me 
—the  Christ-principle?  Must  ye  ever  flee  when  the  ghost  of 
evil  stalks  before  you  with  his  gross  assumptions? 

Yes,  Jose  remembered.  But  he  had  said  those  things  to 
her  and  evolved  those  beautiful  theories  in  a  time  of  peace. 
Now  his  feeble  faith  was  flying  in  panic  before  the  demon  of 
unbelief,  which  had  been  aroused  by  sudden  fear. 

The  villagers  were  gathering  before  his  door  like  frightened 
sheep.  They  sought  counsel,  protection,  from  him,  the  un 
faithful  shepherd.  Could  he  not,  for  their  sakes,  tear  himself 
loose  from  bondage  to  his  own  deeply  rooted  beliefs,  and 
launch  out  into  his  true  orbit  about  God?  Was  life,  happiness, 
all,  at  the  disposal  of  physical  sense?  Did  he  not  love  these 
people?  And  could  not  his  love  for  them  cast  out  his  fear? 
If  the  test  had  come,  would  he  meet  it,  calmly,  even  alone  with 
his  God,  if  need  be? — or  would  he  basely  flee?  He  was  not 
alone.  Carmen  stood  by  him.  She  had  no  part  in  his  coward 
ice.  But  Carmen— she  was  only  a  child,  immature,  inexpe 
rienced  in  the  ways  of  the  world!  True.  Yet  the  great  God 
himself  had  caused  His  prophets  to  see  that  "a  little  child  shall 

111 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


lead  them."  And  surely  Carmen  was  now  leading  in  fearless 
ness  and  calm  trust,  in  the  face  of  impending  evil. 

Jose  rose  from  his  chair  and  threw  back  his  shoulders.  He 
stepped  quickly  to  the  door.  "My  children,"  he  said  gently, 
holding  out  his  arms  over  them.  "Be  not  afraid.  I  shall  not 
leave  Simiti,  but  remain  here  to  help  and  protect  all  who  will 
stay  with  me.  If  the  guerrillas  or  soldiers  come  we  will  meet 
them  here,  \vhere  we  shall  be  protecting  our  loved  ones  and 
our  homes.  Come  to  the  church  to-night,  and  there  we  will 
discuss  plans.  Go  now,  and  remember  that  your  Cura  has  said 
that  there  shall  no  harm  befall  you." 

Did  he  believe  his  own  words?    He  wondered. 

The  people  dispersed;  Carmen  was  called  by  Doiia  Maria; 
and  Jose  dropped  down  upon  his  bed  to  strive  again  to  clear 
his  mind  of  the  foul  brood  which  had  swept  so  suddenly  into 
it,  and  to  prepare  for  the  evening  meeting. 

Late  that  night,  as  he  crossed  the  road  from  the  church  to 
his  little  home,  his  pulse  beat  rapidly  under  the  stimulus  of 
real  joy.  He  had  conquered  his  own  and  the  fears  of  the 
Alcalde,  and  that  official  had  at  length  promised  to  stay  and 
support  him.  The  people's  fears  of  impressment  into  military 
service  had  been  calmly  met  and  assuaged,  though  Jose  had 
yielded  to  their  \vish  to  form  a  company  of  militia;  and  had 
even  agreed  to  drill  them,  as  he  had  seen  the  troops  of  Europe 
drilled  and  prepared  for  conflict.  There  were  neither  guns 
nor  ammunition  in  the  town,  but  they  could  drill  with  their 
machetes — for,  he  repeated  to  himself,  this  was  but  a  conces 
sion,  an  expedient,  to  keep  the  men  occupied  and  their  minds 
stimulated  by  his  own  show  of  courage  and  preparedness.  It 
was  decided  to  send  Lazaro  Ortiz  at  once  into  the  Guamoco 
district,  to  find  and  warn  Rosendo;  while  Juan  was  to  go  to 
Bodega  Central  for  whatever  news  he  might  gather,  and  to 
return  \vith  immediate  \varning,  should  danger  threaten  their 
town.  Similar  instruction  %vas  to  be  sent  to  Escolastico,  at 
Badillo.  Within  a  few  days  a  runner  should  be  despatched 
over  the  Guamoco  trail,  to  spread  the  information  as  judiciously 
as  possible  that  the  people  of  Simiti  were  armed  and  on  the 
alert  to  meet  any  incursion  from  guerrilla  bands.  The  ripple 
of  excitement  quickly  died  away.  The  priest  would  now  strive 
mightily  to  keep  his  own  thought  clear  and  his  courage  alive, 
to  sustain  his  people  in  whatever  experience  might  befall 
them. 

Quiet  reigned  in  the  little  village  the  next  morning,  and  its 
people  went  about  their  familiar  duties  with  but  a  passing 
thought  of  the  events  of  the  preceding  day.  The  Alcalde  called 
at  the  parish  house  early  for  further  instructions  in  regard  to 

112 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  proposed  company  of  militia.  The  priest  decided  to  drill 
his  men  twice  a  day,  at  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun.  Car 
men's  lessons  were  then  resumed,  and  soon  Jose  was  again 
laboring  conscientiously  to  imbibe  the  spirit  of  calm  trust  which 
dwelt  in  this  young  girl. 

The  Master's  keynote  before  every  threatening  evil  was, 
"Be  not  afraid."  Carmen's  life-motif  was,  "God  is  everywhere." 
Jose  strove  to  see  that  the  Christ-principle  was  eternal,  and  as 
available  to  mankind  now  as  when  the  great  Exemplar  pro 
pounded  it  to  the  dull  ears  of  his  followers.  But  men  must 
learn  how  to  use  it.  When  they  have  done  this,  Christianity 
will  be  as  scientific  and  demonstrable  to  mankind  as  is  now  the 
science  of  mathematics.  A  rule,  though  understood,  is  utterly 
ineffective  if  not  applied.  Yet,  how  to  apply  the  Christ-princi 
ple?  is  the  question  convulsing  a  world  to-day. 

God,  the  infinite  creative  mind,  is  that  principle.  Jesus 
showed  clearly — so  clearly  that  the  wonder  is  men  could  have 
missed  the  mark  so  completely — that  the  great  principle  be 
comes  available  only  when  men  empty  their  minds  of  pride, 
selfishness,  ignorance,  and  human  will,  and  put  in  their  place 
love,  humility  and  truth.  This  step  taken,  there  will  flow  into 
the  human  consciousness  the  qualities  of  God  himself,  giving 
powers  that  mortals  believe  utterly  impossible  to  them.  But 
hatred  must  go;  self-love,  too;  carnal  ambition  must  go;  and 
fear — the  cornerstone  of  every  towering  structure  of  mortal 
misery — must  be  utterly  cast  out  by  an  understanding  of  the 
allness  of  the  Mind  that  framed  the  spiritual  universe. 

Jose,  looking  at  Carmen  as  she  sat  before  him,  tried  to  know 
that  love  was  the  salvation,  the  righteousness,  right-thinking, 
by  which  alone  the  sons  of  men  could  be  redeemed.  The  world 
would  give  such  utterance  the  lie,  he  knew.  To  love  an  enemy 
is  weakness!  The  sons  of  earth  must  be  warriors,  and  valiantly 
fight!  Alas!  the  tired  old  world  has  fought  for  ages  untold, 
and  gained — nothing.  Did  Jesus  fight?  Not  as  the  world.  He 
had  a  better  way.  He  loved  his  enemies  with  a  love  that  un 
derstood  the  allness  of  God,  and  the  consequent  nothingness  of 
the  human  concept.  Knowing  the  concept  of  man  as  mortal  to 
be  an  illusion,  Jesus  then  knew  that  he  had  no  enemies. 

The  work-day  closed,  and  Carmen  was  about  to  leave.  A 
shadow  fell  across  the  open  doorway.  Jose  looked  up.  A  man, 
dressed  in  clerical  garb,  stood  looking  in,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
Carmen.  Jose's  heart  stopped,  and  he  sat  as  one  stunned.  The 
man  was  Padre  Diego  Polo. 

"Ah,  brother  in  Christ!"  the  newcomer  cried,  advancing 
with  outstretched  hands.  "Well  met,  indeed!  I  ached  to  think 
I  might  not  find  you  here!  But — Caramba!  can  this  be  my 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


little  Carmen,  from  whom  I  tore  myself  in  tears  four  years  ago 
and  more?  Diablo!  but  she  has  grown  to  be  a  charming  senor- 
ita  already."  He  bent  over  and  kissed  the  child  loudly  upon 
each  cheek. 

Jose  with  difficulty  restrained  himself  from  pouncing  upon 
the  man  as  he  watched  him  pass  his  fat  hands  over  the  girl's 
bare  arms  and  feast  his  lecherous  eyes  upon  her  round 
figure  and  plump  limbs.  The  child  shrank  under  the  wither 
ing  touch.  Freeing  herself,  she  ran  from  the  room,  followed 
by  a  taunting  laugh  from  Diego. 

"Caramba!"  he  exclaimed,  sinking  into  the  chair  vacated 
by  the  girl.  "But  I  had  the  devil's  own  trouble  getting  here! 
And  I  find  everything  quiet  as  a  funeral  in  this  sink  of  a 
town,  just  as  if  hell  were  not  spewing  fire  down  on  the  river! 
Dios!  But  give  me  a  bit  of  rum,  amigo.  My  spirits  droop  like 
the  torn  wing  of  a  heron." 

Jose  slowly  found  his  voice.  "I  have  no  rum.  I  regret  ex 
ceedingly,  friend.  But  doubtless  the  Alcalde  can  supply  you. 
Have  you  seen  him?" 

"Hombre!  With  what  do  you  quench  your  thirst?"  ejacu 
lated  the  disappointed  priest.  "Lake  water?"  Then  he  added 
with  a  fatuous  grin: 

"No,  I  have  not  yet  honored  the  Alcalde  with  a  call.  Anx 
ious  care  drove  me  straight  from  the  boat  to  you;  for  with 
you,  a  brother  priest,  I  knew  I  would  find  hospitality  and 
protection." 

Jose  sat  speechless.  After  a  few  moments,  during  which  he 
fanned  himself  vigorously  with  his  black  felt  hat,  Diego  con 
tinued  volubly: 

"You  are  consumed  to  know  what  brings  me  here,  eh?  Bien, 
I  will  anticipate  your  questions.  The  country  is  on  fire  around 
Banco.  And — you  know  they  do  not  love  priests  down  that 
way — well,  I  saw  that  it  had  come  around  to  my  move.  I 
therefore  got  out — quickly.  H'm! 

"But,"  he  continued,  "luckily  I  had  screwed  plenty  of  Masses 
out  of  the  Banco  sheep  this  past  year,  and  my  treasure  box 
was  comfortably  full.  Bueno,  I  hired  a  canoe  and  a  couple  of 
strapping  peones,  who  brought  me  by  night,  and  by  damnably 
slow  degrees,  up  the  river  to  Bodega  Central.  As  luck  would 
have  it,  I  chanced  to  be  there  the  day  Juan  arrived  from  Simiti. 
So  I  straightway  caused  inquiry  to  be  made  of  him  respecting 
the  present  whereabouts  of  our  esteemed  friend,  Don  Rosendo. 
Learning  that  my  worthy  brother  was  prospecting  for  La 
Libertad,  it  occurred  to  me  that  this  decaying  town  might  af 
ford  me  the  asylum  I  needed  until  I  could  make  the  necessary 
preparations  to  get  up  into  the  mountains.  Caramba!  but  I 

114 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


shall  not  stay  where  a  stray  bullet  or  a  badly  directed  machete 
may  terminate  my  noble  life-aspirations!" 

Jose  groaned  inwardly.  "But,  how  dared  you  come  to 
Simiti?"  he  exclaimed.  "You  were  once  forced  to  leave  this 
town—!" 

"Assuredly,  amigo,"  Diego  replied  with  great  coolness.  "And 
I  would  not  risk  my  tender  skin  again  had  I  not  believed  that 
you  were  here  to  shield  me.  My  only  safety  lies  in  making  the 
mountains.  Their  most  accessible  point  is  by  way  of  Simiti. 
From  here  I  can  go  to  the  San  Lucas  country;  eventually  get 
back  to  the  Guamoco  trail;  and  ultimately  land  in  Remedies, 
or  some  other  town  farther  south,  where  the  anticlerical  senti 
ment  is  not  so  cursedly  strong.  I  have  money  and  two  negro 
boys.  The  boat  I  shall  have  to  leave  here  in  your  care.  Bien, 
learning  that  Rosendo,  my  principal  annoyance  and  obstruc 
tion,  was  absent,  and  that  you,  my  friend,  were  here,  I  decided 
to  brave  the  wrath  of  the  simple  denizens  of  this  hole,  and 
spend  a  day  or  two  as  guest  of  yourself  and  my  good  friend, 
the  Alcalde,  before  journeying  farther.  Thus  you  have  it  all, 
in  parvo.  But,  Dios  y  diablo!  that  trip  up  the  river  has  nearly 
done  for  me!  We  traveled  by  night  and  hid  in  the  brush  by 
day,  where  millions  of  gnats  and  mosquitoes  literally  devoured 
me!  Caramba!  and  you  so  inhospitable  as  to  have  no  rum!" 

The  garrulous  priest  paused  for  breath.    Then  he  resumed: 

"A  voluptuous  little  wench,  that  Carmen!  Keeping  her 
for  yourself,  eh?  But  you  will  have  to  give  her  up.  Belongs  to 
the  Church,  you  know.  But  don't  let  our  worthy  Don  Wences 
las  hear  of  her  good  looks,  for  he'd  pop  her  into  a  convent 
presto!  And  later  he — Bien,  you  had  better  get  rid  of  her  be 
fore  she  makes  you  trouble.  I'll  take  her  off  your  hands  my 
self,  even  though  I  shall  be  traveling  for  the  next  few  months. 
But,  say,"  changing  the  subject  abruptly,  "Don  Wenceslas 
sprung  his  trap  too  soon,  eh?" 

"I  don't  follow  you,"  said  Jose,  consuming  with  indigna 
tion  over  the  priest's  coarse  talk. 

"Diablo!  he  pulls  a  revolution  before  it  is  ripe.  Is  anything 
more  absurd!  It  begins  as  he  intended,  anticlerical;  and  so 
it  will  run  for  a  while.  But  after  that — Bien,  you  will  see  it  re 
verse  itself  and  turn  solely  political,  with  the  present  Govern 
ment  on  top  at  the  last,  and  the  end  a  matter  of  less  than  six 
weeks." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Jose,  eagerly  grasping  at  a  new 
hope.  , 

"I  know  it!"  ejaculated  Diego.  "Hombre!  But  I  have  been 
too  close  to  matters  religious  and  political  in  this  country  all 
my  life  not  to  know  that  Don  Wenceslas  has  this  time  com- 

115 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


mitted  the  blunder  of  being  a  bit  too  eager.  Had  he  waited  a 
few  months  longer,  and  then  pulled  the  string — Dios  y  diablo! 
there  would  have  been  such  a  fracas  as  to  turn  the  Cordilleras 
bottom  up!  Now  all  that  is  set  back  for  years — Quien  sabe?" 

"But,"  queried  the  puzzled  Jose,  "how  could  Wenceslas,  a 
priest,  profit  by  an  anticlerical  war?" 

"Caramba,  amigo!  But  the  good  Wenceslas  is  priest  only 
in  name!  He  is  a  politician,  bred  to  the  game.  He  lays  his 
plans  with  the  anticlericals,  knowing  full  well  that  Church  and 
State  can  not  be  separated  in  this  land  of  mutton-headed 
peones.  Bueno,  the  clever  man  precipitates  a  revolution  that 
can  have  but  one  result,  the  closer  union  of  Rome  and  the  Co 
lombian  Government.  And  for  this  he  receives  the  direction  of 
the  See  of  Cartagena  and  the  disposition  of  the  rich  revenues 
from  the  mines  and  fincas  of  his  diocese.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"And,  amigo,  how  long  will  this  disturbance  continue?" 
said  Jose,  speaking  earnestly. 

"I  have  told  you,  a  few  weeks  at  the  most,"  replied  Diego 
with  a  show  of  petulance.  "But,  just  the  same,  as  agent  of 
your  friend  Wenceslas,  I  have  been  a  mite  too  active  along  the 
river,  especially  in  the  town  of  Banco,  to  find  safety  anywhere 
within  the  pale  of  civilization  until  this  little  fracas  blows  over. 
This  one  being  an  abortion,  the  next  revolution  can  come  only 
after  several  years  of  most  painstaking  preparation.  But,  mark 
me,  amigo,  that  one  will  not  miscarry,  nor  will  it  be  less  than  a 
scourge  of  the  Lord!" 

Despite  the  sordidness  of  the  man,  Jose  was  profoundly 
grateful  to  him  for  this  information.  And  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  its  authenticity,  coming  as  it  did  from  a  tool  of  Wen 
ceslas  himself.  Jose  became  cheerful,  even  animated. 

"Good,  then!  Now  when  do  you  expect  to  set  out  for  San 
Lucas?"  he  asked.  "Rosendo  may  return  any  day." 

"Diablo!     Then  I  must  be  off  at  once!" 

"To-morrow?"  suggested  Jose  eagerly. 

"Caramba,  hermano!  Why  so  desirous  of  my  departure? 
To  be  sure,  to-morrow,  if  possible.  But  I  must  have  a  chat  with 
our  good  friend,  the  Alcalde.  So  do  me  the  inexpressible  favor 
to  accompany  me  to  his  door,  and  there  leave  me.  My  peones 
are  down  at  the  boat,  and  I  would  rather  not  face  the  people  of 
Simiti  alone." 

"Gladly,"  assented  Jose. 

The  man  rose  to  depart.  At  that  moment  Dona  Maria  ap 
peared  at  the  door  bearing  a  tray  with  Jose's  supper.  She 
stopped  short  as  she  recognized  Diego. 

"Ah,  Senora  Dona  Maria!"  exclaimed  Diego,  bowing  low. 
"I  kiss  your  hand." 

116 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  woman  looked  inquiringly  from  Diego  lo  Jose.  With 
out  a  word  she  set  the  tray  on  the  table  and  quickly  departed. 

"H'm,  amigo,  I  think  it  well  to  visit  the  Alcalde  at  once," 
murmured  Diego.  "I  regret  that  I  bring  the  amiable  senora  no 
greeting  from  her  charming  daughter.  Ay  de  mi!"  he  sighed, 
picking  up  his  hat.  "The  conventions  of  this  world  are  so 
narrow!" 

Don  Mario  exclaimed  loudly  when  he  beheld  the  familiar 
figure  of  Padre  Diego.  Recovering  from  his  astonishment  he 
broke  into  a  loud  guffaw  and  clapped  the  grinning  priest 
heartily  upon  the  back. 

"Caramba,  man!  But  I  admire  you  at  last!  I  can  forgive 
all  your  wickedness  at  sight  of  such  nerve!  Ramona!"  calling 
to  his  daughter  in  the  patio.  "That  last  garrafon  and  some 
glasses!  But  enter,  enter,  senores!  Why  stand  you  there? 
My  poor  hovel  is  yours!"  stepping  aside  and  ceremoniously 
waving  them  in. 

"Our  friend  finds  that  his  supper  awaits  him,"  said  Diego, 
laying  a  hand  patronizingly  upon  Jose's  arm.  "But  I  will  eat 
with  you,  my  good  Don  Mario,  and  occupy  a  petate  on  your 
floor  to-night.  Conque,  until  later,  Don  Joset"  waving  a  polite 
dismissal  to  the  latter.  "If  not  to-night,  then  in  the  morning 
temprano." 

The  audacity  of  the  man  nettled  Jose.  He  would  have  liked 
to  be  present  during  the  interview  between  the  Alcalde  and  this 
cunning  religio-political  agent,  for  he  knew  that  the  weak- 
kneed  Don  Mario  would  be  putty  in  his  oily  hands.  However, 
Diego  had  shown  him  that  he  was  not  wanted.  And  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  nurse  his  temper  and  await  events. 

But,  whatever  deplorable  results  the  visit  of  Diego  might 
entail,  he  had  at  least  brought  present  comfort  to  Jose  in  his 
report  of  the  militant  uprising  now  in  progress,  and  the  latter 
would  sleep  this  night  without  the  torment  of  dread  apprehen 
sion. 

The  next  morning  Diego  entered  the  parish  house  just  as 
master  and  pupil  were  beginning  their  day's  work. 

"Ha!"  he  exclaimed,  "our  parochial  school  is  quite  discrimi 
nating!  No?  One  pupil!  Bien,  are  there  not  enough  children 
in  the  town  to  warrant  a  larger  school,  and  with  a  Sister  in 
charge?  I  will  report  the  matter  to  the  good  Bishop." 

Jose's  wrath  leaped  into  flame.  "There  is  a  school  here,  as 
you  know,  amigo,  with  a  competent  master,"  he  replied  with 
what  calmness  he  could  muster. 

It  was  perhaps  a  hasty  and  unfortunate  remark,  for  Jose 
knew  he  had  been  jealously  selfish  with  Carmen. 

"Caramba,    yes!"    retorted    Diego.      "A    private    school,    to 

117 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


which  the  stubborn  beasts  that  live  in  this  sink  will  not  send 
their  brats!  There  must  be  a  parochial  school  in  Simiti,  sup 
ported  by  the  people!  Oh,  don't  worry;  there  is  gold  enough 
here,  buried  in  patios  and  under  these  innocent-looking  mud 
walls,  to  support  the  Pope  for  a  decade — and  that,"  he 
chuckled,  "is  no  small  sum!" 

His  eyes  roved  over  Carmen  and  he  began  a  mental  ap 
praisement  of  the  girl.  "Caramba!"  muttering  half  to  himself, 
after  he  had  feasted  his  sight  upon  her  for  some  moments,  "but 
she  is  large  for  her  age — and,  Dios  y  diablo!  a  ravishing 
beauty!" 

He  stood  for  a  while  wrapped  in  thought.  Then  an  idea 
seemed  to  filter  through  his  cunning  brain.  His  coarse,  un 
moral  face  brightened,  and  his  thick  lips  parted  in  an  evil  smile. 

"Come  here,  little  one,"  he  said  patronizingly,  extending  his 
arms  to  the  child.  "Come,  give  your  good  Padre  his  morning 
kiss." 

The  girl  shrank  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  appealingly  at 
Jose. 

"No?  Then  I  must  come  and  steal  it;  and  when  you  confess 
to  good  Padre  Jose  you  may  tell  him  it  was  all  my  fault." 

He  started  toward  her.  A  look  of  horror  came  into  the 
child's  face  and  she  sprang  from  her  seat.  Jose  swiftly  rose. 
He  seized  Diego  by  the  shoulder  and  whirled  him  quickly 
about.  His  face  was  menacing  and  his  frame  trembled. 

"One  moment,  friend!"  The  voice  was  low,  tense,  and  de 
liberate.  "If  you  lay  a  hand  on  that  child  I  will  strike  you 
dead  at  my  feet!" 

Diego  recoiled.  Cielo!  wras  this  the  timid  sheep  that  had 
stopped  for  a  moment  in  Banco  on  its  way  to  the  slaughter? 
But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  spirit  manifested  now  in  that 
voice  and  attitude. 

"Why,  amigo!"  he  exclaimed,  a  foolish  grin  splitting  his 
ugly  features.  "Your  little  joke  startled  me!" 

Jose  motioned  Carmen  to  leave. 

"Be  seated,  Don  Diego.  It  would  be  well  to  understand 
each  other  more  thoroughly." 

Had  Jose  gone  too  far?  He  wondered.  Heaven  knew,  he 
could  not  afford  to  make  enemies,  especially  at  this  juncture! 
But  he  had  not  misread  the  thought  coursing  through  the  foul 
mind  of  Diego.  And  yet,  violence  now  might  ruin  both  the 
child  and  himself.  He  must  be  wiser. 

"I — I  was  perhaps  a  little  hasty,  amigo,"  he  began  in  gentler 
tones.  "But,  as  you  see,  I  have  been  quite  wrought  up  of  late 
—the  news  of  the  revolution,  and — in  these  past  months  there 
have  been  many  things  to  cause  me  worry.  I — " 

118 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Say  no  more,  good  friend,"  interrupted  the  oily  Diego,  his 
beady  eyes  twinkling.  "But  you  will  not  wonder  it  struck  me 
odd  that  a  father  should  not  be  permitted  to  embrace  his  own 
daughter." 

Dead  silence,  heavy  and  stifling,  fell  upon  Jose.  Slowly  his 
throat  filled,  and  his  ears  began  to  throb.  Diego  sat  before  him, 
smiling  and  twirling  his  fat  thumbs.  He  looked  like  the  images 
of  Chinese  gods  Jose  had  seen  in  foreign  lands. 

Then  the  tortured  man  forced  a  laugh.  Of  course,  the 
strain  of  yesterday  had  been  too  much  for  him!  His  over 
wrought  mind  had  read  into  words  and  events  meanings  which 
they  had  not  been  meant  to  convey. 

"True,  amigo,"  he  managed  to  say,  striving  to  steady  his 
voice.  "But  we  spiritual  Fathers  should  not  forget — " 

Diego  laughed  egregiously.  "Caramba,  man!  Let  us  get 
to  the  meat  in  the  nut.  Why  do  you  think  I  am  in  Simiti, 
braving  the  wrath  of  Rosendo  and  others?  Why  have  I  left 
my  comfortable  quarters  in  Banco,  to  undertake  a  journey, 
long  and  hazardous,  to  this  godless  hole?" 

He  paused,  apparently  enjoying  the  suffering  he  saw  de 
picted  upon  Jose's  countenance. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  he  resumed.  "But  you  will  keep  my  con 
fidence,  no?  We  are  brother  priests,  and  must  hold  together. 
You  protect  me  in  this,  and  I  return  the  favor  in  a  like  indis 
cretion.  Bien,  I  explain:  I  am  here  partly  because  of  the  revo 
lution,  as  I  told  you  yesterday,  and  partly,  as  I  did  not  tell  you, 
to  see  my  little  girl,  my  daughter,  Carmen — 

"Caramba,  man!"  he  cried,  bounding  to  his  feet,  as  he 
saw  Jose  slowly  rise  before  him.  "Listen!  It  is  God's  truth! 
Sit  down!  Sit  down!" 

Jose  dropped  back  into  his  chair  like  a  withered  leaf  in  the 
lull  of  a  winter's  wind. 

"Dios  y  diablo,  but  it  rends  me  to  make  this  confession, 
amigo!  And  yet,  I  look  to  you  for  support!  The  girl,  Carmen 
— /  am  her  father!" 

Diego  paced  dramatically  up  and  down  before  the  scarce 
hearing  Jose  and  unfolded  his  story  in  a  quick,  jerky  voice, 
with  many  a  gesture  and  much  rolling  of  his  bright  eyes. 

"Her  mother  was  a  Spanish  woman  of  high  degree.  We 
met  in  Bogota.  My  vows  prevented  me  from  marrying  her,  else 
I  should  have  done  so.  Caramba,  but  I  loved  her!  Bien,  I 
was  called  to  Cartagena.  She  feared,  in  her  delicate  state,  that 
I  was  deserting  her.  She  tried  to  follow  me,  and  at  Badillo 
was  put  off  the  boat.  There,  poor  child,  she  passed  away  in 
grief,  leaving  her  babe.  May  she  rest  forever  on  the  bosom 
of  the  blessed  Virgin!"  Diego  bowed  reverently  and  crossed 
himself. 

119 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Then  I  lost  all  trace  of  her.  My  diligent  inquiries  re 
vealed  nothing.  Two  years  later  I  was  assigned  to  the  parish 
of  Simiti.  Here  I  saw  the  little  locket  which  I  had  given  her, 
and  knew  that  Carmen  was  my  child.  Ah,  Dios!  what  a  revela 
tion  to  a  breaking  heart!  But  I  could  not  openly  acknowledge 
her,  for  I  was  already  in  disgrace,  as  you  know.  And,  once 
down,  it  is  easy  to  sink  still  further.  I  confess,  I  was  indis 
creet  here.  I  was  forced  to  fly.  Rosendo's  daughter  followed 
me,  despite  my  protests.  I  was  assigned  to  Banco.  Bien,  time 
passed,  and  you  came.  I  had  hoped  you  would  take  the  little 
Carmen  under  your  protection.  God,  how  I  grieved  for  the 
child!  At  last  I  determined,  come  what  might,  to  see  her.  The 
revolution  drove  me  to  the  mountains;  and  love  for  my  girl 
brought  me  by  way  of  Simili.  And  now,  amigo,  you  have  my 
confession — and  you  will  not  be  hard  on  me?  Caramba,  I  need 
a  friend!"  He  sat  down,  and  mopped  his  wet  brow.  His  talk 
had  shaken  him  visibly. 

Again  oppressive  silence.  Jose  was  staring  with  unseeing 
eyes  out  through  the  open  doorway.  A  stream  of  sunlight 
poured  over  the  dusty  threshold,  and  myriad  motes  danced  in 
the  golden  flood. 

"Bien,  amigo,"  Diego  resumed,  with  more  confidence.  "I 
had  not  thought  to  reveal  this,  my  secret,  to  you— nor  to  any 
one,  for  that  matter — but  just  to  get  a  peep  at  my  little  daugh 
ter,  and  assure  my  anxious  heart  of  her  welfare.  But  since 
coming  here  and  seeing  how  mature  she  is  my  plans  have 
taken  more  definite  shape.  I  shall  leave  at  daybreak  to-morrow, 
if  Don  Mario  can  have  my  supplies  ready  on  this  short  notice, 
and — will  take  Carmen  with  me." 

Jose  struggled  wearily  to  his  feet.  The  color  had  left  his 
face,  and  ages  seemed  to  bestride  his  bent  shoulders.  His  voice 
quavered  as  he  slowly  spoke. 

"Leave  me  now,  Don  Diego.  It  were  better  that  we  should 
not  meet  again  until  you  depart." 

"But,  amigo — ah,  I  feel  for  you,  believe  me!  You  are  at 
tached  to  the  child— who  would  not  be?  Caramba,  what  is  this 
world  but  a  cemetery  of  bleaching  hopes!  But — how  can  I 
ask  it?  Amigo,  send  the  child  to  me  at  the  house  of  the 
Alcalde.  I  would  hold  her  in  my  arms  and  feel  a  father's  joy. 
And  bid  the  good  Dona  Maria  make  her  ready  for  to-morrow's 
journey." 

Jose  turned  to  the  man.  An  ominous  calm  now  possessed 
him.  "You  said — the  San  Lucas  district?" 

"Quien  sabe?  good  friend,"  Diego  made  hasty  reply.  "My 
plans  seem  quite  altered  since  coming  here.  Bien,  we  must 
see.  But  I  will  leave  you  now.  And  you  will  send  Carmen  to 

120 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


me  at  once?     And  bid  her  bring  her  mother's  locket.     Conque, 
hasta  lucgo,  amigo." 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  seeing  his  two  negro  peones  loiter 
ing  near,  walked  confidently  and  briskly  to  the  house  of  Don 
Mario. 

Jose,  bewildered  and  benumbed,  staggered  into  his  sleeping 
room  and  sank  upon  the  bed. 

****** 

"Padre — Padre  dear." 

Carmen  stood  beside  the  stricken  priest,  and  her  little  hand 
crept  into  his. 

"I  watched  until  I  saw  him  go,  and  then  I  came  in.  He  has 
bad  thoughts,  hasn't  he?  But — Padre  dear,  what  is  it?  Did 
he  make  you  think  bad  thoughts,  too?  He  can't,  you  know,  if 
you  don't  want  to." 

She  bent  over  him  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his.  Jose 
stared  unseeing  up  at  the  thatch  roof. 

"Padre  dear,  everything  has  a  rule,  a  principle,  you  told 
me.  Don't  you  remember?  But  his  thoughts  haven't  any 
principle,  have  they?  Any  more  than  the  mistakes  I  make  in 
algebra.  Aren't  we  glad  we  know  that!" 

The  child  kissed  the  suffering  man  and  wound  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"Padre  dear,  he  couldn't  say  anything  that  could  make 
you  unhappy — he  just  couldn't!  God  is  everywhere,  and  you 
are  His  child — and  I  am,  too — and — and  there  just  isn't  any 
thing  here  but  God,  and  we  are  in  Him.  Why,  Padre,  we  are 
in  Him,  just  like  the  little  fish  in  the  lake!  Isn't  it  nice  to 
know  that — to  really  know  it?" 

Aye,  if  he  had  really  known  it  he  would  not  now  be 
stretched  upon  a  bed  of  torment.  Yet,  Carmen  knew  it.  And 
his  suffering  was  for  her.  Was  he  not  really  yielding  to  the 
mesmerism  of  human  events?  Why,  oh,  why  could  he  not 
remain  superior  to  them?  Why  continually  rise  and  fall, 
tossed  through  his  brief  years  like  a  dry  weed  in  the  blast? 

It  was  because  he  would  know  evil,  and  yield  to  its  mes 
merism.  His  enemies  were  not  without,  but  within.  How 
could  he  hope  to  be  free  until  he  had  passed  from  self-con 
sciousness  to  the  sole  consciousness  of  infinite  good? 

"Padre  dear,  his  bad  thoughts  have  only  the  minus  sign, 
haven't  they?" 

Yes,  and  Jose's  now  carried  the  same  symbol  of  nothingness. 
Carmen  was  linked  to  the  omnipresent  mind  that  is  God;  and 
no  power,  be  it  Diego  or  his  superior,  Wenceslas,  could  effect 
a  separation. 

But  if  Carmen  was  Diego's  child,  she  must  go  with  him, 

is  121 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


Jose  could  no  longer  endure  this  torturing  thought.     He  rose 
from  the  bed  and  sought  Doiia  Maria. 

"Seiiora,"  he  pleaded,  "tell  me  again  what  you  know  of 
Carmen's  parents." 

The  good  woman  was  surprised  at  the  question,  but  could 
add  nothing  to  what  Rosendo  had  already  told  him.  He  asked 
to  see  again  the  locket.  Alas!  study  it  as  he  might,  the  portrait 
of  the  man  wras  wholly  indistinguishable.  The  sweet,  sad  face 
of  the  young  mother  looked  out  from  its  frame  like  a  suffering 
Magdalen.  In  it  he  thought  he  saw  a  resemblance  to  Carmen. 
As  for  Diego,  the  child  certainly  did  not  resemble  him  in  the 
least.  But  years  of  dissipation  and  evil  doubtless  had  wrought 
their  changes  in  his  features. 

He  looked  around  for  Carmen.  She  had  disappeared.  He 
rose  and  searched  through  the  house  for  her.  Dona  Maria, 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  had  not  seen  her  leave.  His  search  futile, 
he  returned  with  heavy  heart  to  his  own  house  and  sat  down 
to  think.  Mechanically  he  opened  his  Bible. 

When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee. 
Not  "if,"  but  "when."  The  sharp  experiences  of  human  ex 
istence  are  not  to  be  avoided.  But  in  their  very  midst  the 
Christ-principle  is  available  to  the  faithful  searcher  and 
worker. 

Dona  Maria  came  with  the  midday  meal.  Carmen  had  not 
returned.  Jose,  alarmed  beyond  measure,  prepared  to  set  out 
in  search  of  her.  But  at  that  moment  one  of  Diego's  peones 
appeared  at  the  door  wTith  his  master's  request  that  the  child 
be  sent  at  once  to  him.  At  least,  then,  she  \vas  not  in  his 
hands;  and  Jose  breathed  more  freely.  It  seemed  to  him  that, 
should  he  see  her  in  Diego's  arms,  he  must  certainly  strangle 
him.  He  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Only  a  few  minutes  be 
fore  he  had  threatened  to  kill  him! 

He  left  his  food  untasted.  Unspeakably  wearied  with  his 
incessant  mental  battle,  he  threw  himself  again  upon  his  bed, 
and  at  length  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 

The  shadows  were  gathering  wrhen  he  awoke  \vith  a  start. 
He  heard  a  call  from  the  street.  Leaping  from  the  bed,  he 
hastened  to  the  door,  just  as  Rosendo,  swaying  beneath  his 
pack,  and  accompanied  by  Lazaro  Ortiz,  rounded  the  corner 
and  made  toward  him. 

"Hola,  amigo  Cura!"  Rosendo  shouted,  his  face  radiant. 
"Come  and  bid  me  welcome,  and  receive  good  news!" 

At  the  same  moment  Carmen  came  flying  toward  them  from 
the  direction  of  the  shales.  Jose  instantly  divined  the  motive 
which  had  sent  her  out  there.  He  turned  his  face  to  hide  the 
tears  which  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

122 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Thank  God!"  he  murmured  in  a  choking  voice.     Then  he 
hastened  to  his  faithful  ally  and  clasped  him  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  16 

STRUGGLING  vainly  with  his  agitation,  while  the  good  tid 
ings  which  he  could  no  longer  hold  fairly  bubbled  from 
his  lips,  Rosendo  dragged  the  priest  into  the  parish  house 
and  made  fast  the  doors.  Swinging  his  chair  to  the  floor,  he 
hastily  unstrapped  his  kit  and  extracted  a  canvas  bag,  which 
he  handed  to  Jose. 

"Padre,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  loud  whisper,  "we  have  found 
it!" 

"Found  what?"  the  bewildered  Jose  managed  to  ask. 

"Gold,  Padre — gold!  Look,  the  bag  is  full!  Hombre!  not 
less  than  forty  pesos  oro — and  more  up  there — quien  sabe  how 
much!  Caramba!" 

Rosendo  fell  into  a  chair,  panting  with  excitement.  Jose 
sat  down  with  quickening  pulse  and  waited  for  the  full  story. 
It  was  not  long  coming. 

"Padre — I  knew  we  would  find  it — but  not  this  way!  Hom- 
brc!  It  was  back  of  Popales.  I  had  been  washing  the  sands 
there  for  two  days  after  my  return.  There  was  a  town  at  that 
place,  years  ago.  The  stone  foundations  of  the  houses  can 
still  be  seen.  The  Tigui  was  rich  at  that  point  then;  but  it  is 
washed  out  now.  Bien,  one  morning  I  started  out  at  daybreak 
to  prospect  Popales  creek,  the  little  stream  cutting  back  into 
the  hills  behind  the  old  settlement.  There  was  a  heavy  mist 
over  the  whole  valley,  and  I  could  not  see  ten  feet  before  my 
face.  Bien,  I  had  gone  up  stream  a  long  distance,  perhaps 
several  miles,  without  finding  more  than  a  few  colors,  when 
suddenly  the  mist  began  to  clear,  and  there  before  me,  only  a 
few  feet  away,  stood  a  young  deer,  just  as  dumfounded  as 
I  was." 

He  paused  a  moment  for  breath,  laughing  meanwhile  at  the 
memory  of  his  surprise.  Then  he  resumed. 

"Bueno,  fresh  venison  looked  good  to  me,  Padre,  living  on 
salt  bagre  and  beans.  But  I  had  no  weapon,  save  my  machete. 
So  I  let  drive  with  that,  and  with  all  my  strength.  The  big 
knife  struck  the  deer  on  a  leg.  The  animal  turned  and  started 
swiftly  up  the  mountain  side,  with  myself  in  pursuit.  Caramba, 
that  was  a  climb!  But  with  his  belly  chasing  him,  a  hungry 
man  will  climb  anything!  Through  palms  and  ferns  and  high 
weeds,  falling  over  rocks  and  tripping  on  ground  vines  we 

123 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


went,  clear  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Then  the  animal  turned  and 
plunged  down  a  glen.  On  the  descent  it  traveled  faster,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  had  passed  clean  from  my  sight.  Caramba,  I 
was  angry!" 

He  stopped  to  laugh  again  at  the  incident. 

"The  glen,"  he  continued,  "ran  down  for  perhaps  a  hundred 
yards,  and  then  widened  into  a  clearing.  I  have  been  in  the 
Popales  country  many  times,  Padre,  but  I  had  never  been  to 
the  top  of  this  mountain,  nor  had  I  ever  seen  this  glen,  which 
seemed  to  be  an  ancient  trail.  So  I  went  on  down  towrard  the 
clearing.  As  I  approached  it  I  crossed  what  apparently  was 
the  bed  of  an  ancient  stream,  dry  now,  but  with  many  pools 
of  water  from  the  recent  rains,  which  are  very  heavy  in  that 
region.  Bicn,  I  turned  and  followed  this  dry  bed  for  a  long 
distance,  and  at  last  came  out  into  the  open.  I  found  myself 
in  a  circular  space,  surrounded  by  high  hills,  with  no  opening 
but  the  stream  bed  along  which  I  had  come.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  basin-shaped  clearing  the  creek  bed  stopped  abruptly;  and 
I  then  knew  that  the  water  had  formerly  come  over  the  cliff 
above  in  a  high  waterfall,  but  had  flowed  in  a  direction  oppo 
site  to  that  of  Popales  creek,  this  mountain  being  the  divide. 

"Bueno;  now  for  my  discovery!  I  several  times  filled  my 
batea  with  gravel  from  the  dry  bed  and  washed  it  in  one  of  the 
pools.  I  got  only  a  few  scattered  colors.  But  as  I  dug  along 
the  margin  of  the  bed  I  noticed  what  seemed  to  be  pieces  of 
adobe  bricks.  I  went  on  up  one  side  of  the  bo\vl-shaped  glen, 
and  found  many  such  pieces,  and  in  some  places  stones  that 
had  served  as  foundations  for  houses  at  one  time.  So  I  knew 
that  there  had  been  a  town  there,  long,  long  ago.  But  it  must 
have  been  an  Indian  village,  for  had  it  been  known  to  the 
Spaniards  I  surely  would  have  learned  of  it  from  my  parents. 
The  ground  higher  up  was  strewn  with  the  broken  bricks.  I 
picked  up  many  of  the  pieces  and  examined  them.  Almost 
every  one  showed  a  color  or  two  of  gold;  but  not  enough  to 
pay  washing  the  clay  from  which  they  had  been  made.  But — 
and  here  is  the  end  of  my  story — I  have  said  that  this  open 
space  was  shaped  like  a  bowl,  with  all  sides  dipping  sharply 
to  the  center.  It  occurred  to  me  that  in  the  years — who  knows 
how  many? — that  have  passed  since  this  town  was  abandoned, 
the  heavy  rains  that  had  dissolved  the  mud  bricks  also  must 
have  washed  the  mud  and  the  gold  it  carried  down  into  the 
center  of  this  basin,  where,  with  great  quantities  of  water 
sweeping  over  it  every  rainy  season,  the  clay  and  sand  wrould 
gradually  wash  out,  leaving  the  gold  concentrated  in  the 
center."  .  - 

The  old  man  stopped  to  light  the  thick  cigar  which  he  had 
rolled  during  his  recital. 

124 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Caramba!  Padre,  it  was  a  lucky  thought!  I  located  the 
center  of  the  big  bowl  as  nearly  as  possible,  and  began  to  dig. 
I  washed  some  of  the  dirt  taken  a  foot  or  two  below  the  sur 
face.  Hombre!  it  left  a  string  of  gold  clear  around  the  bateal 
I  became  so  excited  I  could  scarcely  dig.  Every  batea,  as  I  got 
deeper  and  deeper,  yielded  more  and  more  gold!  I  hurried 
back  to  the  Tigui  for  my  supplies;  and  then  camped  up  there 
and  washed  the  sand  and  clay  for  two  weeks,  until  I  had  to 
come  back  to  Simiti  for  food.  Forty  pesos  oro  in  fifteen  days! 
Caramba!  And  there  is  more.  And  all  concentrated  from  the 
mud  bricks  of  that  old,  forgotten  town  in  the  mountains,  miles 
back  of  Popales!  May  the  Virgin  bless  that  deer  and  mend 
its  hurt  leg!" 

One  hundred  and  sixty  francs  in  shining  gold  flakes!  And 
who  knew  how  much  more  to  be  had  for  the  digging! 

"Ah,  Padre,"  mused  Rosendo,  "it  is  wonderful  how  things 
turn  out — that  is,  when,  as  the  little  Carmen  says,  you  think 
right!  I  thought  I'd  find  it — I  knew  it  was  right!  And  here 
it  is!  Caramba!" 

At  the  mention  of  Carmen's  name  Jose  again  became 
troubled.  Rosendo  as  yet  did  not  know  of  Diego's  presence  in 
Simiti.  Should  he  tell  him?  It  might  lead  to  murder.  Ro 
sendo  would  learn  of  it  soon  enough;  and  Jose  dared  not  cast 
a  blight  upon  the  happiness  of  this  rare  moment.  He  would 
wait. 

As  they  sat  reunited  at  the  supper  table  in  Rosendo's  house, 
a  constant  stream  of  townspeople  passed  and  repassed  the 
door,  some  stopping  to  greet  the  returned  prospector,  others 
lingering  to  witness  Rosendo's  conduct  when  he  should  learn 
of  Diego's  presence  in  the  town,  although  no  one  would  tell 
him  of  it.  The  atmosphere  was  tense  with  suppressed  excite 
ment,  and  Jose  trembled  with  dread.  Dona  Maria  moved 
quietly  about,  giving  no  hint  of  the  secret  she  carried.  Carmen 
laughed  and  chatted,  but  did  not  again  mention  the  man  from 
whose  presence  she  had  fled  to  the  shales  that  morning.  Who 
could  doubt  that  in  the  midst  of  the  prevalent  mental  confusion 
she  had  gone  out  there  "to  think"?  And  having  performed 
that  duty,  she  had,  as  usual,  left  her  problem  with  her  imma 
nent  God. 

"I  will  go  up  and  settle  with  Don  Mario  this  very  night," 
Rosendo  abruptly  announced,  as  they  rose  from  the  table. 

"Not  yet,  friend!"  cried  Jose  quickly.  "Lazaro  has  told  you 
of  the  revolution;  and  we  have  many  plans  to  consider,  now 
that  we  have  found  gold.  Come  with  me  to  the  shales.  We 
will  not  be  interrupted  there.  We  can  slip  out  through  the 
rear  door,  and  so  avoid  these  curious  people.  I  have  much  to 
discuss  with  you." 

12.5 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rosendo  chuckled.  "My  honest  debts  first,  buen  Cura," 
he  said  sturdily.  And  throwing  back  his  shoulders  he  strutted 
about  the  room  with  the  air  of  a  plutocrat.  With  his  bare 
feet,  his  soiled,  flapping  attire,  and  his  swelling  sense  of  self- 
importance  he  cut  a  comical  figure. 

"But,  Rosendo — "  Jose  was  at  his  wits'  end.  Then  a  happy 
thought  struck  him.  "Why,  man!  I  want  to  make  you  captain 
of  the  militia  we  are  forming,  and  I  must  talk  with  you  alone 
first!" 

The  childish  egotism  of  the  old  man  was  instantly  touched. 

"Capitdn!  el  capitdn!"  he  cried  in  glee.  He  slapped  his 
chest  and  strode  proudly  around  the  room.  "Caramba!  Capitdn 
Don  Rosendo  Ariza,  S!  Ha!  Shall  I  carry  a  sword  and  wear 
gold  braid? — But  these  fellows  are  mighty  curious,"  he  mut 
tered,  looking  out  through  the  door  at  the  loitering  townsfolk. 
"The  shales,  then,  Padre!  Close  the  front  door,  Carmencita." 

Jose  scarcely  breathed  until,  skirting  the  shore  of  the  lake 
and  making  a  detour  of  the  town,  he  and  Rosendo  at  length 
reached  the  shale  beds  unnoticed. 

"Rosendo,  the  gold  deposit  that  you  have  discovered — is  it 
safe?  Could  others  find  it?"  queried  Jose  at  length. 

"Never,  Padre!  No  trail  leads  to  it.  And  no  one  would 
think  of  looking  there  for  gold.  I  discovered  it  by  the  merest 
chance,  and  I  left  no  trace  of  my  presence.  Besides,  there  are 
no  gold  hunters  in  that  country,  and  very  few  people  in  the 
entire  district  of  Guamoco." 

"And  how  long  will  it  take  you  to  wash  out  the  deposit,  do 
you  think?" 

"Quien  sabe?    Padre.    A  year — two  years — perhaps  longer." 

"But  you  cannot  return  to  Guamoco  until  the  revolution  is 
over." 

"Bien,  Padre,  I  will  remain  in  Simiti  a  week  or  two.  We 
may  then  know  what  to  expect  of  the  revolution." 

"You  are  not  afraid?" 

"Of  what?    Caramba,  no!" 

Jose  sighed.     No  one  seemed  to  fear  but  himself. 

"Rosendo,  about  the  gold  for  Cartagena:  how  can  we  send 
it,  even  when  peace  is  restored?" 

"Juan  might  go  down  each  month,"  Rosendo  suggested. 

"Impossible!  The  expense  would  be  greater  than  the 
amount  shipped.  And  it  would  not  be  safe.  Besides,  our  work 
must  be  done  with  the  utmost  secrecy.  No  one  but  ourselves 
must  know  of  your  discovery.  And  no  one  else  in  Simiti  must 
know  where  we  are  sending  the  gold.  Rosendo,  it  is  a  great 
problem." 

"Caramba,  yes!" 

1-26 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  men  lapsed  into  profound  meditation.     Then: 

"Rosendo,  the  little  Carmen  makes  great  progress." 

"Por  supuesto!    I  knew  she  would.    She  has  a  mind!" 

"Have  you  no  idea,  Rosendo,  who  her  parents  might  have 
been?" 

"None  whatever,  Padre." 

"Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Rosendo,  that,  because  of  her 
deeply  religious  nature,  possibly  her  father  was  a  priest?" 

"Caramba,  no!"  ejaculated  Rosendo,  turning  upon  Jose. 
"What  puts  that  into  your  head,  amigo?" 

"As  I  have  said,  Rosendo,"  Jose  answered,  "her  religious 
instinct." 

"Bien,  Senor  Padre,  you  forget  that  priests  are  not  re 
ligious." 

"But  some  are,  Rosendo,"  persisted  Jose  in  a  tone  of  pro 
test. 

"Perhaps.  But  those  who  are  do  not  have  children,"  was 
Roseiido's  simple  manner  of  settling  the  argument. 

Its  force  appealed  to  Jose,  and  he  felt  a  shade  of  relief.  But, 
if  Diego  were  not  the  father  of  Carmen,  what  motive  had  he 
for  wishing  to  take  her  with  him,  other  than  to  train  her 
eventually  to  become  his  concubine?  The  thought  maddened 
him.  He  almost  decided  to  tell  Rosendo. 

"But,  Padre,  we  came  out  here  to  talk  about  the  militia  of 
which  I  am  to  be  captain.  Bien,  we  must  begin  work  to 
morrow.  Hombre,  but  the  senora's  eyes  will  stand  out  when 
she  sees  me  marching  at  the  head  of  the  company!"  He 
laughed  like  a  pleased  child. 

"And  now  that  we  have  gold,  Padre,  I  must  send  to  Carta 
gena  for  a  gun.  What  would  one  cost?" 

"You  probably  could  not  obtain  one,  Rosendo.  The  Gov 
ernment  is  so  afraid  of  revolutions  that  it  prohibits  the  im 
portation  of  arms.  But  even  if  you  could,  it  would  cost  not 
less  than  fifty  pesos  oro." 

"Fifty  pesos!  Caramba!"  exclaimed  the  artless  fellow. 
"Then  I  get  no  gun!  But  now  let  us  name  those  who  will 
form  the  company." 

By  dwelling  on  the  pleasing  theme,  Jose  managed  to  keep 
Rosendo  engaged  until  fatigue  at  length  drove  the  old  man 
to  seek  his  bed.  The  town  was  wrapped  in  darkness  as  they 
passed  through  its  quiet  streets,  and  the  ancient  Spanish 
lantern,  hanging  crazily  from  its  moldering  sconce  on  the 
corner  of  Don  Felipe's  house,  threw  the  only  light  into  the 
black  mantle  that  lay  upon  the  main  thoroughfare. 
*  *  .  *  *  *  * 

At  sunrise,  Jose  was  awakened  by  Rosendo  noisily  entering 

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his  house.  A  glance  at  the  old  man  showed  that  he  was  labor 
ing  under  strong  emotion. 

"What  sort  of  friendship  is  this,"  he  demanded  curtly,  "that 
you  keep  me  from  learning  of  Diego's  presence  in  Simiti?  It 
was  a  trick  you  served  me — and  friends  do  not  so  to  one  an 
other!"  He  stood  looking  darkly  at  the  priest. 

"Have  you  seen  him,  then?  Good  heavens,  Rosendo!  what 
have  you  done  to  him?"  cried  Jose,  hastily  leaving  his  bed. 

"There,  comfort  yourself,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  a  sneer 
curling  his  lips.  "Your  friend  is  safe — for  the  present.  He 
and  his  negro  rascals  fled  before  sunrise." 

"And  which  direction  did  they  take?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?  Would  you  go  to  them?  Bueno,  then 
across  the  lake,  toward  the  Juncal.  Don  Mario  stocked  their 
boat  last  night,  while  you  kept  me  out  on  the  shales.  Buen 
arreglo,  no?1' 

"Yes,  Rosendo,"  replied  Jose  gladly,  "an  excellent  arrange 
ment  to  keep  you  from  dipping  your  hands  in  his  foul  blood. 
Why,  man!  is  your  vision  so  short?  Have  you  no  thought  of 
Carmen  and  her  future?" 

"But — Dios!  he  has  spread  the  report  that  he  is  her  father! 
Caramba!  For  that  I  would  tear  him  apart!  He  robbed  me  of 
one  child;  and  now — Caramba!  Why  did  you  let  him  go? — 
why  did  you,  Padre?" 

Rosendo  paced  the  floor  like  a  caged  lion,  while  great  tears 
rolled  down  his  black  cheeks.1 

"But,  Rosendo,  if  you  had  killed  him — what  then?  Im 
prisonment  for  you,  suffering  for  us  all,  and  the  complete 
wreck  of  our  hopes.  Is  it  worth  it?" 

"Ara,  Padre,  but  I  would  have  escaped  to  Guamoco,  to  the 
gold  I  have  discovered.  There  no  one  would  have  found  me. 
And  you  would  have  kept  me  supplied;  and  I  would  have  given 
you  the  gold  I  washed  to  care  for  her — -" 

The  man  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 
"Caramba!"  he  moaned.  "But  he  will  return  when  I  am  gone 
— and — the  Church  is  back  of  him,  and  they  will  come  and 
steal  her  away — " 

How  childish,  and  yet  how  great  he  was  in  his  wonderful 
love,  thought  Jose.  He  pitied  him  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart;  he  loved  him  immeasurably;  yet  he  knew  the  old  man's 
judgment  was  unsound  in  this  case. 

"Come,  Rosendo,"  he  said  gently,  laying  a  hand  upon  the 
bent  head.  "This  is  a  time  when  expediency  bids  us  suffer 
an  evil  to  remain  for  a  little  while,  that  a  much  greater  good 
may  follow." 

He  hesitated.  Then — "You  do  not  think  Diego  is  her 
father?" 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"A  thousand  devils,  no!"  shouted  Rosendo,  springing  up. 
"He  the  father  of  that  angel-child?  Cielo!  His  brats  would 
be  serpents!  But  I  am  losing  time —  He  turned  to  the  door. 

"Rosendo!"  cried  the  priest  in  fresh  alarm.  "Where  are 
you  going?  What  are  you — 

"I  am  going  after  Diego!  Juan  and  Lazaro  go  with  me! 
Before  sundown  that  devil's  carcass  will  be  buzzard  meat!" 

Jose  threw  himself  in  front  of  Rosendo. 

"Rosendo,  think  of  Carmen!  Would  you  kill  her,  too?  If 
you  kill  Diego  nothing  can  save  her  from  Wenceslas!  Ro 
sendo,  for  God's  sake,  listen!" 

But  the  old  man,  with  his  huge  strength,  tossed  the  frail 
priest  lightly  aside  and  rushed  into  the  street.  Blind  with 
rage,  he  did  not  see  Carmen  standing  a  short  distance  from  the 
door.  The  child  had  been  sent  to  summon  him  to  breakfast. 
Unable  to  check  his  momentum,  the  big  man  crashed  full  into 
her  and  bore  her  to  the  ground  beneath  him.  As  she  fell  her 
head  struck  the  sharp  edge  of  an  ancient  paving  stone,  and 
she  lay  quite  still,  while  the  warm  blood  slowly  trickled  through 
her  long  curls. 

Uttering  a  frightened  cry,  Jose  rushed  to  the  dazed  Ro 
sendo  and  got  him  to  his  feet.  Then  he  picked  up  the  child, 
and,  his  heart  numb  with  fear,  bore  her  into  the  house. 

Clasping  Carmen  fiercely  in  his  arms,  Jose  tried  to  aid  Dona 
Maria  in  staunching  the  freely  flowing  blood.  Rosendo,  crazed 
with  grief,  bent  over  them,  giving  vent  to  moans  which,  de 
spite  his  own  fears,  wrung  the  priest's  heart  with  pity  for  the 
suffering  old  man.  At  length  the  child  opened  her  eyes. 

"Praise  God!"  cried  Rosendo,  kneeling  and  showering  kisses 
upon  her  hands.  "Loado  sea  el  bnen  Dios!  Caramba!  Ca- 
ramba!" 

"Padre  Rosendo,"  the  girl  murmured,  smiling  down  at  him, 
"your  thoughts  were  driving  you,  just  like  Benjamin  drives  his 
oxen.  And  they  were  bad,  or  you  wouldn't  have  knocked  me 
over." 

"Bad!"  Rosendo  went  to  the  doorway  and  squatted  down 
upon  the  dirt  floor  in  the  sunlight.  "Bad!"  he  ejaculated. 
"Caramba,  but  they  were  murder-thoughts!" 

"And  they  tried  to  make  you  murder  me,  didn't  they,  padre 
dear?"  She  laughed.  "But  it  didn't  really  happen,  anyway," 
she  added. 

Rosendo  buried  his  head  in  his  hands  and  groaned  aloud. 
Carmen  slipped  down  from  Jose's  lap  and  went  unsteadily  to 
the  old  man. 

"They  were  not  yours,  those  thoughts,  padre  dear,"  putting 
her  arms  around  his  neck.  "But  they  were  whipping  yo'i 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


hard,  just  as  if  you  belonged  to  them.  And  see,  it  just  shows 
that  bad  thoughts  can't  do  anything.  Look,  I'm  all  right!" 
She  stood  off  and  smiled  at  him. 

Rosendo  reached  out  and  clasped  her  in  his  long  arms. 
"Chiquita,"  he  cried,  "if  you  were  not,  your  old  padre  Ro 
sendo  would  throw  himself  into  the  lake!" 

"More  bad  thoughts,  padre  dear!"  She  laughed  and  held 
up  a  warning  finger.  "But  I  was  to  tell  you  the  desayuno  was 
ready;  and  see,  we  have  forgotten  all  about  it!"  Her  merry 
laugh  rang  through  the  room  like  a  silver  bell. 

After  breakfast  Jose  took  Rosendo,  still  shaking,  into  the 
parish  house.  "I  think,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  we  have  learned 
another  lesson,  have  we  not,  amigo?" 

Rosendo's  head  sank  upon  his  great  chest. 

"And,  if  W7e  are  wise,  we  will  profit  by  it — will  we  not, 
compadre?"  He  waited  a  moment,  then  continued: 

"I  have  been  seeing  in  a  dim  way,  amigo,  that  our  thought 
is  always  the  vital  thing  to  be  reckoned  with,  more  than  we 
have  even  suspected  before.  I  believe  there  is  a  mental  law, 
though  I  cannot  formulate  it,  that  in  some  way  the  thoughts 
wre  hold  use  us,  and  become  externalized  in  actions.  You  were 
wrild  with  fear  for  Carmen,  and  your  thoughts  of  Diego  were 
murderous.  Bien,  they  almost  drove  you  to  murder,  and  they 
reacted  upon  the  very  one  you  most  love.  Can  you  not  see  it, 
amigo?" 

Rosendo  looked  up.  His  face  was  drawn.  "Padre — I  am 
almost  afraid  to  think  of  anything — now." 

"Ah,  amigo,"  said  Jose  with  deep  compassion,  "I,  too,  have 
had  a  deep  lesson  in  thinking  these  past  two  days.  I  had 
evolved  many  beautiful  theories,  and  worked  out  wonderful 
plans  during  these  weeks  of  peace.  Then  suddenly  came  the 
news  of  the  revolution,  and,  presto!  they  all  flew  to  pieces! 
But  Carmen — nothing  disturbs  her.  Is  it  because  she  is  too 
young  to  fear?  I  think  not,  amigo,  I  think  not.  I  think,  rather, 
that  it  is  because  she  is  too  wise." 

"But — she  is  not  of  the  earth,  Padre."  The  old  man  shook 
his  head  dubiously. 

"Rosendo,  she  is!  She  is  human,  just  as  we  are.  But  in 
some  way  she  has  learned  a  great  truth,  and  that  is  that  wrong 
thinking  brings  all  the  discord  and  woe  that  afflict  the  human 
race.  We  know  this  is  true,  you  and  I.  In  a  way  we  have 
known  it  all  our  lives.  But  why,  why  do  we  not  practice  it? 
Why  do  I  yield  so  readily  to  fear;  and  you  to  revenge?  I 
rather  think  if  we  loved  our  enemies  we  would  have  none,  for 
our  only  enemies  are  the  thoughts  that  become  externalized  in 
wrong  thought-concepts.  And  even  this  externalization  is  only 

130 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


in  our  own  consciousness.  It  is  there,  and  only  there,  that 
we  see  evil." 

"Quien  sabe?  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  slowly  shaking  his 
head.  "We  know  so  little— so  little!" 

"But,  Rosendo,  we  know  enough  to  try  to  be  like  Carmen — 

"Caramba,  yes!  And  I  try  to  be  like  her.  But  whenever 
danger  threatens  her,  the  very  devils  seize  me,  and  I  am  no 
longer  myself." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know.  But  will  not  her  God  protect  her?  Can 
not  we  trust  her  to  Him?"  Jose  spoke  with  the  conviction  of 
right,  however  inconsistent  his  past  conduct  might  have  been. 

"True,  Padre — and  I  must  try  to  love  Diego — I  know — 
though  I  hate  him  as  the  devil  hates  the  cross!  Carmen  would 
say  that  he  was  used  by  bad  thoughts,  wouldn't  she?" 

"Just  so.  She  would  not  see  the  man,  but  the  impersonal 
thought  that  seems  to  use  him.  And  I  believe  she  knows  how 
to  meet  that  kind  of  thought." 

"I  know  it,  Padre.  Bien,  I  must  try  to  love  him.  I  will 
try.  And — Padre,  whenever  he  comes  into  my  mind  I  will  try 
to  think  of  him  as  God's  child — though  I  know  he  isn't!" 

Jose  laughed  loudly  at  this.  "H ombre!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  must  not  think  of  the  human  Diego  as  God's  child!  You 
must  always  think  of  the  real  child  of  God  for  which  this 
human  concept,  Diego,  stands  in  your  consciousness.  Do  you 
understand  me?" 

"No,  Padre.  But  perhaps  I  can  learn.  I  will  try.  But 
Diego  shall  live.  And — Bien,  now  let  us  talk  about  the  com 
pany  of  militia.  But  here  comes  the  Alcalde.  Caramba!  what 
does  he  want?" 

With  much  oily  ceremony  and  show  of  affection,  Don  Mario 
greeted  the  pair. 

"I  bring  a  message  from  Padre  Diego,"  he  announced  pomp 
ously,  after  the  exchange  of  courtesies.  "Bien,  it  is  quite  un 
fortunate  that  our  friend  Rosendo  feels  so  hard  toward  him, 
especially  as  Don  Diego  has  so  long  entrusted  Carmen  to  Ro- 
sendo's  care.  But — his  letter,  Senor  Padre,"  placing  a  folded 
paper  in  Jose's  hand. 

Silently,  but  with  swelling  indignation,  Jose  read: 

"Dear  Brother  in  Christ:  It  is,  as  you  must  know,  because  of  our 
good  Rosendo's  foolish  anger  that  I  relieve  him  of  the  embarrassment 
of  my  presence  in  Simiti.  Not  that  I  fear  bodily  harm,  but  lest  his 
thoughtlessness  urge  him  to  attempt  injury  upon  me;  in  which  case  noth 
ing  but  unhappiness  could  result,  as  my  two  negro  servants  would  pro 
tect  me  with  their  own  lives.  I  rather  choose  peace,  and  to  that  end 
quietly  depart.  But  I  leave  behind  my  bleeding  heart  in  the  little  Car 
men;  and  I  beg  that  you  will  at  once  hand  her  over  to  the  excellent 
Don  Mario,  with  whom  I  have  made  arrangements  to  have  her  sent  to  me 

131 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


in  due  season,  whether  in  Banco  or  Remedies,  I  can  not  at  present  say. 
I  am  minded  to  make  an  excellent  report  of  your  parish  to  Don  Wen- 
ceslas,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  lend  you  support  in  your  labors  for  the 
welfare  of  the  good  folk  of  Simiti.  Do  not  forget  to  include  the  little 
locket  with  Carmen's  effects  when  you  deliver  her  to  Don  Mario.  I  as 
sure  you  of  my  warm  affection  for  you,  and  for  Rosendo,  who  mistakes 
in  his  zeal  to  persecute  me,  as  he  will  some  day  learn;  and  I  commend 
you  both  to  the  protecting  care  of  our  blessed  Mother  Mary. 
"I  kiss  your  hand,  as  your  servant  in  Christ, 

"DIEGO  GUILLERMO  POLO." 

Jose  looked  long  and  fixedly  at  the  Alcalde.  "Don  Mario," 
he  finally  said,  "do  you  believe  Diego  to  be  tlie  father  of 
Carmen?" 

"Cierto,  Padre,  I  know  it!"  replied  the  official  with  fervor. 
"He  has  the  proofs!" 

"And  what  are  they,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Padre;  only  that  he  has  them.  Surely  the 
child  is  his,  and  must  be  sent  to  him  when  he  commands. 
Meantime,  you  see,  he  gives  the  order  to  deliver  her  to  me. 
He  has  kindly  arranged  to  relieve  you  and  Rosendo  of  further 
care  of  the  girl." 

"Don  Mario,"  said  Jose  with  terrible  earnestness,  "I  will 
give  you  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  say  that  Diego  has  basely 
deceived  you.  But  as  for  him — he  lies." 

"Hombre!  But  I  can  not  help  if  you  disbelieve  him.  Still, 
you  must  comply  with  his  request;  otherwise,  the  Bishop  may 
compel  you  to  do  so." 

Jose  realized  the  terrible  possibility  of  truth  in  this  state 
ment.  For  an  instant  all  his  old  despair  rushed  upon  him. 
Then  he  braced  himself.  Rosendo  was  holding  his  wrath  in 
splendid  check. 

"Bien,  Don  Mario,"  resumed  Jose,  after  a  long  meditation. 
"Let  us  ask  our  good  Rosendo  to  leave  us  for  a  little  moment 
that  wre  may  with  greater  freedom  discuss  the  necessary  ar 
rangements.  Bien,  amigo!"  holding  up  a  hand  to  check  Ro 
sendo,  who  was  rising  menacingly  before  the  Alcalde.  "You 
will  leave  it  to  me."  He  threw  Rosendo  a  significant  look;  and 
the  latter,  after  a  momentary  hesitation,  bowed  and  passed  out 
of  the  room. 

"A  proposito,  amigo,"  resumed  Jose,  turning  to  the  Alcalde 
and  assuming  utter  indifference  with  regard  to  Carmen.  "As 
you  will  recall,  I  stood  security  for  Rosendo's  debts.  The 
thirty  pesos  which  he  owes  you  will  be  ready  this  evening." 

The  Alcalde  smiled  genially  and  rubbed  his  fat  palms  to 
gether.  "Muy  Men,"  he  murmured. 

Jose  reflected.    Then: 

"But,  Don  Mario,  with  regard  to  Carmen,  justice  must  be 
done,  is  it  not  so?" 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Cierto,  Padre;  and  Padre  Diego  has  the  proofs — 

"Certainly;  I  accept  your  word  for  your  conviction  in  the 
matter.  But  you  will  agree  that  there  is  something  to  be  said 
for  Rosendo.  He  has  fed,  clothed,  and  sheltered  the  girl  for 
some  eight  years.  Let  us  see,  at  the  rate  you  charge  your 
peones,  say,  fifty  pesos  a  day,  that  would  amount  to — 

He  took  paper  and  pencil  from  the  table  and  made  a  few 
figures. 

" — to  just  fourteen  hundred  and  sixty  pesos  oro,"  he  con 
cluded.  "This,  then,  is  the  amount  now  due  Rosendo  for  the 
care  of  Diego's  child.  You  say  he  has  made  arrangements 
with  you  to  care  for  her  until  he  can  send  for  her.  Bien,  we 
will  deliver  her  to  you  for  Diego,  but  only  upon  payment  of 
the  sum  which  I  have  just  mentioned.  Otherwise,  how  will 
Rosendo  be  reimbursed  for  the  expense  of  her  long  mainte 
nance?" 

"Ca — ram — ba!  Fourteen  hundred  and  sixty  pesos  oro! 
Why — it  is  a  fortune!"  ejaculated  the  outwitted  Alcalde,  his 
eyes  bulging  over  his  puffy  cheeks. 

"And,"  continued  Jose  calmly,  "if  we  deliver  the  girl  to 
you  to-day,  I  will  retain  the  thirty  pesos  oro  which  Rosendo 
owes  you,  and  you  will  stand  surety  for  the  balance  of  the 
debt,  fourteen  hundred  and  thirty,  in  that  case." 

"Diablo!  but  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  exploded  the 
Alcalde.  "Caramba!  let  Diego  come  and  look  after  his  own 
brat!" 

"Then  we  shall  consider  the  interview  at  an  end,  no?" 

"Rut  my  thirty  pesos  oro?" 

"To-night.  And  as  much  more  for  additional  supplies.  We 
are  still  working  together,  are  we  not,  Don  Mario?"  he  added 
suggestively. 

Jose  in  Simiti  with  money  discounted  a  million  Diegos 
fleeing  through  the  jungle.  The  Alcalde's  heavy  face  melted 
in  a  foolish  grin. 

"Cierto,  buen  Padre!  and — La  Libertad?" 

"I  have  strong  hopes,"  replied  Jose  with  bland  assurance, 
while  a  significant  look  came  into  his  face.  Then  he  rose  and 
bowed  the  Alcalde  out.  "And,  Don  IVfario — " 

He  put  a  finger  on  his  lips. 

" — we  remain  very  silent,  no?" 

"Cierto,  Padre,  cicrto!     I  am  the  grave  itself!" 

As  the  bulky  official  waddled  off  to  his  little  shop,  Jose 
turned  back  into  his  house  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  Another 
problem  had  been  met — temporarily. 

He  summoned  Carmen  to  the  day's  lessons. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  17 

WITHIN  the  month  Juan  brought  from  Bodega  Central  the 
glad  news  of  the  revolution's  utter  collapse.  The  anti 
clerical  element,  scenting  treachery  in  their  own  ranks, 
and  realizing  almost  from  the  outset  that  the  end  was  a  matter 
of  only  a  few  weeks,  offered  to  capitulate  on  terms  which  they 
felt  would  be  less  distressing  to  their  pride  than  those  which 
their  victors  might  dictate  after  inflicting  a  crushing  defeat. 
The  conservatives  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  fiasco,  but 
offered  conciliation  in  the  way  of  reapportioning  certain  minor 
public  offices,  and  a  show  of  somewhat  lessened  clerical  in 
fluence.  Peace  followed  rapidly.  The  fires  of  Jacobinism  and 
popery  were  again  banked,  while  priest  and  politician,  states 
man  and  orator  set  up  the  board  and  rearranged  the  pawns 
for  the  next  play. 

Nothing  further  had  been  heard  of  Padre  Diego  during  the 
month,  excepting  that  he  had  arrived  at  the  settlement  of 
Juncal  in  a  state  of  extreme  agitation,  and  had  hurriedly  set 
out  that  same  day  along  the  trail  to  the  San  Lucas  district.  Ro- 
sendo,  meanwhile,  assured  that  Diego  would  not  return  in  the 
immediate  future,  yielded  to  Jose's  persuasion  and  departed 
at  once  for  Guamoco  on  the  news  of  the  revolution's  close. 
Simiti  had  remained  unmolested;  and  now,  with  the  assurance 
of  indefinite  peace,  the  old  town  dropped  quickly  back  into  her 
wonted  state  of  listless  repose,  and  yielded  to  the  drowsy, 
dreamy  influences  that  hover  always  about  this  scene  of  me 
diaeval  romance. 

Jose  had  recovered  his  equipoise;  and  even  when  Juan, 
returning  from  his  next  trip  down  to  the  river,  brought  the 
priest  another  sharp  letter  from  Wenceslas,  written  in  the 
Bishop's  name,  he  read  it  without  a  tremor.  The  letter  com 
plained  of  Jose's  silence,  and  especially  of  his  failure  to  assist 
the  Catholic  cause  in  this  crisal  hour  by  contributions  of 
Peter's  Pence.  Nor  had  any  report  been  received  in  Cartagena 
relative  to  the  state  of  the  parish  of  Simiti,  its  resources  and 
communicants;  and  not  a  peso  had  been  offered  to  the  support 
of  their  so  dear  citadel  at  a  time  when  its  enemies  threatened 
its  gates.  Jose  smiled  happily  as  he  penned  his  reply,  for  he 
knew  that  with  Rosendo's  next  return  their  contributions  to 
Cartagena  would  begin.  That  meant  the  quieting  of  Wences 
las,  regardless  of  whatever  report  Diego  might  make.  And  it 
was  evident  from  this  letter  that  neither  Diego  nor  the  Alcalde 
had  as  yet  communicated  anything  of  a  startling  nature  to 

134 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Wenceslas  regarding  those  things  to  which  the  priest  had  con 
secrated  himself  in  Simiti. 

Jose's  life  was  never  before  so  full.  And  never  so  sweet. 
To  his  little  flock  he  was  now  preaching  the  Word  of  God  only 
as  he  could  interpret  it  to  meet  their  simple  needs.  Gradually, 
as  he  got  closer  to  them,  he  sought  to  enlighten  them  and  to 
draw  them  at  least  a  little  way  out  of  the  dense  materialism  of 
their  present  religious  beliefs.  He  also  strove  to  give  them  the 
best  of  his  own  worldly  knowledge,  and  to  this  end  was  talking 
to  them  three  nights  a  week  in  the  church  building,  where  the 
simple  people  hung  upon  his  words  like  children  enwrapped  in 
fairy  lore.  He  was  holding  regular  Sunday  services,  and  offer 
ing  Masses  during  the  week  for  those  of  his  parishioners  who 
requested  them,  and  who  would  have  been  shocked,  puzzled, 
and  unhappy  had  he  refused  to  do  so,  or  attempted  to  prove 
their  uselessness.  He  was  likewise  saying  diurnal  Masses  for 
the  little  Maria,  to  whom,  as  she  lay  breathing  her  last  in  his 
arms  in  Cartagena,  he  had  given  the  promise  to  offer  them 
daily  in  her  behalf  for  a  year. 

Nor  was  this  the  extent  of  his  loving  sacrifice  for  the  girl. 
He  had  already  sent  a  small  sum  of  money  to  Catalina  by 
Captain  Julio,  who  promised  to  arrange  at  Calamar  for  its 
transmission,  and  for  the  safe  convoy  of  a  similar  small  packet 
monthly  to  Cartagena  and  into  the  hands  of  the  two  women 
who  were  caring  for  the  infant  son  of  Wenceslas  and  the  ill- 
fated  Maria.  He  had  promised  her  that  night  that  he  would 
care  for  her  babe.  And  his  life  had  long  since  shown  what  a 
promise  meant  to  him.  He  knew  he  would  be  unable  to  learn 
of  the  child's  progress  directly  from  these  women,  for  they 
were  both  illiterate.  But  Captain  Julio  brought  an  encourag 
ing  message  from  them,  and  assured  Jose  that  he  would  always 
make  inquiry  for  the  babe  on  his  trips  down  the  river.  Jose's 
long-distance  dealings  with  the  genial  captain  had  been  con 
ducted  through  Juan,  who  had  constituted  himself  the  priest's 
faithful  servant  and  the  distant  worshiper  of  the  child  Carmen. 

"Padre  Jose,"  Juan  had  said  one  day,  striving  vainly  to 
hide  his  embarrassment,  "the  little  Carmen  grows  very  beauti 
ful.  She  is  like  the  Pascua-flower,  that  shines  through  the 
ferns  in  the  cafio.  She  is  like  the  great  blue  butterfly,  that 
floats  on  the  sunbeams  that  sift  through  the  forest  trees." 

"Yes,  Juan,  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"Padre,  you  love  her  much,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Very  much,  indeed,  Juan." 

"And  I,  Padre,  I,  too,  love  her."  He  paused  and  dug  the 
hard  ground  with -his  bare  toes. 

"Padre,"  he  resumed,  "the  little  Carmen  will  marry — some 
day,  will  she  not?" 

135 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


Jose  started.  The  thought  had  never  occurred  to  him! 
Carmen  marry?  After  all,  she  was  human,  and—  But,  no, 
he  could  not,  he  would  not,  think  of  it! 

"Why,  Juan — I — cannot  say — 

"But,  Padre,  she  will."  Juan  was  growing  bolder.  "And— 
and,  Padre,  I — I  should  like  it  if  she  would  marry  me.  Ah, 
Senor  Padre,  already  I  adore  her!" 

Jose  could  not  be  angry.  The  faithful  lad  was  deeply  sin 
cere.  And  the  girl  would  reach  the  marriageable  age  of  that 
country  in  all  too  short  a  time. 

"But,  Juan,"  he  remonstrated,  "you  are  too  young!  And 
Carmen — why,  she  is  but  a  child!" 

"True,  Padre.  But  I  am  seventeen — and  I  will  wait  for 
her.  Only  say  now  that  she  shall  be  mine  when  the  time 
comes.  Padre,  say  it  now!" 

Jose  was  deeply  touched  by  the  boy's  earnest  pleading.  He 
put  his  arm  affectionately  about  the  strong  young  shoulders. 

"Wait,  Juan,  and  see  what  develops.  She  is  very,  very 
young.  We  must  all  wait.  And,  meanwhile,  do  you  serve  her, 
faithfully,  as  you  see  Rosendo  and  me  doing." 

The  boy's  face  brightened  with  hope.  "Padre,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "I  am  her  slave!" 

Jose  went  back  to  his  work  with  Carmen  with  his  thought 
full  of  mingled  conjecture  and  resolve.  He  had  thus  far  out 
lined  nothing  for  the  girl's  future.  Nor  had  he  the  faintest 
idea  what  the  years  might  bring  forth.  But  he  knew  that,  in  a 
way,  he  was  aiding  in  the  preparation  of  the  child  for  some 
thing  different  from  the  dull,  animal  existence  with  which  she 
was  at  present  surrounded,  and  that  her  path  in  life  must 
eventually  lead  far,  far  away  from  the  shabby,  crumbling  town 
which  now  constituted  her  material  world.  His  task  he  felt 
to  be  tremendous  in  the  responsibility  which  it  laid  upon  him. 
What  had  he  ever  known  of  the  manner  of  rearing  children! 
He  had  previously  given  the  question  of  child-education  but 
scant  consideration,  although  he  had  always  held  certain 
radical  ideas  regarding  it;  and  some  of  these  he  was  putting  to 
the  test.  But  had  his  present  work  been  forecast  while  he  lay 
sunken  in  despair  on  the  river  steamer,  he  would  have  repu 
diated  the  prediction  as  a  figment  of  the  imagination.  Yet  the 
gleam  which  flashed  through  his  paralyzed  brain  that  memora 
ble  day  in  the  old  church,  when  Rosendo  opened  his  full  heart 
to  him,  had  roused  him  suddenly  from  his  long  and  despondent 
lethargy,  and  worked  a  quick  and  marvelous  renovation  in  his 
wasted  life.  Following  the  lead  of  this  unusual  child,  he  was 
now,  though  with  many  vicissitudes,  slowly  passing  out  of  his 
prison  of  egoism,  and  into  the  full,  clear  sunlight  of  a  world 
which  he  knew  to  be  far  less  material  than  spiritual. 

136 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


With  the  awakening  had  come  the  almost  frenzied  desire 
to  realize  in  Carmen  what  he  had  failed  to  develop  within  him 
self;  a  vague  hope  that  she  might  fill  the  void  which  a  life 
time  of  longing  had  expressed.  A  tremendous  opportunity 
now  presented.  Already  the  foundation  had  been  well  laid — 
but  not  by  earthly  hands.  His  task  was  to  build  upon  it;  and, 
as  he  did  so,  to  learn  himself.  He  had  never  before  realized 
more  than  faintly  the  awful  power  for  good  or  evil  which  a 
parent  wields  over  a  child.  He  had  no  more  than  the  slightest 
conception  of  the  mighty  problem  of  child-education.  And  now 
Carmen  herself  had  shown  him  that  real  education  must  be 
reared  upon  a  foundation  wholly  spiritual.  Yet  this,  he  knew, 
was  just  what  the  world's  educators  did  not  do.  He  could  see 
now  how  in  the  world  the  religious  instinct  of  the  child  is  early 
quenched,  smothered  into  complete  or  partial  extinction  be 
neath  the  false  tutelage  of  parents  and  teachers,  to  whom  years 
and  adult  stature  are  synonymous  with  wisdom,  and  who 
themselves  have  learned  to  see  the  universe  only  through  the 
opaque  lenses  of  matter  and  chance. 

"If  children  were  not  falsely  educated  to  know  all  manner 
of  evil,"  he  mused,  "what  spiritual  powers  might  they  not 
develop  in  adult  life,  powers  that  are  as  yet  not  even  imagined! 
But  their  primitive  religious  instinct  is  regarded  by  the  world 
ly-wise  parent  as  but  a  part  of  the  infant  existence,  which  must 
soon  give  place  to  the  more  solid  and  real  beliefs  and  opinions 
which  the  world  in  general  regards  as  established  and  conven 
tional,  even  though  their  end  is  death.  And  so  they  teach  their 
children  to  make  evil  real,  even  while  admonishing  them  to 
protect  themselves  against  it  and  eventually  so  to  rise  as  to 
overcome  it,  little  realizing  that  the  carnal  belief  of  the  reality 
of  evil  which  a  child  is  taught  to  accept  permeates  its  pure 
thought  like  an  insidious  poison,  and  becomes  externalized  in 
the  conventional  routine  existence  of  mind  in  matter,  soul  in 
body,  a  few  brief  years  of  mingled  good  and  evil,  and  then 
darkness — the  end  here  certain;  the  future  life  a  vague,  im 
possible  conjecture." 

Jose  determined  that  Carmen's  education  should  be  spirit 
ual,  largely  because  he  knew,  constituted  as  she  was,  it  could 
not  well  be  otherwise.  And  he  resolved  that  from  his  teach 
ings  she  should  glean  nothing  but  happiness,  naught  but  good. 
With  his  own  past  as  a  continual  warning,  he  vowed  first  that 
never  should  the  mental  germ  of  fear  be  planted  within  this 
child's  mind.  He  himself  had  cringed  like  a  coward  before  it 
all  his  desolate  life.  And  so  his  conduct  had  been  consistently 
slavish,  specious,  and  his  thought  stamped  with  the  brand  of 
the  counterfeit.  He  knew  not  how  much  longer  he  must  strug- 

19  137 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


gle  with  it.  But  he  knew  that,  if  he  would  progress,  the  war 
fare  must  go  on,  until  at  length  he  should  put  it  under  his  feet. 
His  mind  still  bore  the  almost  ineradicable  mold  of  the  fear 
deeply  graven  into  it  by  the  ignorant  opinions,  the  worldly, 
material,  unspiritual  beliefs  of  his  dear  but  unwise  parents. 
His  life  had  been  hedged  with  baleful  shadows  because  of  it; 
and  over  every  bright  picture  there  hung  its  black  draping. 
As  he  looked  back  over  the  path  along  which  he  had  come,  he 
could  see  every  untoward  event,  every  unhappiness  and  bitter 
disappointment,  as  the  externalization  of  fear  in  some  form, 
the  germ  of  which  had  been  early  planted  in  the  fertile  soil 
of  his  plastic  brain.  Without  it  he  might  have  risen  to  tower 
ing  heights.  Under  its  domination  he  had  sunk  until  the  swirl 
ing  stream  of  life  had  eddied  him  upon  the  desolate  shores  of 
Simiti.  In  the  hands  of  the  less  fearful  he  had  been  a  puppet. 
In  his  own  eyes  he  was  a  fear-shaped  manikin,  the  shadow  of 
God's  real  man.  The  fear-germ  had  multiplied  within  him  a 
billionfold,  and  in  the  abundant  crop  had  yielded  a  mental  de 
pression  and  deep-seated  melancholy  that  had  utterly  stilled 
his  spirit  and  dried  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

They  were  not  pleasant,  these  thoughts.  But  now  Jose 
could  draw  from  them  something  salutary,  something  definite 
to  shape  and  guide  his  work  with  Carmen.  She,  at  least,  should 
not  grow  up  the  slave  of  fearsome  opinions  and  beliefs  born  of 
dense  ignorance.  Nor  should  the  baseless  figments  of  puerile 
religious  systems  find  lodgment  within  her  clear  thought.  The 
fear  element,  upon  which  so  much  of  so-called  Christian  be 
lief  has  been  reared,  and  the  damnable  suggestions  of  hell 
and  purgatory,  of  unpardonable  sin  and  endless  suffering,  the 
stock-in-trade  of  poet,  priest  and  prelate  up  to  and  overlap 
ping  our  present  brighter  day,  should  remain  forever  a  closed 
volume  to  this  child,  a  book  as  wildly  imaginative  and  as  un 
acceptable  as  the  fabled  travels  of  Maundeville. 

"I  believe,"  he  would  murmur  to  himself,  as  he  strolled 
alone  in  the  dusk  beside  the  limpid  lake,  "that  if  I  could  plant 
myself  firmly  on  the  Scriptural  statement  that  God  is  love, 
that  He  is  good;  and  if  I  could  regard  Him  as  infinite  mind, 
while  at  the  same  time  striving  to  recognize  no  reality,  no  in 
telligence  or  life  in  things  material,  I  could  eventually  triumph 
over  the  whole  false  concept,  and  rise  out  of  beliefs  of  sickness, 
discord,  and  death,  into  an  unalterable  consciousness  of  good 
only." 

He  had  made  a  beginning  when  he  strove  to  realize  that 
man  is  not  separated  from  God;  that  God  is  not. a  far-off  ab 
straction;  and  that  infinite  mind  is,  as  Carmen  insisted,  "every 
where." 

138 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"It  is  only  the  five  physical  senses  that  tell  us  evil  is  real," 
he  reflected.  "Indeed,  without  their  testimony  we  would  be 
utterly  unconscious  of  evil!  And  I  am  convinced  that  their 
testimony  is  specious,  and  that  we  see,  hear,  and  feel  only  in 
thought,  or  in  belief.  We  think  the  sensations  of  seeing,  hear 
ing,  and  feeling  come  to  us  through  the  medium  of  these  senses 
as  outward,  fleshly  contrivances,  which  in  some  way  communi 
cate  with  the  mind  and  bridge  the  gulf  between  the  material 
and  the  mental.  In  reality,  we  do  but  see,  hear  and  feel  our 
own  thoughts!  The  philosophers,  many  of  them,  said  as  much 
centuries  ago.  So  did  Jesus.  But — the  human  mind  has  been 
mesmerized,  simply  mesmerized!" 

These  things  he  pondered  day  by  day,  and  watched  to  see 
them  wrought  out  in  the  life  of  Carmen.  "Ah,  yes,"  he  would 
sometimes  say,  as  spiritual  ideas  unfolded  to  him,  "you  evolve 
beautiful  theories,  my  good  Jose,  and  you  say  many  brave 
things.  But,  when  the  day  of  judgment  comes,  as  it  did  when 
Juan  brought  you  the  news  of  the  revolution,  then,  alas!  your 
theories  fly  to  pieces,  and  you  find  yourself  very  human,  very 
material,  and  your  God  hidden  behind  the  distant  clouds. 
When  the  test  comes,  you  find  you  cannot  prove  your  beliefs." 

Yet  the  man  did  not  often  indulge  in  self-condemnation, 
for  somehow  he  knew  his  ideas  were  right.  When  he  realized 
the  character  and  specious  nature  of  evil,  and  realized,  too, 
that  "by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  justified,  and  by  thy  words 
thou  shalt  be  condemned,"  he  knew  that  the  stirring  up  of 
evil  by  good,  and  the  shaking  of  the  ancient  foundations  of 
carnal  belief  within  his  mentality,  might  mean  fiery  trials,  still 
awaiting  him.  And  yet,  the  crown  was  for  him  who  should 
overcome.  Overcome  what?  The  false  opinions  of  mankind, 
the  ignorant  beliefs  in  matter  and  evil.  For  what,  after  all,  is 
responsible  for  all  the  evil  in  this  world  of  ours?  What  but  a 
false  concept  of  God?  "And  if  I  keep  my  nose  buried  forever 
in  matter,  how  can  I  hope  to  see  God,  who  is  Spirit?  And  how 
can  I  follow  the  Christ  unless  I  think  as  he  thought?"  he  said. 

But  it  was  in  the  classroom  with  Carmen  that  he  always 
received  his  greatest  stimulus. 

"See,  Padre  dear,"  she  said  one  day,  "if  I  erase  a  wrong 
figure  and  then  set  down  the  right  one  instead,  I  get  the  right 
answer.  And  it  is  just  like  that  when  we  think.  If  we  always 
put  good  thoughts  in  the  place  of  the  bad  ones,  why,  every 
thing  comes  out  right,  doesn't  it?" 

Jose  smiled  at  the  apt  comparison.  "Of  course,  chiquita," 
he  replied.  "Only,  in  your  algebra  you  know  which  are  the 
right  figures  to  put  down.  But  how  do  you  know  which 
thoughts  are  right?" 

139 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  always  know,  Padre.  I  can't  make  even  the  least  mistake 
about  the  thoughts.  Why,  it  is  easier  to  mistake  with  figures 
than  it  is  with  thoughts." 

"How  is  that,  little  one?" 

"Because,  if  you  always  think  God  first,  you  can  never 
think  wrong.  Now  can  you?  And  if  you  think  of  other  things 
first  you  are  almost  sure  to  think  of  the  wrong  thing,  is  it  not 
so,  Padre?" 

The  priest  had  to  admit  the  force  of  her  statement. 

"And,  you  know,  Padre  dear,"  the  girl  went  on,  "when  I 
understand  the  right  rule  in  algebra,  the  answer  just  conies  of 
itself.  Well,  it  is  so  with  everything  when  we  understand  that 
God  is  the  right  rule — you  call  Him  principle,  don't  you? — 
well,  when  we  know  that  He  is  the  only  rule  for  everything, 
then  the  answers  to  all  our  problems  just  come  of  themselves." 

Aye,  thought  Jose,  the  healing  works  of  the  great  Master 
were  only  the  "signs  following,"  the  "answers"  to  the  people's 
problems,  the  sure  evidence  that  Jesus  understood  the  Christ- 
principle. 

"And  when  you  say  that  God  is  the  right  rule  for  every 
thing,  just  what  do  you  mean,  chiquita?" 

"That  He  is  everywhere,"  the  girl  replied. 

"That  He  is  infinite  and  omnipresent  good,  then?"  the  priest 
amplified. 

"He  is  good — and  everywhere,"  the  child  repeated  firmly. 

"And  the  necessary  corollary  of  that  is,  that  there  is  no 
evil,"  Jose  added. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  corollary,  Padre  dear. 
It's  a  big  word,  isn't  it?" 

"I  mean — I  think  I  know  how  you  would  put  it,  little  one — 
if  God  is  everywhere,  then  there  is  nothing  bad.  Is  that  right?" 

"Yes,  Padre.    Don't  you  see?" 

Assuredly  he  saw.  He  saw  that  a  fact  can  have  no  real 
opposite;  that  any  predicated  opposite  must  be  supposition. 
And  evil  is  the  supposition;  whereas  good  is  the  fact.  The 
latter  is  "plus,"  and  the  former  "minus."  No  wonder  the 
origin  of  evil  has  never  been  found,  although  humanity  has 
struggled  with  the  problem  for  untold  ages!  Jesus  diagnosed 
evil  as  a  lie.  He  gave  it  the  minus  sign,  the  sign  of  nothing 
ness.  The  world  has  tried  to  make  it  positive,  something. 
From  the  false  sense  of  evil  as  a  reality  has  come  the  equally 
false  sense  of  man's  estrangement  from  God,  through  some 
fictitious  "fall" — a  curse,  truly,  upon  the  human  intellect,  but 
not  of  God's  infliction.  For  false  belief  always  curses  with  a 
reign  of  discord,  which  endures  until  the  belief  becomes  cor 
rected  by  truth.  From  the  beginning,  the  human  race  has 

140 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


vainly  sought  to  postulate  an  equal  and  opposite  to  everything 
in  the  realm  of  both  the  spiritual  and  material.  It  has  been 
hypnotized,  obsessed,  blinded,  by  this  false  zeal.  The  resultant 
belief  in  "dualism"  has  rendered  hate  the  equal  and  opposite 
of  Love,  evil  the  equal  and  opposite  of  Good,  and  discord  the 
eternal  opponent  of  Harmony.  To  cope  with  evil  as  a  reality 
is  to  render  it  immortal  in  our  consciousness.  To  know  its  un 
reality  is  to  master  it. 

"Throughout  life,"  Jose  mused,  "every  positive  has  its 
negative,  every  affirmation  its  denial.  But  the  opposites  never 
mingle.  And,  moreover,  the  positive  always  dispels  the  nega 
tive,  thus  proving  the  specious  nature  of  the  latter.  Darkness 
flees  before  the  light,  and  ignorance  dissolves  in  the  morning 
rays  of  knowledge.  Both  cannot  be  real.  The  positive  alone 
bears  the  stamp  of  immortality.  Carmen  has  but  one  funda 
mental  rule:  God  is  everywhere.  This  gives  her  a  sense  of 
immanent  power,  with  which  all  things  are  possible." 

Thus  with  study  and  meditation  the  days  flowed  past,  with 
scarcely  a  ripple  to  break  their  quiet  monotony.  Rosendo 
came,  and  went  again.  He  brought  back  at  the  end  of  his 
first  month's  labors  on  the  newly  discovered  deposit  some 
ninety  pesos  in  gold.  He  had  reached  the  bed-rock,  and  the 
deposit  was  yielding  its  maximum;  but  the  yield  would  con 
tinue  for  many  months,  he  said.  His  exultation  overleaped  all 
bounds,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Jose  could  bring  him  to 
a  consideration  of  the  problems  still  confronting  them. 

"I  think,  Rosendo,"  said  the  priest,  "that  we  will  send, 
say,  thirty  pesos  this  month  to  Cartagena;  the  same  next 
month;  and  then  increase  the  amount  slightly.  This  method 
is  sure  to  have  a  beneficial  effect  upon  the  ecclesiastical  author 
ities  there." 

"Fine!"  ejaculated  Rosendo.  "And  how  will  you  send  it, 
Padre?" 

Jose  pondered  the  situation.  "We  cannot  send  the  gold 
direct  to  the  Bishop,  for  that  would  excite  suspicion.  Masses, 
you  know,  are  not  paid  for  in  gold  dust  and  nuggets.  And  we 
have  no  money.  Nor  could  we  get  the  gold  exchanged  for  bills 
here  in  Simiti,  even  if  we  dared  run  the  risk  of  our  discovery 
becoming  known." 

For  the  Alcalde  was  already  nosing  about  in  an  effort  to 
ascertain  the  source  of  the  gold  with  which  Rosendo  had  just 
cancelled  his  debt  and  purchased  further  supplies.  Jose  now 
saw  that,  under  existing  conditions,  it  would  be  utterly  im 
possible  for  Rosendo  to  obtain  titles  to  mineral  properties 
through  Don  Mario.  He  spent  hours  seeking  a  solution  of  the 
involved  problem.  Then,  just  before  Rosendo  departed  again 
for  the  mountains,  Jose  called  him  into  the  parish  house. 

141 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Rosendo,  I  think  I  see  a  way.  Bring  me  one  of  the  paper 
boxes  of  candles  which  you  have  just  purchased  from  Don 
Mario." 

"Caramba!  Padre,"  queried  the  surprised  Rosendo,  as  he 
returned  with  the  box,  "and  what  is  this  for?" 

"I  merely  want  to  get  the  name  of  the  firm  which  sold  the 
candles.  The  Empresa  Alemania,  Barranquilla.  Good!  Now 
listen.  I  have  a  method  that  is  roundabout,  but  certainly 
promises  much.  I  will  wrrite  to  the  firm,  appointing  them  my 
agents  while  I  pose  as  Jose  Rincon,  miner.  The  agency  estab 
lished,  I  will  send  them  our  gold  each  month,  asking  them  to 
return  to  me  its  equivalent  in  bills,  deducting,  of  course,  their 
commission.  Then  I  will  send  these  bills,  or  such  part  as  we 
deem  wise,  to  Wenceslas.  Each  month  Juan,  who  will  be 
sworn  to  secrecy,  wrill  convey  the  gold  to  Bodega  Central  in 
time  to  meet  Captain  Julio's  boat.  The  captain  will  both  de 
liver  the  gold  to  the  Empresa  Alemania,  and  bring  back  the 
bills  in  exchange.  Then,  from  Simiti,  and  in  the  regular 
manner,  I  will  send  the  small  packet  of  bills  to  Wenceslas  as 
contributions  from  the  parish.  We  thus  throw  Don  Mario  off 
the  scent,  and  arouse  no  suspicion  in  any  quarter.  As  I  receive 
mail  matter  at  various  times,  the  Alcalde  will  not  know  but 
what  I  also  receive  consignments  of  money  from  my  own 
sources.  I  think  the  plan  wyill  work  out.  Juan  already  be 
longs  to  us.  What,  then,  is  there  to  fear?" 

And  so,  as  it  was  arranged,  it  wrorked  out.  Juan  reveled  in 
the  honor  of  such  intimate  relations  with  the  priest  and  Ro 
sendo,  and  especially  in  the  thought  that  he  was  working  in 
secret  for  the  girl  he  adored.  By  the  time  Rosendo  returned 
again  from  Guamoco,  Jose  had  sent  his  first  consignment  of 
money  to  the  Bishop,  carefully  directing  it  to  Wenceslas,  per 
sonally,  and  had  received  an  acknowledgment  in  a  letter  which 
caused  him  deep  thought. 

"To  further  stimulate  the  piety  of  your  communicants,"  it  read,  "and 
arouse  them  to  more  generous  contributions  to  our  glorious  cause,  you 
will  inform  them  that,  if  their  monetary  contributions  do  not  diminish 
in  amount  for  the  coming  year,  they  will  be  made  participants  in  the  four 
solemn  Novenas  which  will  be  offered  by  His  Grace,  the  Bishop  of  Car 
tagena.  Moreover,  if  their  contributions  increase,  the  names  of  the  vari 
ous  contributors  will  be  included  in  the  one  hundred  Masses  which  are 
to  be  offered  in  December  at  the  Shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Chiquinqufa  for 
their  spiritual  and  temporal  welfare.  Contributors  will  also  have  a  High 
Mass  after  death,  offered  by  one  of  His  Grace's  assistants,  as  soon  as 
the  notification  of  death  is  received  here.  In  addition  to  these,  His 
Grace,  always  mindful  of  the  former  importance  of  the  parish  of  Simitf, 
and  acknowledging  as  its  special  patron  the  ever  blessed  Virgin,  has 
arranged  to  bestow  the  episcopal  blessing  upon  an  image  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  which  will  be  shipped  to  his  faithful  children  in  Simiti  when  the 

142 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


amount  of  their  contributions  shall  have  met  the  expense  thereof.  Let 
us  keep  ever  in  mind  the  pious  words  of  the  Bl.  Margaret  Mary,  who  has 
conveyed  to  us  the  assurance  which  she  received  directly  from  Our 
Blessed  Lord  that  He  finds  great  joy  in  beholding  His  Sacred  Heart  vis 
ibly  represented,  that  it  may  touch  the  hard  hearts  of  mankind.  Our 
blessed  Saviour  promised  the  gracious  Margaret  Mary  that  He  would 
pour  out  abundantly  of  His  rich  treasure  upon  all  who  honor  this  image, 
and  that  it  shall  draw  down  from  heaven  every  blessing  upon  those  who 
adore  and  reverence  it.  Inform  your  parishioners  that  the  recital  of  the 
offering,  'O,  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  may  it  be  everywhere  adored!'  car 
ries  a  hundred  days'  indulgence  each  time. 

"You  will  bear  in  mind  that  the  General  Intention  for  this  month 
is  The  Conversion  of  America.  Though  our  Church  is  founded  on  the 
Rock,  and  is  to  last  forever,  so  that  the  gates  of  hell  shall  never  pre 
vail  against  her,  nevertheless  she  has  been  called  upon  to  withstand 
many  assaults  from  her  enemies,  the  advocates  of  modernism,  in  the  land 
of  liberal  thought  to  our  north.  These  assaults,  though  painful  to  her, 
can  never  be  fatal  to  her  spiritual  life,  although  they  unfortunately  are 
so  to  many  of  her  dear  children,  who  yield  to  the  insidious  persuasions 
of  the  heretics  who  do  the  work  of  Satan  among  the  Lord's  sheep.  New 
and  fantastic  religions  are  springing  up  like  noxious  weeds  in  America 
of  the  north,  and  increasing  infidelity  is  apparent  on  every  hand.  The 
Christ  prayed  that  there  might  be  one  fold  and  one  shepherd.  It  is  for 
us  this  month  to  pray  for  the  great  day  when  they  will  be  accomplished. 
But  we  must  be  united  over  the  interests  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  There 
fore,  liberal  plenary  indulgences  will  be  granted  to  those  of  the  faithful 
who  contribute  to  this  glorious  cause,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  blessed 
Saviour.  We  enclose  leaflets  indicating  the  three  degrees,  consisting  of 
the  Morning  Offering,  Our  Father  and  ten  Hail  Marys  daily,  for  the  Pope 
and  his  interests,  and  the  degree  of  reparation,  by  which  a  plenary  in 
dulgence  may  be  gained. 

"Stimulate  your  parishioners  to  compete  joyfully  for  the  statue  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  which  we  mentioned  to  you  in  our  former  communi 
cation.  Teach  them,  especially,  their  entire  dependence  on  Mary,  on  her 
prayers  to  God  for  their  deliverance  and  welfare.  Reveal  to  them  her 
singularly  powerful  influence  in  the  shaping  of  all  great  historical  events 
of  the  world;  how  never  has  she  refused  our  prayers  to  exert  her  mighty 
influence  with  her  all-potent  Son,  when  she  has  been  appealed  to  in  sin 
cerity,  for  it  rejoices  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  to  yield  to  the  requests  of 
His  Blessed  Mother.  Mary  is  omnipotent,  for  she  can  ask  no  favor  of 
her  Son  that  He  will  not  grant.  Competition  for  possession  of  this  sacred 
image,  which  carries  the  potent  blessing  of  His  Holiness,  should  be  re 
garded  a  privilege,  and  you  will  so  impress  it  upon  the  minds  of  your 
parishioners. 

"Finally,  His  Grace  requests  that  you  will  immediately  procure  what 
ever  information  you  may  regarding  the  mineral  resources  of  the  dis 
trict  of  Guamoc6,  and  indicate  upon  a  sketch  the  location  of  its  various 
mines,  old  or  new,  as  known  to  its  inhabitants.  Diligent  and  careful  in 
quiry  made  by  yourself  among  the  people  of  the  district  will  reveal  many 
hidden  facts  regarding  its  resources,  which  should  be  made  known  to  His 
Grace  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  in  view  of  the  active  preparations 
now  in  progress  to  forestall  the  precipitation  of  another  political  up 
rising  with  its"  consequent  strain  upon  our  Holy  Church." 

"Money!  money!  money!"  cried  Jose.  "One  would  think 
the  Christ  had  established  his  Church  solely  for  gold!" 

He  folded  the  letter  and  looked  out  through  the  rear  door 

143 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


to  where  Carmen  sat,  teaching  Cucumbra  a  new  trick.  He 
realized  then  that  never  before  had  he  been  so  far  from  the 
Holy  Catholic  faith  as  at  that  moment.  And  Carmen — 

"Good  God!"  he  muttered,  as  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  child. 
"If  the  Church  should  get  possession  of  Carmen,  what  would 
it  do  with  her?  Would  it  not  set  its  forces  to  work  to  teach 
her  that  evil  is  a  reality — that  it  is  as  powerful  as  good — that 
God  formed  man  and  the  universe  out  of  dust — that  Jesus 
came  down  from  a  starry  heaven  that  he  might  die  to  appease 
the  wrath  of  a  man-like  Father — that  Mary  pleads  w7ith  the 
Lord  and  Jesus,  and  by  her  powerful  logic  induces  them  to 
spare  mankind  and  grant  their  foolish  desires — all  the  dribble 
and  rubbish  of  outlandish  theology  that  has  accumulated 
around  the  nucleus  of  pure  Christianity  like  a  gathering  snow 
ball  throughout  the  ages!  To  make  the  great  States  up  north 
dominantly  Catholic,  Rome  must — simply  must — have  the 
children  to  educate,  that  she  may  saturate  their  absorbent 
minds  with  these  puerile,  undemonstrable,  pagan  beliefs  before 
the  child  has  developed  its  own  independent  thought.  How 
wise  is  she — God,  how  worldly  wise  and  cunning!  And  I  still 
her  priest — 

Carmen  came  bounding  in,  followed  pellmell  by  Cucumbra. 
Cantar-las-horas  stalked  dignifiedly  after  her,  and  stopped  at 
the  threshold,  where  he  stood  with  cocked  head  and  blinking 
eyes,  wondering  what  move  his  animated  young  mistress  would 
make  next. 

"Padre!"  she  exclaimed,  "the  sun  is  down,  and  it  is  time 
for  our  walk!" 

She  seized  his  hand  and  drew  him  out  into  the  road.  The 
play  of  her  expression  as  she  looked  up  and  laughed  into  his 
face  was  like  the  dance  of  sunbeams  on  moving  water.  They 
turned  down  the  narrow  street  which  led  to  the  lake.  As  was 
her  wont,  in  every  object  about  her,  in  every  trifling  event,  the 
child  discovered  rich  treasures  of  happiness.  The  pebbles 
wrhich  she  tossed  with  her  bare  toes  were  mines  of  delight. 
The  pigs,  which  turned  up  their  snouts  expectantly  as  she 
stooped  to  scratch  their  dusty  backs — the  matronly  hens  that 
followed  clucking  after  her — the  black  babies  that  toddled  out 
to  greet  the  Cura — all  yielded  a  wealth  of  delight  and  interest. 
She  seemed  to  Jose  to  uncover  joy  by  a  means  not  unlike  the 
divining  rod,  which  points  to  hidden  gold  where  to  the  eye 
there  is  naught  but  barren  ground. 

Near  the  margin  of  the  lake  they  stopped  at  the  door  of  a 
cottage,  where  they  were  awaited  by  the  matron  who  displayed 
a  finger  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  cloth.  She  greeted  the  priest 
courteously. 

144 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Senor  Padre,"  she  said,  "this  morning  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  cut  my  finger  while  peeling  yuccas,  and  I  am  not  sure 
whether  a  piece  of  the  skin  went  into  the  pot  or  not.  Bueno, 
the  yuccas  are  all  cooked;  and  now  my  man  says  he  will  not 
eat  them,  for  this  is  Friday,  and  there  may  be  meat  with  the 
yuccas.  What  shall  I  do?  Was  it  wicked  to  cook  the  yuccas, 
not  knowing  if  a  bit  of  the  skin  from  my  finger  had  fallen  into 
the  pot?" 

Jose  stood  dumfounded  before  such  ignorant  credulity. 
Then  he  shook  his  head  and  replied  sadly,  "No,  senora,  it  was 
not  wicked.  Tell  your  man  he  may  eat  the  yuccas." 

The  woman's  face  brightened,  and  she  hastened  into  the 
house  to  apprise  her  spouse  of  the  Cura's  decision. 

"God  help  us!"  muttered  Jose  under  his  breath.  "Two 
thousand  years  of  Christianity,  and  still  the  world  knows  not 
what  Jesus  taught!" 

"But  you  told  me  he  had  good  thoughts,  Padre  dear,"  said 
the  little  voice  at  his  side,  as  he  walked  slowly  away  with 
bended  head.  "And  that  is  enough  to  know." 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  Carmen?"  asked  Jose,  somewhat 
petulantly. 

"Because,  Padre,  if  he  had  good  thoughts,  he  thought  about 
God — didn't  he?  And  if  he  thought  about  God,  he  always 
thought  of  something  good.  And  if  we  always  think  about 
good — well,  isn't  that  enough?" 

Jose's  eyes  struggled  with  hers.  She  almost  invariably 
framed  her  replies  with  an  interrogation,  and,  whether  he  would 
or  not,  he  must  perforce  give  answers  which  he  knew  in  his 
heart  were  right,  and  yet  which  the  sight  of  his  eyes  all  too 
frequently  denied. 

"Padre,  you  are  not  thinking  about  God  now — are  you?" 

"I  am,  indeed,  child!"  he  answered  abruptly. 

"Well — perhaps  you  are  thinking  about  Him;  but  you  are 
not  thinking  with  Him — are  you? — the  way  He  thinks.  You 
know,  He  sends  us  His  thoughts,  and  we  have  to  pick  them 
out  from  all  the  others  that  aren't  His,  and  then  think  them. 
If  the  senora  and  her  man  had  been  thinking  God's  thoughts, 
they  wouldn't  have  been  afraid  to  eat  a  piece  of  meat  on  Fri 
day — would  they?" 

Cucumbra,  forgetting  his  many  months  of  instruction,  sud 
denly  yielded  to  the  goad  of  animal  instinct  and  started  along 
the  beach  in  mad  pursuit  of  a  squealing  pig.  Carmen  dashed 
after  him.  As  Jose  watched  her  lithe,  active  little  body  bob 
bing  over  the  shales  behind  the  flying  animals,  she  seemed  to 
him  like  an  animated  sunbeam  sporting  among  the  shadows. 

"Why  should  life,"  he  murmured  aloud,  "beginning  in  ra- 

145 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


diance,  proceed  in  ever  deepening  gloom,  and  end  at  last  in 
black  night?  Why,  but  for  the  false  education  in  evil  which 
is  inflicted  upon  us!  The  joys,  the  unbounded  bliss  of  child 
hood,  do  indeed  gush  from  its  innocence — its  innocence  of  the 
blighting  belief  in  mixed  good  and  evil — innocence  of  the  false 
beliefs,  the  undemonstrable  opinions,  the  mad  worldly  ambi 
tions,  the  carnal  lust,  bloated  pride,  and  black  ignorance  of 
men!  It  all  comes  from  not  knowing  God,  to  know  whom  is 
life  eternal !  The  struggle  and  mad  strife  of  man — what  does  it 
all  amount  to,  when  'in  the  end  he  shall  be  a  fool'?  Do  we  in 
this  latest  of  the  centuries,  with  all  our  boasted  progress  in 
knowledge,  really  know  so  much,  after  all?  Alas!  we  know 
nothing — nothing !" 

"Come,  Padre,"  cried  Carmen,  returning  to  him,  "we  are 
going  to  just  try  now  to  have  all  the  nice  thoughts  we  can. 
Let's  just  look  all  around  us  and  see  if  we  can't  think  good 
thoughts  about  everything.  And,  do  you  know,  Padre  dear,  I've 
tried  it,  and  when  I  look  at  things  and  something  tries  to  make 
me  see  if  there  could  possibly  be  anything  bad  about  them — 
why,  I  find  there  can't!  Try  it,  and  see  for  yourself." 

Jose  knew  it.  He  knew  that  the  minds  of  men  are  so  pro 
faned  by  constantly  looking  at  evil  that  their  thoughts  are 
tinged  with  it.  He  was  striving  to  look  up.  But  in  doing  so  he 
was  combating  a  habit  grown  mighty  by  years  of  indulgence. 

"When  you  always  think  good  about  a  thing,"  the  girl  went 
on,  "you  never  can  tell  what  it  will  do.  But  good  always  comes 
from  it.  I  know.  I  do  it  all  the  time.  If  things  look  bad,  I 
just  say,  'Why  look,  here's  something  trying  to  tell  me  that  two 
and  two  are  seven!'  And  then  it  goes  away." 

"Your  purity  and  goodness  resist  evil  involuntarily,  little 
one,"  said  Jose,  more  to  himself  than  to  the  child. 

"Why,  Padre,  what  big  words!" 

"No,  little  one,  it  is  just  the  meaning  of  the  words  that  is 
big,"  he  replied. 

The  girl  was  silent  for  some  moments.     Then: 

"Padre  dear,  I  never  thought  of  it  before — but  it  is  true: 
we  don't  see  the  meaning  of  words  with  the  same  eyes  that  we 
see  trees  and  stones  and  people,  do  we?" 

Jose  studied  the  question.  "I  don't  quite  understand  what 
you  mean,  chiquita,"  he  was  finally  forced  to  answer. 

"Well,"  she  resumed,  "the  meaning  of  a  word  isn't  some 
thing  that  we  can  pick  up,  like  a  stone;  or  see,  as  we  see  the 
lake  out  there." 

"No,  Carmen,  the  meaning  is  spiritual — mental;  it  is  not 
physically  tangible.  It  is  not  seen  with  the  fleshly  eyes." 

"The  meaning  of  a  word  is  the  inside  of  it,  isn't  it?" 

146 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Yes,  it  is  the  inside,  the  soul,  of  the  word." 

"And  we  don't  see  the  word,  either,  do  we?"  She  shook  her 
brown  curls  in  vigorous  negation. 

"No,  little  one,  we  see  only  written  or  printed  symbols;  or 
hear  only  sounds  that  convey  to  us  the  words.  But  the  words 
themselves  are  mental.  We  do  not  see  them." 

"No,  we  think  them."  She  meditated  a  while.  "But,  Padre 
dear,"  she  continued,  "the  inside,  or  soul,  of  everything  is 
mental.  We  never  see  it.  We  have  to  think  it." 

"Yes,  you  are  right.  The  things  we  think  we  see  are  only 
symbols.  They  stand  for  the  real  things." 

"Padre,  they  don't  stand  for  anything!"  she  replied  abruptly. 

Jose  looked  down  at  her  in  surprise.     He  waited. 

"Padre,  the  real  things  are  the  things  we  don't  see.  And  the 
things  we  think  we  see  are  not  real  at  all!" 

Jose  had  ere  this  learned  not  to  deny  her  rugged  state 
ments,  but  to  study  them  for  their  inner  meaning,  which  the 
child  often  found  too  deep  for  her  limited  vocabulary  to  ex 
press. 

"The  things  we  think  we  see,"  he  said,  though  he  was  ad 
dressing  his  own  thought,  "are  called  the  physical.  The  things 
we  do  not  see  or  cognize  with  the  physical  senses  are  called 
mental,  or  spiritual.  Well?"  he  queried,  looking  down  again 
into  the  serious  little  face. 

"Padre,  the  very  greatest  things  are  those  that  we  don't  see 
at  all!" 

"True,  chiquita.  Love,  life,  joy,  knowledge,  wisdom,  health, 
harmony — all  these  are  spiritual  ideas.  The  physical  some 
times  manifests  them — and  sometimes  does  not.  And  in  the 
end,  called  death,  it  ceases  altogether  to  manifest  them." 

"But — these  things — the  very  greatest  things  there  are — are 
the  souls  of  everything — is  it  not  so,  Padre  dear?" 

"It  must  be,  chiquita." 

"And  all  these  things  came  from  God,  and  He  is  everywhere, 
and  so  He  is  the  soul  of  everything,  no?" 

He  made  the  same  affirmative  reply. 

"Padre — don't  you  see  it? — we  are  not  seeing  things  all 
around  us!  We  don't  see  real  things  that  we  call  trees  and 
stones  and  people!  We  see  only  what  we  think  we  see.  We 
see  things  that  are  not  there  at  all!  We  see — 

"Yes,  we  see  only  our  thoughts.  And  we  think  we  see  them 
as  objects  all  about  us,  as  trees,  and  houses,  and  people.  But 
in  the  final  analysis  we  see  only  thoughts,"  he  finished. 

"But  these  thoughts  do  not  come  from  God,"  she  insisted. 

"No,"  he  replied  slowly,  "because  they  often  manifest  dis 
cord  and  error.  I  think  I  grasp  what  is  struggling  in  your 
mind,  chiquita.  God  is — " 

147 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Everywhere,"  she  interrupted. 

"He  is  everywhere,  and  therefore  He  is  the  soul — the  inside 
—the  heart  and  core — of  everything.  He  is  mind,  and  His 
thoughts  are  real,  and  are  the  only  real  thoughts  there  are. 
He  is  truth.  The  opposite  of  truth  is  a  lie.  But,  in  reality, 
truth  cannot  have  an  opposite.  Therefore,  a  lie  is  a  supposi 
tion.  And  so  the  thought  that  we  seem  to  see  externalized  all 
about  us,  and  that  we  call  physical  objects,  is  supposition  only. 
And,  a  supposition  being  unreal,  the  whole  physical  universe, 
including  material  man,  is  unreal — is  a  supposition,  a  supposi 
tion  of  mixed  good  and  evil,  for  it  manifests  both.  It  is  the  lie 
about  God.  And,  since  a  lie  has  no  real  existence,  this  human 
concept  of  a  universe  and  mankind  composed  of  matter  is 
utterly  unreal,  an  image  of  thought,  an  illusion,  existing  in 
false  thought  only — a  belief — a  supposition  pure  and  simple!" 

As  he  talked  he  grew  more  and  more  animated.  He  seemed 
to  forget  the  presence  of  the  child,  and  appeared  to  be  ad 
dressing  only  his  own  insistent  questionings. 

They  walked  along  together  in  silence  for  some  moments. 
Then  the  girl  again  took  up  the  conversation. 

"Padre,"  she  said,  "you  know,  you  taught  me  to  prove  my 
problems  in  arithmetic  and  algebra.  Well,  I  have  proved 
something  about  thinking,  too.  If  I  think  a  thing,  and  just 
keep  thinking  it,  pretty  soon  I  see  it — in  some  way — outside 
of  me." 

A  light  seemed  to  flash  through  Jose's  mental  chambers,  and 
he  recalled  the  words  of  the  explorer  in  Cartagena.  Yes,  that 
was  exactly  what  he  had  said — "every  thought  that  comes  into 
the  mind  tends  to  become  externalized,  either  upon  the  body 
as  a  physical  condition,  or  in  the  environment,  or  as  an  event, 
good  or  bad."  It  was  a  law,  dimly  perceived,  but  nevertheless 
sufficiently  understood  in  its  workings  to  indicate  a  tremendous 
field  as  yet  all  but  unknown.  The  explorer  had  called  it  the 
law  of  the  externalization  of  thought.  "As  a  man  thinketh  in 
his  heart,  so  is  he,"  said  the  Master,  twenty  centuries  before. 
Did  he  recognize  the  law? 

Jose's  thought  swept  over  his  past.  Had  his  own  wrong 
thinking,  or  the  wrong  thought  of  others,  been  the  cause  of  his 
unhappiness  and  acute  mental  suffering?  But  why  personalize 
it?  What  difference  whether  it  be  called  his,  or  the  Arch 
bishop's,  or  whose?  Let  it  suffice  that  it  was  false  thought, 
undirected  by  the  Christ-principle,  God,  that  had  been  exter 
nalized  in  the  \vreckage  which  he  now  called  his  past  life. 

He  again  stood  face  to  face  with  the  most  momentous  ques 
tion  ever  propounded  by  a  waiting  world:  the  question  of 
causation.  And  he  knew  now  that  causation  was  wholly 
spiritual. 

148 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre  dear,  you  said  just  now  that  God  was  mind.  But, 
if  that  is  true,  there  is  only  one  mind,  for  God  is  everywhere." 

"It  must  be  so,  chiquita,"  dreamily  responded  the  priest. 

"Then  He  is  your  mind  and  my  mind,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes—" 

"Then,  if  He  is  my  mind,  there  just  isn't  anything  good  that 
I  can't  do." 

Twilight  does  not  linger  in  the  tropics,  and  already  the 
shadows  that  stole  down  through  the  valley  had  wrapped  the 
man  and  child  in  their  mystic  folds.  Hand  in  hand  they  turned 
homeward. 

"Padre,  if  God  is  my  mind,  He  will  do  my  thinking  for  me. 
And  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  keep  the  door  open  and  let  His 
thoughts  come  in." 

Her  sweet  voice  lingered  on  the  still  night  air.  There  was 
a  pensive  gladness  in  the  man's  heart  as  he  tightly  held  her 
little  hand  and  led  her  to  Rosendo's  door. 


CHAPTER  18 

next  morning  Jose  read  to  Rosendo  portions  of  the 
communication  from  Wenceslas. 

"Chiquinquia,"  commented  the  latter.  "I  remember 
that  Padre  Diego  collected  much  money  from  our  people  for 
Masses  to  be  said  at  that  shrine." 

"But  where  is  it,  Rosendo?"  asked  Jose. 

"You  do  not  know  the  story?"  queried  Rosendo  in  surprise. 
"Why,  there  is  not  a  shrine  in  the  whole  of  Colombia  that 
works  so  many  cures  as  this  one.  Your  grandfather,  Don 
Ignacio,  knew  the  place.  And  it  was  from  him  that  my — that 
is,  I  learned  the  legend  when  I  was  only  a  boy.  It  is  said  that 
a  poor,  sick  young  girl  in  the  little  Indian  village  of  Chiquin 
quia,  north  of  Bogota,  stood  praying  in  her  shabby  little  cottage 
before  an  old,  torn  picture  of  the  blessed  Virgin."  He  stopped 
and  crossed  himself  devoutly.  Then  he  resumed: 

"Bueno,  while  the  girl  prayed,  the  picture  suddenly  rose  up 
in  the  air;  the  torn  places  all  closed;  the  faded  colors  came 
again  as  fresh  as  ever;  and  the  girl  was  cured  of  her  affliction. 
The  people  of  the  village  immediately  built  a  shrine,  over  which 
they  hung  the  picture;  and  ever  since  then  the  most  wonderful 
miracles  have  been  performed  by  it  there." 

Jose  laughed.  "You  don't  believe  that,  do  you,  Rosendo?" 
he  asked  in  banter. 

"Hombre,  yes!"  exclaimed  the  latter  a  bit  testily.     "I  know 

149 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


it!  Did  not  Don  Felipe  go  there  when  the  doctor  in  Mompox 
told  him  the  little  white  spot  on  his  hand  was  leprosy?  And 
he  came  back  cured." 

Leprosy!  Jose  started  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow.  He 
looked  furtively  at  the  scar  on  his  own  hand,  the  hand  which 
the  leper  in  Maganguey  had  lacerated  that  dreadful  night,  and 
which  often  burned  and  ached  as  if  seared  by  a  hot  iron.  He 
had  never  dared  to  voice  the  carking  fear  that  tightened  about 
his  heart  at  times.  But  often  in  the  depths  of  night,  when 
dread  anticipation  sat  like  a  spectre  upon  his  bed,  he  had 
risen  and  gone  out  into  the  darkness  to  wrrestle  with  his  black 
thoughts.  Leprosy!  All  the  gladness  and  joy  left  his  heart, 
and  a  pall  of  darkness  settled  over  his  thought.  He  turned 
back  into  his  cottage  and  tried  to  find  forgetfulness  in  the 
simple  duties  that  lay  at  hand. 

"Why  is  it,"  he  asked  himself,  as  he  sat  wearily  down  at  his 
little  table,  "that  I  always  think  of  evil  first;  while  Carmen's 
first  thought  is  invariably  of  God?" 

He  looked  at  the  ugly  scar  on  his  hand.  What  thought  was 
externalized  in  the  loathsome  experience  which  produced  that? 
he  wondered.  Was  it  the  summation  of  all  the  fear,  the  weak 
ness,  the  \vrong  belief,  that  had  filled  his  previous  years?  And 
now  why  was  he  finding  it  so  difficult  to  practice  what  Carmen 
lived,  even  though  he  knew  it  was  truth? 

"Alas!"  he  murmured  aloud,  "it  wras  the  seminary  that  did 
it.  For  there  my  thought  wras  educated  away  from  the  simple 
teachings  of  Jesus.  To  Carmen  there  is  no  mystery  in  godli 
ness.  Though  she  knows  utterly  nothing  about  Jesus,  yet  she 
hourly  uses  the  Christ-principle.  It  is  the  children  who  grasp 
the  simple  truths  of  God;  while  the  lack  of  spirituality  which 
results  from  increasing  years  shrinks  maturer  minds  until 
they  no  longer  afford  entrance  to  it.  For  godliness  is  broad; 
and  the  mind  that  receives  it  must  be  opened  wide." 

As  he  sat  with  his  bowed  head  clasped  in  his  hands,  a  sweet, 
airy  voice  greeted  him. 

"Why,  Padre  dear — ah,  I  caught  you  that  time ! — you  w^ere 
thinking  that  two  and  two  are  seven,  weren't  you?"  She  shook 
a  rebuking  finger  at  him. 

Framed  in  the  doorway  like  an  old  masterpiece,  the  sun 
light  bronzing  her  heavy  brown  curls,  the  olive-tinted  skin  of 
her  bare  arms  and  legs  flushing  with  health,  and  her  cheap 
calico  gown  held  tightly  about  her,  showing  the  contour  of  her 
full  and  shapely  figure,  the  girl  appeared  to  Jose  like  a  vision 
from  the  realm  of  enchantment.  And  he  knew  that  she  did 
dwell  in  the  land  of  spiritual  enchantment,  where  happiness 
is  not  at  the  mercy  of  physical  sense. 

150 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"He  hath  shewed  thee,  O  man,  what  is  good;  and  what  doth 
the  Lord  require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love  mercy, 
and  to  walk  humbly  with  thy  God?" 

"The  Lord  our  God  is  a  right-thinking  God,  and  right-think 
ing  is  what  He  desires  in  His  people." 

Jose  thought  of  this  as  he  looked  at  Carmen.  This 
barefoot  girl,  who  walked  humbly,  trustingly,  with  her  God, 
had  she  not  supplied  him  with  a  working  formula  for  his  every 
problem,  even  to  the  casting  out  of  the  corroding  fear  planted 
in  his  heart  by  that  awful  experience  in  Maganguey?  Though 
he  had  suffered  much,  yet  much  had  been  done  for  him.  The 
brusque  logic  of  the  explorer  had  swept  his  mind  clear  of  its 
last  vestige  of  theological  superstition,  and  prepared  it  for 
the  truth  which,  under  the  benign  stimulus  of  this  clear- 
minded  child,  would  remake  his  life,  if  he  could  now  yield  him 
self  utterly  to  it.  He  must — he  would — ceaselessly  strive,  even 
though  he  fell  daily,  to  make  his  life  a  pattern  of  hers,  wherein 
there  was  no  knowledge  of  evil ! 

The  girl  came  to  the  priest  and  leaned  fondly  against  him. 
Then  a  little  sigh  escaped  her  lips,  as  she  looked  down  into 
his  face  with  pitying  affection. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  echoed  a  strain  of 
sadness,  "I — I  don't  believe — you  love  God  very  much." 

The  man  was  startled,  and  resentment  began  to  well  in  his 
heart.  "What  a  thing  to  say,  Carmen!"  he  answered  re 
provingly. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  great,  wondering  eyes.  "But, 
Padre,"  she  protested,  "were  you  not  thinking  of  things  that 
are  not  true  when  I  came  in?" 

"No — I  was — I  was  thinking  of  the  future — of — well,  chi- 
quita,  I  was  thinking  of  something  that  might  happen  some 
day,  that  is  all."  He  stumbled  through  it  with  difficulty,  for 
he  knew  he  must  not  lie  to  the  child.  Would  she  ever  trust 
him  again  if  he  did? 

"And,  Padre,  were  you  afraid?" 

"Afraid?    Yes,  chiquita,  I  was."    He  hung  his  head. 

Carmen  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "Then,  Padre,  I  was 
right — for,  if  you  loved  God,  you  would  trust  Him — and  then 
you  couldn't  be  afraid  of  anything — could  you?  People  who 
love  Him  are  not  afraid." 

He  turned  his  head  away.  "Ah,  child,"  he  murmured, 
"you  will  find  that  out  in  the  world  people  don't  love  God  in 
this  day  and  generation.  At  least  they  don't  love  Him  that 
way." 

"They  don't  love  Him  enough  to  trust  him?"  she  asked 
wistfully. 

151 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"No."  He  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Nobody  trusts  Him,  not 
even  the  preachers  themselves.  When  things  happen,  they 
rush  for  a  doctor,  or  some  other  human  being  to  help  them  out 
of  their  difficulty.  They  don't  turn  to  Him  any  more.  They 
seldom  speak  His  name." 

"Have — they — forgotten  Him?"  she  asked  slowly,  her  voice 
sinking  to  a  whisper. 

"Absolutely!"     He  again  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

The  child  stood  in  silence  for  some  moments.    Then: 

"What  made  them  forget  Him,  Padre?" 

"I  guess,  chiquita,  they  turned  from  Him  because  He  didn't 
answer  their  prayers.  I  used  to  pray  to  Him,  too.  1  prayed 
hours  at  a  time.  But  nothing  seemed  to  come  of  it.  And  so  I 
stopped."  He  spoke  bitterly. 

"You  prayed !     You  mean — 

"I  asked  Him  for  things — to  help  me  out  of  trouble — I  asked 
Him  to  give  me — 

"Why,  Padre!     Why — that's  the  very  reason!" 

He  looked  up  at  her  blankly.  "What  is  the  very  reason? 
What  are  you  trying  to  tell  me,  child?" 

"Why,  He  is  everywhere,  and  He  is  right  here  all  the  time. 
And  so  there  couldn't  be  any  real  trouble  for  Him  to  help  you 
out  of;  and  He  wouldn't  give  you  anything,  for  He  has  already 
done  that,  long  ago.  We  are  in  Him,  don't  you  know?  Just  like 
the  little  fishes  in  the  lake.  And  so  when  you  asked  Him  for 
things  it  showed  that  you  didn't  believe  He  had  already  given 
them  to  you.  And — you  know  what  you  said  last  night  about 
thinking,  and  that  when  we  think  things,  we  see  them?  Well, 
He  has  given  you  everything;  but  you  thought  He  hadn't,  and 
So  you  saw  it  that  way — isn't  it  so?" 

She  paused  for  breath.  She  had  talked  rapidly  and  with 
animation.  But  before  he  could  reply  she  resumed: 

"Padre  dear,  you  know  you  told  me  that  Jesus  was  the 
best  man  that  ever  lived,  and  that  it  was  because  he  never  had 
a  bad  thought — isn't  that  so?" 

"Yes,"  he  murmured. 

"Well,  did  he  pray — did  he  ask  God  for  things?" 

"Of  course  he  did,  child!"  the  priest  exclaimed.  "He  al 
ways  asked  Him  for  things.  Why,  he  was  always  praying — 
the  New  Testament  is  full  of  it!" 

Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  he  rose  and  went  into  the 
sleeping  room  to  get  his  Bible.  The  child's  face  took  on  an 
expression  of  disappointment  as  she  heard  his  words.  Her 
brow  knotted,  and  a  troubled  look  came  into  her  brown  eyes. 

Jose  returned  with  his  Bible  and  seated  himself  again  at 
the  table.  Opening  the  book,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  verse  of 

152 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Mark's  Gospel.  He  stopped  to  read  it;  and  then  read  it  again. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up  at  the  waiting  girl. 

"What  is  it,  Padre?    What  does  it  say?" 

He  hesitated.  He  read  the  verse  again;  then  he  scanned  the 
child  closely,  as  if  he  would  read  a  mystery  hidden  within  her 
hodily  presence.  Abruptly  he  turned  to  the  book  and  read 
aloud : 

"  'Therefore  I  say  unto  you,  What  things  soever  ye  desire, 
when  ye  pray,  believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and  ye  shall  have 
them.'  ' 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath,  almost  a  sigh,  as  if  a  weight  had 
been  removed  from  her  mind.  "Did  Jesus  say  that?"  she  asked 
in  glad,  eager  tones. 

"Yes — at  least  it  is  so  reported  here,"  he  answered  absently. 

"Well—  he  knew,  didn't  he?" 

"Knew  what,  child?" 

"Why,  Padre,  he  told  the  people  to  know — just  know— 
that  they  already  had  everything — that  God  had  given  them 
everything  good — and  that  if  they  would  know  it,  they  would 
see  it." 

Externalization  of  thought?  Yes;  or  rather,  the  externaliza- 
tion  of  truth.  Jose  fell  into  abstraction,  his  eyes  glued  to  the 
page.  There  it  stood — the  words  almost  shouted  it  at  him! 
And  there  it  had  stood  for  nearly  two  thousand  years,  while 
priest  and  prelate,  scribe  and  commentator  had  gone  over  it 
again  and  again  through  the  ages,  without  even  guessing  its 
true  meaning — without  even  the  remotest  idea  of  the  infinite 
riches  it  held  for  mankind! 

He  turned  reflectively  to  Matthew;  and  then  to  John.  He 
remembered  the  passages  well — in  the  past  he  had  spent  hours 
of  mortal  agony  poring  over  them  and  wondering  bitterly  why 
God  had  failed  to  keep  the  promises  they  contain. 

"And  all  things,  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  prayer,  believ 
ing,  ye  shall  receive." 

All  things — when  ye  ask  believing!  But  that  Greek  word 
surely  held  vastly  more  than  the  translators  have  drawn  from 
it.  Nay,  not  believing  only,  but  understanding  the  allness  of 
God  as  good,  and  the  consequent  nothingness  of  evil,  all  that 
seems  to  oppose  Him!  How  could  the  translators  have  so 
completely  missed  the  mark!  And  Carmen — had  never  seen  a 
Bible  until  he  came  into  her  life;  yet  she  knew,  knew  instinc 
tively,  that  a  good  God  who  was  "everywhere"  could  not  possi 
bly  withhold  anything  good  from  His  children.  It  was  the 
simplest  kind  of  logic. 

But,  thought  Jose  again,  if  the  promises  are  kept,  why  have 
we  fallen  so  woefully  short  of  their  realization?  Then  he 

20 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


read  again,  "If  ye  abide  in  me,  and  my  words  abide  in  you,  ye 
shall  ask  what  ye  will,  and  it  shall  be  done  unto  you."  The 
promise  carries  a  condition — abiding  in  his  words — obeying 
his  commands — keeping  the  very  first  Commandment,  w?hich  is 
that  "Ye  shall  have  no  other  gods  before  me" — no  gods  of  evil, 
sickness,  chance,  or  death.  The  promises  are  fulfilled  only  on 
the  condition  of  righteousness — right-thinking  about  God  and 
His  infinite,  spiritual  manifestation. 

He  turned  to  Carmen.  "Chiquita,"  he  said  tenderly,  "you 
never  ask  God  to  give  you  things,  do  you?" 

"Why,  no,  Padre;  why  should  I?  He  gives  me  everything  I 
need,  doesn't  He?" 

"Yes — when  you  go  out  to  the  shales,  you — 

"I  don't  ask  Him  for  things,  Padre  dear.  I  just  tell  Him  ! 
know  He  is  everywhere." 

"I  see — yes,  you  told  me  that  long  ago — I  understand,  chi- 
quita."  His  spirit  bowed  in  humble  reverence  before  such  di 
vine  faith.  This  untutored,  unlearned  girl,  isolated  upon  these 
burning  shales,  far,  far  from  the  haunts  of  men  of  pride  and 
power  and  worldly  lore — this  barefoot  child  whose  coffers  held 
of  material  riches  scarce  more  than  the  little  calico  dress  upon 
her  back — this  lowly  being  knew  that  wrhich  all  the  fabled 
wealth  of  Ind  could  never  buy!  Her  prayers  were  not  the  selfish 
pleadings  that  spring  from  narrow  souls,  the  souls  that  "ask 
amiss" — not  the  frenzied  yearnings  wrung  from  suffering, 
ignorant  hearts — nor  were  they  the  inflated  instructions  ad 
dressed  to  the  Almighty  by  a  smug,  complacent  clergy,  the  self- 
constituted  press-bureau  of  infinite  Wisdom.  Her  prayers, 
which  so  often  drifted  like  sweetest  incense  about  those  steam 
ing  shales,  were  not  petitions,  but  affirmations.  They  did  not 
limit  God.  She  did  not  plead  with  Him.  She  simply  knew  that 
He  had  already  met  her  needs.  And  that-  righteousness — right- 
thinking — became  externalized  in  her  consciousness  in  the  good 
she  sought.  Jesus  did  the  same  thing,  over  and  over  again; 
but  the  poor,  stupid  minds  of  the  people  were  so  full  of  wrong 
beliefs  about  his  infinite  Father  that  they  could  not  understand, 
no,  not  even  wThen  he  called  Lazarus  from  the  tomb. 

"Ask  in  my  name,"  urged  the  patient  Jesus.  But  the  poor 
fishermen  thought  he  meant  his  human  name  to  be  a  talisman, 
a  sort  of  "Open  Sesame,"  when  he  was  striving  all  the  time,  by 
precept  and  deed,  to  show  them  that  they  must  ask  in  his 
character,  must  be  like  him,  to  whom,  though  of  himself  he 
could  do  nothing,  yet  all  things  were  possible. 

Jose's  heart  began  to  echo  the  Master's  words:  "Father,  I 
thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and 
prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  unto  babes."  He  put  his  arm 
about  Carmen  and  drew  her  to  him. 

154 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Little  one,"  he  murmured,  "how  much  has  happened  in 
these  past  few  weeks!" 

Carmen  looked  up  at  him  with  an  enigmatical  glance  and 
laughed.  "Well,  Padre  dear,  I  don't  think  anything  ever  really 
happens,  do  you?" 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

"Mistakes  happen,  as  in  solving  my  algebra  problems.  But 
good  things  never  happen,  any  more  than  the  answers  to  my 
problems  happen.  You  know,  there  are  rules  for  getting  the 
answers;  but  there  are  no  rules  for  making  mistakes — are 
there?  But  when  anything  comes  out  according  to  the  rule, 
it  doesn't  happen.  And  the  mistakes,  which  have  no  rules,  are 
not  real — the  answers  are  real,  but  the  mistakes  are  not — and 
so  nothing  ever  really  happens.  Don't  you  see,  Padre  dear?" 

"Surely,  I  see,"  he  acquiesced.  Then,  while  he  held  the 
girl  close  to  him,  he  reflected:  Good  is  never  fortuitous.  It 
results  from  the  application  of  the  Principle  of  all  things.  The 
answer  to  a  mathematical  problem  is  a  form  of  good,  and  it  re 
sults  from  the  application  of  the  principle  of  mathematics. 
Mistakes,  and  the  various  things  which  "happen"  when  we  solve 
mathematical  problems,  do  not  have  rules,  or  principles.  They 
result  from  ignorance  of  them,  or  their  misapplication.  And 
so  in  life;  for  chance,  fate,  luck,  accident  and  the  merely  casual, 
come,  not  from  the  application  of  principles,  but  from  not  ap 
plying  them,  or  from  ignorance  of  their  use.  The  human  mind 
or  consciousness,  which  is  a  mental  activity,  an  activity  of 
thought,  is  concerned  with  mixed  thoughts  of  good  and  evil. 
But  it  operates  without  any  principle  whatsoever.  For,  if  God 
is  infinite  good,  then  the  beliefs  of  evil  which  the  human  mind 
holds  must  be  false  beliefs,  illusions,  suppositions.  A  supposi 
tion  has  no  principle,  no  rule.  And  so,  it  is  only  the  unreal 
that  happens.  And  even  that  sort  of  "happening"  can  be  pre 
vented  by  knowing  and  using  the  principle  of  all  good,  God. 
A  knowledge  of  evil  is  not  knowledge  at  all.  Evil  has  no  rules. 
Has  an  accident  a  principle?  He  laughed  aloud  at  the  idea. 

"What  is  it,  Padre?"  asked  Carmen. 

"Nothing,  child — and  everything!  But  we  are  neglecting 
our  work,"  he  hastily  added,  as  he  roused  himself.  "What  are 
the  lessons  for  to-day?  Come!  come!  We  have  much  to  do!" 
And  arranging  his  papers,  and  bidding  Carmen  draw  up  to  the 
table,  he  began  the  morning  session  of  his  very  select  little 
school. 

****** 

More  than  six  months  had  elapsed  since  Jose  first  set  foot 
upon  the  hot  shales  of  Simiti.  In  that  time  his  mentality  had 
been  turned  over  like  a  fallow  field  beneath  the  plowshare. 

155 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


After  peace  had  been  established  in  the  country  he  had  often 
thought  to  consecrate  himself  to  the  task  of  collecting  the 
fragmentary  ideas  which  had  been  evolved  in  his  mind  during 
these  past  weeks  of  strange  and  almost  weird  experience,  and 
trying  to  formulate  them  into  definite  statements  of  truth.  Then 
he  would  enter  upon  the  task  of  establishing  them  by  actual 
demonstration,  regardless  of  the  years  that  might  be  required 
to  do  so.  He  realized  now  that  the  explorer  had  done  a  great 
work  in  clearing  his  mind  of  many  of  its  darker  shadows.  But 
it  was  to  Carmen's  purer,  more  spiritual  influence  that  he  knew 
his  debt  was  heaviest. 

Let  it  not  seem  strange  that  mature  manhood  and  extensive 
travel  had  never  before  brought  to  this  man's  mind  the  truths, 
many  of  which  have  been  current  almost  since  the  curtain  first 
arose  on  the  melodrama  of  mundane  existence.  Well  nigh 
impassable  limitations  had  been  set  to  them  by  his  own  natal 
characteristics;  by  his  acutely  morbid  sense  of  filial  love  which 
bound  him,  at  whatever  cost,  to  observe  the  bigoted,  selfish 
wishes  of  his  parents;  and  by  the  strictness  with  which  his 
mind  had  been  hedged  about  both  in  the  seminary  and  in  the 
ecclesiastical  office  where  he  subsequently  labored.  The  first 
rays  of  mental  freedom  did  not  dawn  upon  his  darkened 
thought  until  he  was  sent  as  an  outcast  to  the  New  World. 
Then,  when  his  greater  latitude  in  Cartagena,  and  his  still 
more  expanded  sense  of  freedom  in  Simiti,  had  lowered  the 
bars,  there  had  rushed  into  his  mentality  such  a  flood  of  ideas 
that  he  was  all  but  swept  away  in  the  swirling  current. 

It  is  not  strange  that  he  rose  and  fell,  to-day  strong  in  the 
conviction  of  the  immanence  of  infinite  good,  to-morrow  sunken 
in  mortal  despair  of  ever  demonstrating  the  truth  of  the  ideas 
which  were  swelling  his  shrunken  mind.  His  line  of  progress 
in  truth  was  an  undulating  curve,  slowly  advancing  toward  the 
distant  goal  to  which  Carmen  seemed  to  move  in  a  straight, 
undeviating  line.  What  though  Emerson  had  said  that  Mind 
was  "the  only  reality  of  which  men  and  all  other  natures  are 
better  or  worse  reflectors"?  Jose  wras  unaware  of  the  sage's 
mighty  deduction.  What  though  Plato  had  said  that  we  move 
as  shadows  in  a  world  of  ideas?  Even  if  Jose  had  known  of  it, 
it  had  meant  nothing  to  him.  What  though  the  Transcenden- 
talists  called  the  universe  "a  metaphore  of  the  human  mind"? 
Jose's  thought  was  too  firmly  clutched  by  his  self-centered, 
material  beliefs  to  grasp  it.  Doubt  of  the  reality  of  things  ma 
terial  succumbed  to  the  evidence  of  the  physical  senses  and 
the  ridicule  of  his  seminary  preceptors.  True,  he  believed  with 
Paul,  that  the  "things  that  are  seen  are  temporal;  the  things 
that  are  unseen  are  eternal."  But  this  pregnant  utterance  con- 

156 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


veyed  nothing  more  to  him  than  a  belief  of  a  material  heaven  to 
follow  his  exit  from  a  world  of  matter.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  the  world  of  matter  might  be  the  product  of  those 
same  delusive  physical  senses,  through  which  he  believed  he 
gained  his  knowledge  of  it.  It  is  true  that  while  in  the  semi 
nary,  and  before,  he  had  insisted  upon  a  more  spiritual  inter 
pretation  of  the  mission  of  Jesus — had  insisted  that  Christian 
priests  should  obey  the  Master's  injunction,  and  heal  the  sick 
as  well  as  preach  the  gospel.  But  with  the  advent  of  the  trou 
bles  which  filled  the  intervening  years,  these  things  had  grad 
ually  faded;  and  the  mounting  sun  that  dawned  upon  him 
six  months  before,  as  he  lay  on  the  damp  floor  of  his  little  cell 
in  the  ecclesiastical  dormitory  in  Cartagena,  awaiting  the  Bish 
op's  summons,  illumined  only  a  shell,  in  which  agnosticism 
sat  enthroned  upon  a  stool  of  black  despair. 

Then  Carmen  entered  his  life.  And  her  beautiful  love, 
which  enfolded  him  like  a  garment,  and  her  sublime  faith, 
which  moved  before  him  like  the  Bethlehem  star  to  where  the 
Christ-principle  lay,  were,  little  by  little,  dissolving  the  mist 
and  revealing  the  majesty  of  the  great  God. 

In  assuming  to  teach  the  child,  Jose  early  found  that  the 
outer  world  meant  nothing  to  her  until  he  had  purged  it  of  its 
carnal  elements.  Often  in  days  past,  when  he  had  launched 
out  upon  the  dramatic  recital  of  some  important  historical 
event,  wherein  crime  and  bloodshed  had  shaped  the  incident, 
the  girl  would  start  hastily  from  her  chair  and  put  her  little 
hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Don't,  Padre  dear!  It  is  not  true!"  she  would  exclaim. 
"God  didn't  do  it,  and  it  isn't  so!" 

And  thereby  he  learned  to  differentiate  more  closely  between 
those  historical  events  which  sprang  from  good  motives,  and 
those  which  manifested  only  human  passion,  selfish  ambition, 
and  the  primitive  question,  "Who  shall  be  greatest?"  More 
over,  he  had  found  it  best  in  his  frequent  talks  to  the  people 
in  the  church  during  the  week  to  omit  all  reference  to  the  evil 
methods  of  mankind  in  their  dealings  one  with  another,  and  to 
pass  over  in  silence  the  criminal  aims  and  low  motives,  and 
their  externalization,  which  have  marked  the  unfolding  of  the 
human  mind,  and  which  the  world  preserves  in  its  annals  as 
historical  fact.  The  child  seemed  to  divine  the  great  truth  that 
history  is  but  the  record  of  human  conduct,  conduct  manifesting 
the  mortal  mind  of  man,  a  mind  utterly  opposed  to  the  mind 
that  is  God,  and  therefore  unreal,  supposititious,  and  bearing 
the  "minus"  sign.  Carmen  would  have  none  of  it  that  did  not 
reflect  good.  She  refused  utterly  to  turn  her  mental  gaze  to 
ward  recorded  evil. 

157 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre,"  she  once  protested,  "when  I  want  to  see  the  sun 
rise,  I  don't  look  toward  the  west.  And  if  you  want  to  see  the 
good  come  up,  why  do  you  look  at  these  stories  of  bad  men 
and  their  bad  thoughts?" 

Jose  admitted  that  they  wrere  records  of  the  mortal  mind — 
and  the  mind  that  is  mortal  is  no  mind. 

"I  am  learning,"  he  frequently  said  to  himself,  after  Carmen 
had  left  at  the  close  of  their  day's  work.  "But  my  real  educa 
tion  did  not  commence  until  I  began  to  see,  even  though  faintly, 
that  the  Creator  is  mind  and  infinite  good,  and  that  there  is 
nothing  real  to  the  belief  in  evil;  that  the  five  physical  senses 
give  us  no  testimony  of  any  nature  whatsoever;  and  that  real 
man  never  could,  never  did,  fall." 

Thus  the  days  glided  swiftly  past,  and  Jose  completed  his 
first  year  amid  the  drowsy  influences  of  this  little  town,  slum 
bering  peacefully  in  its  sequestered  nook  at  the  feet  of  the 
green  Cordilleras.  No  further  event  ruffled  its  archaic  civiliza 
tion;  and  only  with  rare  frequency  did  fugitive  bits  of  news 
steal  in  from  the  outer  world,  which,  to  the  untraveled  thought 
of  this  primitive  folk,  remained  always  a  realm  vague  and 
mysterious.  Quietly  the  people  followed  the  routine  of  their 
colorless  existence.  Each  morn  broke  softly  over  the  limpid 
lake;  each  evening  left  the  blush  of  its  roseate  sunset  on  the 
glassy  waters;  each  night  wound  its  velvety  arms  gently  about 
the  nodding  town,  while  the  stars  beamed  like  jewels  through 
the  clear,  soft  atmosphere  above,  or  the  yellow  moonbeams 
stole  noiselessly  down  the  old,  sunken  trail  to  dream  on  the 
lake's  invisible  waves. 

Each  month  with  unvarying  regularity,  Rosendo  came  and 
went.  At  times  Jose  thought  he  detected  traces  of  weariness, 
insidious  and  persistently  lurking,  in  the  old  man's  demeanor. 
At  times  his  limbs  trembled,  and  his  step  seemed  heavy.  Once 
Jose  had  found  him,  seated  back  of  his  cottage,  rubbing  the 
knotted  muscles  of  his  legs,  and  groaning  aloud.  But  when  he 
became  aware  of  Jose  presence,  the  groans  ceased,  and  the  old 
man  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  look  of  such  grim  determination 
written  across  his  face  that  the  priest  smothered  his  appre 
hensions  and  forbore  to  speak.  Rosendo  was  immolating 
himself  upon  his  love  for  the  child.  Jose  knew  it;  but  he  would 
not,  if  he  could,  prevent  the  sacrifice. 

Each  month  their  contributions  were  sent  to  Cartagena;  and 
as  regularly  came  a  message  from  Wenceslas,  admonishing 
them  to  greater  efforts.  With  the  money  that  was  sent  to  the 
Bishop  went  also  a  smaller  packet  to  the  two  women  who  were 
caring  for  the  unfortunate  Maria's  little  babe.  The  sources  of 
Jose's  remittances  to  Cartagena  were  never  questioned  by  Wen- 

158 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ceslas.  But  Simiti  slowly  awakened  to  the  mysterious  monthly 
trips  of  Rosendo;  and  Don  Mario's  suspicion  became  convic 
tion.  He  bribed  men  to  follow  Rosendo  secretly.  They  came 
back,  footsore  and  angry.  Rosendo  had  thrown  them  com 
pletely  off  the  scent.  Then  Don  Mario  outfitted  and  sent  his 
paid  emissary  after  the  old  man.  He  wasted  two  full  months  in 
vain  search  along  the  Guamoco  trail.  But  the  fever  came  upon 
him,  and  he  refused  to  continue  the  hunt.  The  Alcalde  counted 
the  cost,  then  loudly  cursed  himself  and  Rosendo  for  the  many 
good  pesos  so  ruthlessly  squandered.  Then  he  began  to  ply 
Jose  and  Rosendo  with  skillfully  framed  questions.  He  worried 
the  citizens  of  the  village  with  his  suggestions.  Finally  he  be 
thought  himself  to  apprise  the  Bishop  of  his  suspicions.  But 
second  consideration  disclosed  that  plan  as  likely  to  yield  him 
nothing  but  loss.  He  knew  Rosendo  was  getting  gold  from 
some  source.  But,  too,  he  was  driving  a  good  trade  with  the 
old  man  on  supplies.  He  settled  back  upon  his  fat  haunches 
at  last,  determined  to  keep  his  own  counsel  and  let  well-enough 
alone  for  the  present,  while  he  awaited  events. 

Rosendo's  vivid  interest  in  Carmen's  progress  was  almost 
pathetic.  When  in  Simiti  he  hung  over  the  child  in  rapt  ab 
sorption  as  she  worked  out  her  problems,  or  recited  her  les 
sons  to  Jose.  Often  he  shook  his  head  in  witness  of  his  utter 
lack  of  comprehension.  But  Carmen  understood,  and  that 
sufficed.  His  admiration  for  the  priest's  learning  was  deep  and 
reverential.  He  was  a  silent  worshiper,  this  great-hearted 
man,  at  the  shrine  of  intellect;  but,  alas!  he  himself  knew  only 
the  rudiments,  which  he  had  acquired  by  years  of  patient, 
struggling  effort,  through  long  days  and  nights  filled  with  toil. 
His  particular  passion  was  his  Castilian  mother-tongue;  and  the 
precision  with  which  he  at  times  used  it,  his  careful  selection 
of  words,  and  his  wide  vocabulary,  occasioned  Jose  no  little 
astonishment.  One  day,  after  returning  from  the  hills,  he  ap 
proached  Jose  as  the  latter  was  hearing  Carmen's  lessons,  and, 
with  considerable  embarrassment,  offered  him  a  bit  of  paper 
on  which  were  written  in  his  ample  hand  several  verses.  Jos£ 
read  them,  and  then  looked  up  wonderingly  at  the  old  man. 

"Why,  Rosendo,  these  are  beautiful!  Where  did  you  get 
them?" 

"I — they  are  mine,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  his  face  glow 
ing  with  pleasure. 

"Yours!  Do  you  mean  that  you  wrote  them?"  Jose  queried 
in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  Padre.  Nights,  up  in  Guamoco,  when  I  had  finished 
my  work,  and  when  I  was  so  lonely,  I  would  sometimes  light 
my  candle  and  try  to  write  out  the  thoughts  that  came  to  me." 

159 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Jose  could  not  keep  back  the  tears.  He  turned  his  head, 
that  Rosendo  might  not  see  them.  Of  the  three  little  poems, 
two  were  indited  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  one  to  Carmen.  He 
lingered  over  one  of  the  verses  of  the  latter,  for  it  awoke 
responsive  echoes  in  his  own  soul : 

"Without  you,  the  world — a  desert  of  sadness; 

But  with  you,  sweet  child — a  vale  of  delight; 
You  laugh,  like  the  sunbeam — my  gloom  becomes  gladness; 
You  sing — from  my  heart  flee  the  shadows  of  night." 

"I — I  have  written  a  good  deal  of  poetry  during  my  life, 
Padre.  I  will  show  you  some  of  it,  if  you  wish,"  Rosendo  ad 
vanced,  encouraged  by  Jose's  approbation. 

"Decidedly,  I  would!"  returned  Jose  with  animation.  "And 
to  think,  without  instruction,  without  training!  What  a  les 
son!" 

"Yes,  Padre,  when  I  think  of  the  blessed  Virgin  or  the  little 
Carmen,  my  thoughts  seem  to  come  in  poetry."  He  stooped 
over  the  girl  and  kissed  her.  The  child  reached  up  and  clasped 
her  arms  about  his  black  neck. 

"Padre  Rosendo,"  she  said  sweetly,  "you  are  a  poem,  a  big 
one,  a  beautiful  one." 

"Aye,"  seconded  Jose,  and  there  was  a  hitch  in  his  voice, 
"you  are  an  epic — and  the  world  is  the  poorer  that  it  cannot 
read  you!" 

But,  though  showing  such  laudable  curiosity  regarding  the 
elements  which  entered  into  their  simple  life  in  Simiti,  Rosendo 
seldom  spoke  of  matters  pertaining  to  religion.  Yet  Jose  knew 
that  the  old  faith  held  him,  and  that  he  would  never,  on  this 
plane  of  existence,  break  away  from  it.  He  clung  to  his  escap- 
ulario;  he  prostrated  himself  before  the  statue  of  the  Virgin; 
he  invoked  the  aid  of  Virgin  and  Saints  \vhen  in  distress;  and, 
unlike  most  of  the  male  inhabitants  of  the  to\vn,  he  scrupu 
lously  prayed  his  rosary  every  night,  whether  at  home,  or  on 
the  lonely  margins  of  the  Tigui.  He  had  once  said  to  Jose  that 
he  was  glad  Padre  Diego  had  baptised  the  little  Carmen — he 
felt  safer  to  have  it  so.  And  yet  he  would  not  have  her  brought 
up  in  the  Holy  Catholic  faith.  Let  her  choose  or  formulate  her 
own  religious  beliefs,  they  should  not  be  influenced  by  him  or 
others. 

"You  can  never  make  me  believe,  Padre,"  he  would  some 
times  say  to  the  priest,  "that  the  little  Carmen  was  not  left  by 
the  angels  on  the  river  bank." 

"But,  Rosendo,  how  foolish!"  remonstrated  Jose.  "You 
have  Escolastico's  account,  and  the  boat  captain's." 

"Well,  and  what  then?    Even  the  blessed  Saviour  was  born 

160 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  a  woman;  and  yet  he  came  from  heaven.  The  angels  brought 
him,  guarded  him  as  he  lay  in  the  manger,  protected  him  all  his 
life,  and  then  took  him  back  to  heaven  again.  And  I  tell  you, 
Padre,  the  angels  brought  Carmen,  and  they  are  always  with 
her!" 

Jose  ceased  to  dispute  the  old  man's  contentions.  For,  had 
he  been  pressed,  he  would  have  been  forced  to  admit  that  there 
was  in  the  child's  pure  presence  a  haunting  spell  of  mystery — 
perhaps  the  mystery  of  godliness — but  yet  an  undefinable 
something  that  always  made  him  approach  her  with  a  feeling 
akin  to  awe. 

And  in  the  calm,  untroubled  seclusion  of  Simiti,  in  its  me 
diaeval  atmosphere  of  romance,  and  amid  its  ceaseless  dreams 
of  a  stirring  past,  the  child  unfolded  a  nature  that  bore  the 
stamp  of  divinity,  a  nature  that  communed  incessantly  with  her 
God,  and  that  read  His  name  in  every  trivial  incident,  in  every 
stone  and  flower,  in  the  sunbeams,  the  stars,  and  the  whisper 
ing  breeze.  In  that  ancient  town,  crumbling  into  the  final  stages 
of  decrepitude,  she  dwelt  in  heaven.  To  her,  the  rude  adobe 
huts  were  marble  castles;  the  shabby  rawhide  chairs  and  hard 
wooden  beds  were  softest  down;  the  coarse  food  was  richer 
than  a  king's  spiced  viands;  and  over  it  all  she  cast  a  mantle  of 
love  that  was  rich  enough,  great  enough,  to  transform  with  the 
grace  of  fresh  and  heavenly  beauty  the  ruins  and  squalor  of 
her  earthly  environment. 

"Can  a  child  like  Carmen  live  a  sinless  life,  and  still  be 
human?"  Jose  often  mused,  as  he  watched  her  flitting  through 
the  sunlit  hours.  "It  is  recorded  that  Jesus  did.  Ah,  yes;  but 
he  was  born  of  a  virgin,  spotless  herself.  And  Carmen?  Is 
she  any  less  a  child  of  God?"  Jose  often  wondered,  wondered 
deeply,  as  he  gazed  at  her  absorbed  in  her  tasks.  And  yet — 
how  was  she  born?  Might  he  not,  in  the  absence  of  definite 
knowledge,  accept  Rosendo's  belief — accept  it  because  of  its 
beautiful,  haunting  mystery — that  she,  too,  was  miraculously 
born  of  a  virgin,  and  "left  by  the  angels  on  the  river  bank"? 
For,  as  far  as  he  might  judge,  her  life  was  sinless.  It  was  true, 
she  did  at  rare  intervals  display  little  outbursts  of  childish 
temper;  she  sometimes  forgot  and  spoke  sharply  to  her  few 
playmates,  and  even  to  Dona  Maria;  and  he  had  seen  her  cry 
for  sheer  vexation.  And  yet,  these  were  but  tiny  shadows 
that  were  cast  at  rarest  intervals,  melting  quickly  when  they 
came  into  the  glorious  sunlight  of  her  radiant  nature. 

But  the  mystery  shrouding  the  child's  parentage,  however 
he  might  regard  it,  often  roused  within  his  mind  thoughts  dark 
and  apprehensive.  Only  one  communication  had  come  from 
Padre  Diego,  and  that  some  four  months  after  his  precipitous 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


flight.  He  had  gained  the  Guamoco  trail,  it  said,  and  finally 
arrived  at  Remedies.  He  purposed  returning  to  Banco  ulti 
mately;  and,  until  then,  must  leave  the  little  Carmen  in  the 
care  of  those  in  whom  he  had  immovable  confidence,  and  to 
whom  he  would  some  day  try,  however  feebly,  to  repay  in  an 
appropriate  manner  his  infinite  debt  of  gratitude. 

"Caramba!"  muttered  Rosendo,  on  reading  the  note.  "Does 
the  villain  think  we  are  fools?" 

But  none  the  less  could  the  old  man  quiet  the  fear  that 
haunted  him,  nor  still  the  apprehension  that  some  day  Diego 
would  make  capital  of  his  claim.  What  that  claim  might  ac 
complish  if  laid  before  Wenceslas,  he  shuddered  to  think.  And 
so  he  kept  the  girl  at  his  side  when  in  Simiti,  and  bound  Jose 
and  the  faithful  Juan  to  redoubled  vigilance  when  he  was  again 
obliged  to  return  to  the  mountains. 

Time  passed.  The  care-free  children  of  this  tropic  realm 
drowsed  through  the  long,  hot  days  and  gossiped  and  danced 
in  the  soft  airs  of  night.  Rosendo  held  his  unremitting,  lonely 
vigil  of  toil  in  the  ghastly  solitudes  of  Guamoco.  Jose,  exiled 
and  outcast,  clung  desperately  to  the  child's  hand,  and  strove 
to  rise  into  the  spiritual  consciousness  in  which  she  dwelt. 
And  thus  the  year  fell  softly  into  the  yawning  arms  of  the 
past  and  became  a  memory. 

Then  one  day  Simiti  awoke  from  its  lethargy  in  terror,  with 
the  spectre  of  pestilence  stalking  through  her  narrow  streets. 


CHAPTER  19 

FELIZ  GOMEZ,  who  had  been  sent  to  Bodega  Central  for 
merchandise  which  Don  Mario  was  awaiting  from  the 
coast,  had  collapsed  as  he  stepped  from  his  boat  on  his 
return  to  Simiti.  When  he  regained  consciousness  he  called 
wildly  for  the  priest. 

"Padre!"  he  cried,  when  Jose  arrived,  "it  is  la  plaga!  Ah, 
Santisima  Virgcn — I  am  dying! — dying!"  He  writhed  in 
agony  on  the  ground. 

The  priest  bent  over  him,  his  heart  throbbing  with  appre 
hension. 

"Padre —  The  lad  strove  to  raise  his  head.  "The  inn 
keeper  at  Bodega  Central — he  told  me  I  might  sl'eep  in  an  empty 
house  back  of  the  inn.  Dios  mio!  There  was  an  old  cot  there — 
I  slept  on  it  two  nights — Caramba!  Padre,  they  told  me  then— 
Ah,  Bendita  Virgen!  Don't  let  me  die,  Padre!  Carisima  Vir- 
gen,  don't  let  me  die!  Ah,  Dios — /" 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


His  body  twisted  in  convulsions.  Jose  lifted  him  and 
dragged  him  to  the  nearby  shed  where  the  lad  had  been  living 
alone.  A  terror-stricken  concourse  gathered  quickly  about  the 
doorway  and  peered  in  wide-eyed  horror  through  the  narrow 
window. 

"Feliz,  what  did  they  tell  you?"  cried  Jose,  laying  the 
sufferer  upon  the  bed  and  chafing  his  cold  hands.  The  boy 
rallied. 

"They  told  me — a  Turk,  bound  for  Zaragoza  on  the  Nechi 
river — had  taken  the  wrong  boat — in  Maganguey.  He  had 
been  sick — terribly  sick  there.  Ah,  Dios!  It  is  coming  again, 
Padre — the  pain!  Caramba!  Dios  mio!  Save  me,  Padre,  save 
me!" 

"Jacinta!  Rosa!  I  must  have  help!"  cried  Jose,  turning 
to  the  stunned  people.  "Bring  cloths — hot  water — and  send  for 
Don  Mario.  Dona  Lucia,  prepare  an  olla  of  your  herb  tea  at 
once!" 

"Padre" — the  boy  had  become  quieter — "when  the  Turk 
learned  that  he  was  on  the  wrong  boat — he  asked  to  be  put  off 
at  the  next  town — which  was  Bodega  Central.  The  inn-keeper 
put  him  in  the  empty  house — and  he — Dios!  he  died — on  that 
bed  where  I  slept!" 

"Well?"  said  Jose\ 

"Padre,  he  died — the  day  before  I  arrived  there — and — 
ah,  Santisima  Virgen!  they  said — he  died — of — of— la  colera!" 

"Cholera!"  cried  the  priest,  starting  up.  At  the  mention  of 
the  disease  a  loud  murmur  arose  from  the  people,  and  they 
fell  back  from  the  shed. 

"Padre! — ah,  Dios,  how  I  suffer!  Give  me  the  sacrament — 
I  cannot  live — !  Padre — let  me  confess — now.  Ah,  Padre, 
shall  I  go — to  heaven?  Tell  me — !" 

Jose's  blood  froze.  He  stood  with  eyes  riveted  in  horror 
upon  the  tormented  lad. 

"Padre" — the  boy's  voice  grew  weaker — "I  fell  sick  that  day 
—I  started  for  Simiti — I  died  a  thousand  times  in  the  cailo — 
ah,  caramba!  But,  Padre — promise  to  get  me  out  of  purgatory 
— I  have  no  money  for  Masses.  Caramba!  I  cannot  stand  it! 
Oh,  Dios!  Padre — quick — I  have  not  been  very  wicked — but 
I  stole — Dios,  how  I  suffer! — I  stole  two  pesos  from  the  inn 
keeper  at  Bodega  Central — he  thought  he  lost  them — but  I  took 
them  out  of  the  drawer — Padre,  pay  him  for  me — then  I  will 
not  go  to  hell!  Dios!" 

Rosendo  at  that  moment  entered  the  house. 

"Don't  come  in  here!"  cried  Jose,  turning  upon  him  in  wild 
apprehension.  "Keep  away,  for  God's  sake,  keep  away!" 

In  sullen  silence  Rosendo  disregarded  the  priest's  frenzied 

163 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


appeal.  His  eyes  widened  when  he  saw  the  boy  torn  with  con 
vulsions,  but  he  did  not  flinch.  Only  when  he  saw  Carmen  ap 
proaching,  attracted  by  the  great  crowd,  he  hastily  bade  one 
of  the  women  turn  her  back  home. 

Hour  after  hour  the  poor  sufferer  tossed  and  writhed. 
Again  and  again  he  lapsed  into  unconsciousness,  from  which  he 
would  emerge  to  piteously  beg  the  priest  to  save  him.  "Ah! 
Dios,  Padre!"  he  pleaded,  extending  his  trembling  arms  to 
Jose,  "can  you  do  nothing?  Can  you  not  help  me?  Santisima 
Viraen,  how  I  suffer!" 

Then,  when  the  evening  shadows  were  gathering,  the  final 
convulsions  seized  him  and  wrenched  his  poor  soul  loose.  Jose 
and  Rosendo  were  alone  with  him  when  the  end  came.  The 
people  had  early  fled  from  the  stricken  lad,  and  were  gathering 
in  little  groups  before  their  homes  and  on  the  corners,  dis 
cussing  in  low,  strained  tones  the  advent  of  the  scourge.  Those 
who  had  been  close  to  the  sick  boy  were  now  cold  with  fear. 
Women  wept,  and  children  clung  whimpering  to  their  skirts. 
The  men  talked  excitedly  in  hoarse  whispers,  or  lapsed  into  a 
state  of  terrified  dullness. 

Jose  went  from  the  death-bed  to  the  Alcalde.  Don  Mario 
saw  him  coming,  and  fled  into  the  house,  securing  the  door 
after  him.  "Go  away,  Padre!"  he  shouted  through  the  shutters. 
"For  the  love  of  the  Virgin  do  not  come  here!  Caramba!" 

"But,  Don  Mario,  the  lad  is  dead!"  cried  Jose  in  despera 
tion.  "And  what  shall  we  do?  We  must  face  the  situation. 
Come,  you  are  the  Alcalde.  Let  us  talk  about— 

"Caramba!  Do  what  you  want  to !  I  shall  get  out !  N ombre 
de  Dios!  If  I  live  through  the  night  I  shall  go  to  the  mountains 
to-morrow!" 

"But  we  must  have  a  coffin  to  bury  the  lad!  You  must  let 
us  have  one!" 

"No!  You  cannot  enter  here,  Padre!"  shrilled  Don  Mario, 
jumping  up  and  down  in  his  excitement.  "Bury  him  in  a 
blanket — anything — but  keep  away  from  my  house!" 

Jose  turned  sadly  away  and  passed  through  the  deserted 
streets  back  to  the  lonely  shed.  Rosendo  met  him  at  the  door. 
"Bien,  Padre,"  he  said  quietly,  "we  are  exiled." 

"Have  you  been  home  yet?"  asked  Jose. 

"Hombre,  no!  I  cannot  go  home  now.  I  might  carry  the 
disease  to  the  senora  and  the  little  Carmen.  I  must  stay  here. 
And,"  he  added,  "you  too,  Padre." 

Jose's  heart  turned  to  lead.  "But,  the  boy?"  he  exclaimed, 
pointing  toward  the  bed. 

"When  it  is  dark,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  "we  will  take 
him  out  through  the  back  door  and  bury  him  beyond  the 
shales.  Hombre!  I  must  see  now  if  I  can  find  a  shovel." 

164 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Jose  sank  down  upon  the  threshold,  a  prey  to  corroding  de 
spair,  while  Rosendo  went  out  in  search  of  the  implement.  The 
streets  were  dead,  and  few  lights  shone  from  the  latticed  win 
dows.  The  pall  of  fear  had  settled  thick  upon  the  stricken 
town.  Those  who  were  standing  before  their  houses  as  Ro 
sendo  approached  hastily  turned  in  and  closed  their  doors. 
Jose,  in  the  presence  of  death  in  a  terrible  form,  sat  mute.  In 
an  hour  Rosendo  returned. 

"No  shovel,  Padre,"  he  announced.  "But  I  crept  up  back 
of  my  house  and  got  this  bar  which  I  had  left  standing  there 
when  I  came  back  from  the  mountains.  I  can  scrape  up  the 
loose  earth  with  my  hands.  Come  now." 

Jose  wearily  rose.  He  was  but  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  a  man 
to  whom  physical  danger  was  but  a  matter  of  temperament. 
He  absently  helped  Rosendo  wrap  the  black,  distorted  corpse  in 
the  frayed  blanket;  and  then  together  they  passed  out  into  the 
night  with  their  grewsome  burden. 

"Why  not  to  the  cemetery,  Rosendo?"  asked  Jose,  as  the 
old  man  took  an  opposite  course. 

"Hombre,  no!"  cried  Rosendo.  "The  cemetery  is  on  shale, 
and  I  could  not  dig  through  it  in  time.  We  must  get  the  body 
under  ground  at  once.  Caramba!  If  we  put  it  in  one  of  the 
bouedas  in  the  cemetery  the  buzzards  will  eat  it  and  scatter 
the  plague  all  over  the  town.  The  bovedas  are  broken,  and  have 
no  longer  any  doors,  you  remember." 

So  beyond  the  shales  they  went,  stumbling  through  the  dark 
ness,  their  minds  freighted  with  a  burden  of  apprehension 
more  terrible  than  the  thing  they  bore  in  their  arms.  The 
shales  crossed,  Rosendo  left  the  trail,  cutting  a  way  through 
the  bush  with  his  machete  a  distance  of  several  hundred  feet. 
Then,  by  the  weird  yellow  light  of  a  single  candle,  he  opened 
the  moist  earth  and  laid  the  hideous,  twisted  thing  within.  Jose 
watched  the  procedure  in  dull  apathy. 

"And  now,  Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  at  length  breaking  the 
awful  silence,  "where  will  you  sleep  to-night?  I  cannot  let 
you  go  back  to  your  house.  It  is  too  near  the  senora  and  Car 
men.  No  man  in  town  will  let  you  stay  in  his  house,  since  you 
have  handled  the  plague.  Will  you  sleep  in  the  shed  where  the 
lad  died?  Or  out  on  the  shales  with  me?  I  called  to  the 
senora  when  I  went  after  the  bar,  and  she  will  lay  two  blankets 
out  in  the  plaza  for  us.  And  in  the  morning  she  will  put  food 
where  we  can  get  it.  What  say  you?" 

Jose  stood  dazed.  His  mind  had  congealed  with  the  horror 
of  the  situation.  Rosendo  took  him  by  the  arm.  "Come,  Padre," 
he  said  gently.  "The  hill  up  back  of  the  second  church  is 
high,  and  no  one  lives  near.  I  will  get  the  blankets  and  we 
will  pass  the  night  out  there." 

165 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  Rosendo!"  Jose  found  his  voice.  "What  is  it?  Is  it— 
la  colcra?" 

"Quien  sabe?  Padre,"  returned  Rosendo.  "There  has  been 
plague  here — these  people,  some  of  them,  still  remember  it — 
but  it  was  long  ago.  There  have  been  cases  along  the  river — 
and  brought,  I  doubt  not,  by  Turks,  like  this  one." 

"And  do  you  think  that  it  is  now  all  along  the  river?  That 
Bodega  Central  is  being  ravaged  by  the  scourge?  That  it  will 
sweep  through  the  country?" 

"Quien  sabe?  Padre.  All  I  do  know  is  that  the  people  of 
Simiti  are  terribly  frightened,  and  the  pestilence  may  wipe 
away  the  town  before  it  leaves." 

'But — good  God!  what  can  we  do,  Rosendo?" 

"Nothing,  Padre — but  stay  and  meet  it,"  the  man  replied 
quietly. 

They  reached  the  hill  in  silence.  Then  Rosendo  wrapped 
himself  in  one  of  the  blankets  which  he  had  picked  up  as  he 
passed  through  the  plaza,  and  lay  down  upon  the  shale. 

But  Jose  slept  not  that  night.  The  warm,  sluggish  air  lay 
about  him,  mephitic  in  its  touch.  The  great  vampire  bats  that 
soughed  through  it  symbolized  the  "pestilence  that  walketh  in 
darkness."  Lonely  calls  drifted  across  the  warm  lake  waters 
from  the  dripping  jungle  like  the  hollow  echoes  of  lost  souls. 
Rosendo  tossed  fitfully,  and  now  and  then  uttered  deep  groans. 
The  atmosphere  was  prescient  with  horror.  He  struggled  to 
his  feet  and  paced  gloomily  back  and  forth  along  the  brow  of 
the  hill.  The  second  church  stood  near,  deserted,  gloomy,  no 
longer  a  temple  of  God,  but  a  charnel  house  of  fear  and  black 
superstition.  In  the  distance  the  ghostly  white  walls  of  the 
Rincon  church  glowed  faintly  in  the  feeble  light  that  dripped 
from  the  yellow  stars.  There  was  now  no  thought  of  God — no 
thought  of  divine  aid.  Jose  was  riding  again  the  mountainous 
billo\vs  of  fear  and  unbelief;  nor  did  he  look  for  the  Master  to 
come  to  him  through  the  thick  night  across  the  heaving  waters. 

The  tardy  dawn  brought  Dona  Maria  to  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
where  she  deposited  food,  and  held  distant  converse  with 
the  exiles.  Don  Mario  had  just  departed,  taking  the  direction 
across  the  lake  toward  San  Lucas.  He  had  compelled  his  wife 
to  remain  in  Simiti  to  watch  over  the  little  store,  while  he  fled 
with  two  boatmen  and  abundant  supplies.  Others  likewise 
were  preparing  to  flee,  some  to  the  Boque  river,  some  up  the 
Guamoco  trail.  Dona  Maria  was  keeping  Carmen  closely,  nor 
would  she  permit  her  to  as  much  as  venture  from  the  house. 
"Why  should  not  the  senora  take  Carmen  and  go  to  Boque, 
Rosendo?"  asked  Jose.  "Then  you  and  I  could  occupy  our 
own  houses  until  we  knew  what  the  future  had  in  store  for  us." 

166 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rosendo  agreed  at  once.  Carmen  would  be  safe  in  the  pro 
tecting  care  of  Don  Nicolas.  Doria  Maria  yielded  only  after 
much  persuasion.  From  the  hilltop  Jose  could  descry  the 
Alcalde's  boat  slowly  wending  its  way  across  the  lake  toward 
the  Juncal.  Rosendo,  having  finished  his  morning  meal,  pre 
pared  to  meet  the  day. 

"Bien,  Padre,"  he  said,  "when  the  sun  gets  high  we  cannot 
stay  here.  We  must  seek  shade — but  where?"  He  looked  about 
dubiously. 

"Why  not  in  the  old  church,  Rosendo?" 

"Caramba,  never!"  cried  Rosendo.  "Hombre!  that  old  church 
is  haunted!" 

Jose  could  never  understand  the  nature  of  this  man,  so 
brave  in  the  face  of  physical  danger,  yet  so  permeated  with 
superstitious  dread  of  those  imaginary  inhabitants  of  the  in 
visible  realm. 

"Padre,"  suggested  Rosendo  at  length.  "We  will  go  down 
there,  nearer  the  lake,  to  the  old  shack  where  the  blacksmith 
had  his  forge.  He  died  two  years  ago,  and  the  place  has  since 
been  empty." 

"Go  then,  Rosendo,  and  I  will  follow  later,"  assented  Jose, 
who  now  craved  solitude  for  the  struggle  for  self-mastery 
which  he  saw  impending. 

While  Rosendo  moved  off  toward  the  deserted  shack,  the 
priest  continued  his  restless  pacing  along  the  crest  of  the  hill. 
The  morning  was  glorious — but  for  the  blighting  thoughts  of 
men.  The  vivid  green  of  the  dewy  hills  shone  like  new-laid 
color.  The  lake  lay  like  a  diamond  set  in  emeralds.  The  dead 
town  glowed  brilliantly  white  in  the  mounting  sun.  Jose  knew 
that  the  heat  would  soon  drive  him  from  the  hill.  He  glanced 
questioningly  at  the  old  church.  He  walked  toward  it;  then 
mounted  the  broken  steps.  The  hinges,  rusted  and  broken,  had 
let  the  heavy  door,  now  bored  through  and  through  by  comje- 
jen  ants,  slip  to  one  side.  Through  the  opening  thus  afforded, 
Jose  could  peer  into  the  cavernous  blackness  within.  The  sun 
shot  its  terrific  heat  at  him,  and  the  stone  steps  burned  his 
sandaled  feet.  He  pushed  against  the  door.  It  yielded.  Then 
through  the  opening  he  entered  the  dusty,  ill-smelling  old 
edifice. 

When  his  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the  dimness  with 
in,  he  saw  that  the  interior  was  like  that  of  the  other  church, 
only  in  a  more  dilapidated  state.  There  were  but  few  benches; 
and  the  brick  altar,  poorer  in  construction,  had  crumbled 
away  at  one  side.  Dust,  mold,  and  cobwebs  covered  every 
thing;  but  the  air  was  gratefully  cool.  Jose  brushed  the 

167 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


thick  dust  from  one  of  the  benches.     Then  he  lay  down  upon 
it,  and  was  soon  sunk  in  heavy  sleep. 

»»***  + 

The  sun  had  just  crossed  the  meridian.  Jose  awoke,  con 
scious  that  he  was  not  alone.  The  weird  legend  that  hung 
about  the  old  church  filtered  slowly  through  his  dazed  brain. 
Rosendo  had  said  that  an  angel  of  some  kind  dwelt  in  the 
place.  And  surely  a  presence  sat  on  the  bench  in  the  twilight 
before  him!  He  roused  up,  rubbed  his  sleepy  eyes,  and  peered 
at  it.  A  soft  laugh  echoed  through  the  stillness. 

"I  looked  all  around  for  the  bad  angel  that  padre  Rosendo 
said  lived  here,  and  I  didn't  find  anything  but  you." 

"Carmen,  child!  What  are  you  doing  here?  Don't  come 
near  me!"  cried  Jose,  drawing  away. 

"Why,  Padre — what  is  it?  Why  must  I  keep  away  from 
you?  First,  madre  Maria  tells  me  I  must  go  to  Boque  with 
her.  And  now  you  will  not  let  me  come  near  you.  And  I  love 
you  so —  Tears  choked  her  voice,  and  she  sat  looking  in 
mute  appeal  at  the  priest. 

Jose's  wit  seemed  hopelessly  scattered.  He  passed  his  hand 
dully  across  his  brow  as  if  to  brush  the  mist  from  his  befogged 
brain. 

"Padre  dear."  The  pathetic  little  voice  wrung  his  heart. 
"Padre  dear,  when  madre  Maria  told  me  I  had  to  go  to  Boque, 
I  went  to  your  house  to  ask  you,  and — and  you  weren't  there. 
And  I  couldn't  find  padre  Rosendo  either — and  there  wasn't 
anybody  in  the  streets  at  all— and  I  came  up  here.  Then  I 
saw  the  blanket  out  on  the  hill,  and  I  kept  hunting  for  you — 
I  wanted  to  see  you  so  much.  And  when  I  saw  the  door  of 
the  church  broken,  I  thought  you  might  be  in  here — and  so  I 
came  in — and,  oh,  Padre  dear,  I  was  so  glad  to  find  you — but 
I  wouldn't  wake  you  up — and  while  you  were  sleeping  I  just 
knew  that  God  was  taking  care  of  you  all  the  time — 

Jose  had  sunk  again  upon  the  bench. 

"Padre  dear!"  Carmen  came  flying  to  him  across  the 
darkness  and  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "Padre  dear! 
I  just  couldn't  stand  it  to  leave  you!"  The  flood-gates  opened 
wide,  and  the  girl  sobbed  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Carmen — child!"  But  his  own  tears  were  mingling  freely 
with  hers.  The  strain  of  the  preceding  night  had  left  him 
weak.  He  strove  feebly  to  loosen  the  tightly  clasped  arms  of 
the  weeping  girl.  Then  he  buried  his  drawn  face  in  her  thick 
curls  and  strained  her  to  his  heaving  breast.  What  this  might 
mean  to  Carmen  he  knew  full  well.  But — why  not  have  it  so? 
If  she  preceded  him  into  the  dark  vale,  it  would  be  for  only  a 
little  while.  He  would  not  live  without  her. 

168 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  sobs  died  away,  and  the  girl  looked  up  at  the  suffering 
man. 

"Padre  dear,  you  will  not  send  me  away — will  you?"  she 
pleaded. 

"No!  no!"  he  cried  fiercely,  "not  now!" 

A  happy  little  sigh  escaped  her  lips.  Then  she  drew  her 
self  closer  to  him  and  whispered  softly,  "Padre  dear — I  love 
you." 

A  groan  burst  from  the  man.  "God  above!"  he  cried,  "have 
you  the  heart  to  let  evil  attack  such  a  one  as  this!" 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  in  wonder.  "Why,  Padre  dear— 
what  is  it?  Tell  me." 

"Nothing,  child — nothing!  Did — er — did  your  madre  Maria 
say  why  you  must  go  to  Boque?"  he  asked  hesitatingly. 

"She  said  Feliz  Gomez  died  last  night  of  the  plague,  and 
that  the  people  were  afraid  they  would  all  get  sick  and  die 
too.  And  she  said — Padre  dear,  she  said  you  were  afraid  I 
would  get  sick,  and  so  you  told  her  to  take  me  away.  You 
didn't  mean  that,  did  you?  She  didn't  understand  you,  did 
she?  You  are  not  afraid,  are  you?  You  can't  be,  you  know, 
can  you?  You  and  I  are  not  afraid  of  anything.  We  know — 
don't  we,  Padre  dear?" 

"What  do  we  know,  child?"  he  asked  sadly. 

"Why — why,  we  know  that  God  is  everywhere!"  She 
looked  at  him  wonderingly.  What  could  she  understand  of  a 
nature  so  wavering? — firm  when  the  sun  shone  bright  above — 
tottering  when  the  blasts  of  adversity  whirled  about  it?  He 
had  said  such  beautiful  things  to  her,  such  wonderful  things 
about  God  and  His  children  only  yesterday.  And  now — why 
this  awful  change?  Why  again  this  sudden  lowering  of 
standards? 

He  had  sunk  deep  into  his  dark  thoughts.  "Death  is  in 
evitable!"  he  muttered  grimly,  forgetful  of  the  child's  presence. 

"Oh,  Padre  dear!"  she  pleaded,  passing  her  little  hand 
tenderly  over  his  cheek.  Then  her  face  brightened.  "I  know 
what  it  is!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  just  trying  to  think  that 
two  and  two  are  seven — and  you  can't  prove  it — and  so  you'd 
better  stop  trying!"  She  broke  into  a  little  forced  laugh. 

Jose  sat  wrapped  in  black  silence. 

"Padre  dear."  Her  voice  was  full  of  plaintive  tenderness. 
"You  have  talked  so  much  about  that  good  man  Jesus.  What 
would  he  say  if  he  saw  you  trying  to  make  two  and  two  equal 
seven?  And  if  he  had  been  here  last  night — would  he  have 
let  Feliz  die?" 

The  priest  made  no  answer.  None  was  required  when 
Carmen  put  her  questions. 

169 

21 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre  dear,"  she  continued  softly.  "Why  didn't  you  cure 
Feliz?" 

His  soul  withered  under  the  shock. 

"You  have  told  me,  often,  that  Jesus  cured  sick  people. 
And  you  said  he  even  made  the  dead  ones  live  again — didn't 
you,  Padre  dear?" 

"Yes,"  he  murmured;  "they  say  he  did." 

"And  you  read  to  me  once  from  your  Bible  where  he  told 
the  people  that  he  gave  them  power  over  everything.  And  you 
said  he  was  the  great  rule — you  called  him  the  Christ-principle 
— and  you  said  he  never  went  away  from  us.  Well,  Padre 
dear,"  she  concluded  with  quick  emphasis,  "why  don't  you 
use  him  now?" 

She  waited  a  moment.     Then,  when  no  reply  came — 

"Feliz  didn't  die,  Padre." 

"Hombre!  It's  all  the  same — he's  gone!"  he  cried  in  a  tone 
of  sullen  bitterness. 

"You  think  he  is  gone,  Padre  dear.  And  Feliz  thought  he 
had  to  go.  And  so  now  you  both  see  it  that  way — that's  all. 
If  you  would  see  things  the  way  that  good  man  Jesus  told  you 
to — well,  wouldn't  they  be  different — wouldn't  they,  Padre 
dear?" 

"No  doubt  they  would,  child,  no  doubt.     But— 

She  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  express  the  limitation 
which  the  conjunctive  implied.  Then: 

"Padre  dear,  how  do  you  think  he  did  it?  How  did  he  cure 
sick  people,  and  make  the  dead  ones  live  again?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  child — I  am  not  sure.  That  knowledge 
has  been  lost,  long  since." 

"You  do  know,  Padre,"  she  insisted;  "you  do!  Did  he 
know  that  God  was  evervwhere?" 

"Yes." 

"And  wrhat  did  he  say  sickness  was?" 

"He  classed  it  with  all  evil  under  the  one  heading — a  lie — 
a  lie  about  God." 

"But  when  a  person  tells  a  lie,  he  doesn't  speak  the  truth, 
does  he?" 

"No." 

"And  a  lie  has  no  rule,  no  principle?" 

"No." 

"And  so  it  isn't  anything — doesn't  come  from  anything  true 
- — hasn't  any  real  life,  has  it?" 

"No,  a  lie  is  utterly  unreal,  not  founded  on  anything  but 
supposition,  either  ignorant  or  malicious." 

"Then  Jesus  said  sickness  was  a  supposition,  didn't  he?" 

"Yes." 

170 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"And  God,  who  made  everything  real,  didn't  make  supposi 
tions.  He  made  only  real  things." 

"True,  child." 

"Well,  Padre  dear,  if  you  know  all  that,  why  don't  you  act 
as  if  you  did?" 

Act?  Yes,  act  your  knowledge!  Acknowledge  Him  in  all 
your  ways!  Then  He  shall  bring  it  to  pass!  What?  That 
which  is  real — life,  not  death — immortality,  not  oblivion — love, 
not  hate — good,  not  evil! 

"Chiquita — "  His  voice  was  thick.  "You — you  believe  all 
that,  don't  you?" 

"No,  Padre  dear" — she  smiled  up  at  him  through  the  dark 
ness — "I  don't  believe  it,  I  know  it." 

"But — how — how  do  you  know  it?" 

"God  tells  me,  Padre.  I  hear  Him,  always.  And  I  prove 
it  every  day.  The  trouble  is,  you  believe  it,  but  I  don't  think 
you  ever  try  to  prove  it.  If  you  believed  my  problems  in 
algebra  could  be  solved,  but  never  tried  to  prove  it — well,  you 
wouldn't  do  very  much  in  algebra,  would  you?"  She  laughed 
at  the  apt  comparison. 

Jose's  straining  eyes  were  peering  straight  ahead.  Through 
the  thick  gloom  he  saw  the  mutilated  figure  of  the  Christ  hang 
ing  on  its  cross  beside  the  crumbling  altar.  It  reflected  the 
broken  image  of  the  Christ-principle  in  the  hearts  of  men. 
And  was  he  not  again  crucifying  the  gentle  Christ?  Did  not 
the  world  daily  crucify  him  and  nail  him  with  their  false  be 
liefs  to  the  cross  of  carnal  error  which  they  set  up  in  the 
Golgotha  of  their  own  souls?  And  were  they  not  daily  paying 
the  awful  penalty  therefor?  Aye,  paying  it  in  agony,  in  tortur 
ing  agony  of  soul  and  body,  in  blasted  hopes,  crumbling  ambi 
tions,  and  inevitable  death! 

"Padre  dear,  what  did  the  good  man  say  sickness  came 
from?"  Carmen's  soft  voice  brought  him  back  from  his  reflec 
tions. 

"Sickness?    Why,  he  always  coupled  disease  with  sin." 

"And  sin?" 

"Sin  is — is  unrighteousness." 

"And  that  is — ?"  she  pursued  relentlessly. 

"Wrong  conduct,  based  on  wrong  thinking.  And  wrong 
thinking  is  based  on  wrong  beliefs,  false  thought." 

"But  to  believe  that  there  is  anything  but  God,  and  the 
things  He  made,  is  sin,  isn't  it,  Padre  dear?" 

"Sin  is — yes,  to  believe  in  other  powers  than  God  is  to 
break  the  very  first  Commandment — and  that  is  the  chief  of 
sins!" 

"Well,  Padre  dear,  can't  you  make  yourself  think  right? 
Do  you  know  what  you  really  think  about  God,  anyway?" 

171 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Jose  rose  and  paced  up  and  down  through  the  dark  aisle. 

"I  try  to  think,"  he  answered,  "that  He  is  mind;  that  He  is 
infinite,  everywhere;  that  He  is  all-powerful;  that  He  knows  all 
things;  and  that  He  is  perfect  and  good.  I  try  not  to  think 
that  He  made  evil,  or  anything  that  is  or  could  be  bad,  or  that 
could  become  sick,  or  decay,  or  die.  Whatever  He  made  must 
be  real,  and  real  things  last  forever,  are  immortal,  eternal.  I 
strive  to  think  He  did  make  man  in  His  image  and  likeness— 
and  that  man  has  never  been  anything  else — that  man  never 
'fell.'  " 

"What  is  that,  Padre?" 

"Only  an  old,  outworn  theological  belief.  But,  to  resume: 
I  believe  that,  since  God  is  mind,  man  must  be  an  idea  of  His. 
Since  God  is  infinite,  man  must  exist  in  Him.  I  know  that  any 
number  of  lies  can  be  made  up  about  true  things.  And  any 
number  of  falsities  can  be  assumed  about  God  and  what  He 
has  made.  I  am  sure  that  the  material  universe  and  man  are 
a  part  of  the  lie  about  God  and  the  way  He  manifests  and 
expresses  Himself  in  and  through  His  ideas.  Everything  is 
mental.  We  must  hold  to  that!  The  mental  realm  includes 
all  truth,  all  fact.  But  there  may  be  all  sorts  of  supposition 
about  this  fact.  And  yet,  while  fact  is  based  upon  absolute 
and  undeviating  principle — and  I  believe  that  principle  to  be 
God — supposition  is  utterly  without  any  rule  or  principle  what 
soever.  It  is  wholly  subject  to  truth,  to  Principle,  to  God. 
Hence,  bad  or  wrong  thought  is  absolutely  subject  to  good  or 
real  thought,  and  must  go  down  before  it.  The  mortal  man  is 
a  product  of  wrong  thought.  He  is  a  supposition;  and  so  is 
the  universe  of  matter  in  which  he  is  supposed  to  live.  We 
have  already  learned  that  the  things  he  thinks  he  hears,  feels, 
tastes,  smells,  and  sees  are  only  his  own  thoughts.  And  these 
turn  out  to  be  suppositions.  Hence,  they  are  nothing  real." 

"Well,  Padre!  How  fast  you  talk!  And — such  big  words! 
I — I  don't  think  I  understand  all  you  say.  But,  anyway,  I 
guess  it  is  right."  She  laughed  again. 

"I  know  it  is  right!"  he  exclaimed,  forgetting  that  he  was 
talking  to  a  child.  "Evil,  which  includes  sickness  and  death, 
is  only  a  false  idea  of  good.  It  is  a  misinterpretation,  made  in 
the  thought-activity  which  constitutes  what  we  call  the  human 
consciousness.  And  that  is  the  opposite — the  suppositional 
opposite — of  the  mind  that  is  God.  Evil,  then,  becomes  a  sup 
position — and  a  lie.  Just  what  Jesus  said  it  was!" 

"But,  Padre — I  don't  see  why  you  don't  act  as  if  you  really 
believed  all  that!" 

"Fear — only  fear!  It  has  not  yet  been  eradicated  from  my 
thought,"  he  answered  slowly. 

172 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  Padre,  what  will  drive  it  out?" 

"Love,  child — love  only,  for  'perfect  love  casteth  out  fear.' ' 

"Oh,  then,  Padre  dear,  I  will  just  love  it  all  out  of  you, 
every  bit!"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  arms  about  him  again 
and  burying  her  face  in  his  shoulder. 

"Ah,  little  one,"  he  said  sadly,  "I  must  love  more.  I  must 
love  my  fellow-men  and  good  more  than  myself  and  evil.  If 
I  didn't  love  myself  so  much,  I  would  have  no  fear.  If  I  loved 
God  as  you  do,  dearest  child,  I  would  never  come  under  fear's 
heavy  shadow." 

"You  do  love  everybody — you  have  got  to,  for  you  are  God's 
child.  And  now,"  she  added,  getting  down  and  drawing  him 
toward  the  door,  "let  us  go  out  of  this  smelly  old  church.  I 
want  you  to  come  home.  We've  got  to  have  our  lessons,  you 
know." 

"But — child,  the  people  will  not  let  me  come  near  them — 
nor  you  either,  now,"  he  said,  holding  back.  "They  think  we 
may  give  them  the  disease." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  tender,  wistful  smile.  Then 
she  shook  her  head.  "Padre  dear,  I  love  you,"  she  said,  "but 
you  make  me  lots  of  trouble.  But — we  are  going  to  love  all 
the  fear  away,  and—  "  stamping  her  little  bare  foot —  "we  are 
going  to  get  the  right  answer  to  your  problem,  too!" 

The  priest  took  her  hand,  and  together  they  passed  out 
into  the  dazzling  sunlight. 

On  the  brow  of  the  hill  stood  Rosendo,  talking  excitedly, 
and  with  much  vehement  gesticulation,  to  Dona  Maria,  who 
remained  a  safe  distance  from  him.  The  latter  and  her  good 
consort  exclaimed  in  horror  when  they  saw  Carmen  with  the 
priest. 

"Caramba!"  cried  Rosendo,  darting  toward  them.  "I  could 
kill  you  for  this,  Padre!  Hombre!  How  came  the  child  here, 
and  with  you?  Dios  mio!  Have  you  no  heart,  but  that,  when 
you  know  you  may  die,  you  would  take  her  with  you?"  He 
swung  his  long  arms  menacingly  before  the  priest,  and  his 
face  worked  with  passion. 

The  girl  ran  between  the  two  men.  "Padre  Rosendo!"  she 
cried,  seizing  one  of  his  hands  in  both  of  her  own.  "I  came  of 
myself.  He  did  not  call  me.  I  found  him  asleep.  And  he  isn't 
going  to  die — nor  I,  either!" 

Doiia  Maria  approached  and  quietly  joined  the  little  group. 

"Caramba!  Go  back!"  cried  the  distressed  Rosendo,  turn 
ing  upon  her.  "Hombre!  Dios  y  diablo!  will  you  all  die?" 
He  stamped  the  ground  and  tore  his  hair  in  his  impotent  pro 
test. 

"Na,   Rosendo,"  said  the  woman  placidly,   "if  you  are  in 

173 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


danger,  I  will  be  too.     If  you  must  die,  so  will  I.     I  will  not  be 
left  alone." 

A  thrill  of  admiration  swept  over  the  priest.  Then  he 
smiled  wanly.  "Bien,"  he  said,  "we  have  all  been  exposed  to 
the  plague  now,  and  we  will  stand  together.  Shall  we  return 
home?" 

Rosendo's  anger  soon  evaporated,  but  his  face  retained 
traces  of  deep  anxiety.  "Maria  tells  me,  Padre,"  he  said,  "that 
Amado  Sanchez  fell  sick  last  night  with  the  flux,  and  nobody 
will  stay  with  him,  excepting  his  woman." 

"Let  us  go  to  him,  then,"  replied  the  priest.  "Dona  Maria, 
do  you  and  Carmen  return  to  your  house,  whilst  Rosendo  and 
I  seek  to  be  of  service  to  those  who  may  need  us." 

Together  they  started  down  the  main  street  of  the  town. 
Dead  silence  reigned  everywhere.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  had 
fled  to  the  hills.  But  there  were  still  many  whose  circum 
stances  would  not  permit  of  flight.  As  they  neared  Rosendo's 
house  the  little  party  w^ere  hailed  from  a  distance  by  Juan 
Mendoza  and  Pedro  Cardenas,  neighbors  living  on  either  side 
of  Rosendo  and  the  priest. 

"Ho/a,  Padre  and  Don  Rosendo!"  they  called;  "you  cannot 
return  to  your  homes,  for  you  would  expose  us  to  the  plague! 
Go  back!  Go  back!  We  will  burn  the  houses  over  your  heads 
if  you  return!" 

"But,  amigos — "  Jose  began. 

"Na,  Padre,"  they  cried  in  tense  excitement,  "it  is  for  the 
best !  Go  back  to  the  hill !  We  will  supply  you  with  food  and 
blankets — but  you  must  not  come  here !  Amado  Sanchez  is 
sick;  Guillermo  Hernandez  is  sick.  Go  back!  You  must  not 
expose  us!"  The  attitude  of  the  frightened,  desperate  men 
was  threatening.  Jose  saw  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  resist 
them. 

"Bien,  compadres,  we  will  go,"  he  said,  his  heart  breaking 
with  sorrow  for  these  children  of  fear.  Then,  assembling  his 
little  family,  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps  sadly  through 
the  street  that  burned  in  lonely  silence  in  the  torrid  heat. 

Carmen's  eyes  were  big  with  wonder;  but  a  happy  idea  soon 
drove  all  apprehension  from  her  thought.  "Padre!"  she  ex 
claimed,  "we  will  live  in  the  old  church,  and  we  will  play  house 
there!"  She  clapped  her  hands  in  merriment. 

"Never!"  muttered  Rosendo.  "I  will  not  enter  that  place! 
It  would  bring  the  plague  upon  me!  A7a/  na!"  he  insisted, 
\vhen  they  reached  the  steps,  "do  you  go  in  if  you  wish;  but 
I  will  stay  outside  in  the  shadow  of  the  building."  Nor  would 
the  combined  entreaties  of  Carmen  and  Jose  induce  him  to 
yield.  Dona  Maria  calmly  and  silently  prepared  to  remain 
with  him. 

174 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Pull  off  the  old  door,  Padre!"  cried  Carmen  excitedly. 
"And  open  all  the  shutters.  Look!  Look,  Padre!  There  goes 
the  bad  angel  that  padre  Rosendo  was  afraid  of!"  A  number 
of  bats,  startled  at  the  noise  and  the  sudden  influx  of  light, 
were  scurrying  out  through  the  open  door. 

"Like  the  legion  of  demons  which  Jesus  sent  into  the 
swine,"  said  Jose.  "I  will  tell  you  the  story  some  day,  chi- 
quita,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  her  look  of  inquiry. 

The  day  passed  quickly  for  the  child,  nor  did  she  seem  to 
cast  another  thought  in  the  direction  of  the  cloud  which  hung 
over  the  sorrowing  town.  At  dusk,  Mendoza  and  Cardenas 
came  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  with  food  and  blankets. 

"Amado  Sanchez  has  just  died,"  they  reported. 

"What!"  cried  Jose.  "So  soon?  Why — he  fell  sick  only 
yesterday!" 

"No,  Padre,  he  had  been  ailing  for  many  days — but  it  may 
have  been  the  plague  just  the  same.  Perhaps  it  was  with  us 
before  Feliz  brought  it.  But  we  have  not  exposed  ourselves 
to  the  disease  and — Padre — there  is  not  a  man  in  Simiti  who 
will  bury  Amado.  What  shall  we  do?" 

Jose  divined  the  man's  thought.  "Bien,  amigo,"  he  replied. 
"Go  you  back  to  your  homes.  To-night  Rosendo  and  I  will 
come  and  bury  him." 

Jose  had  sent  Carmen  and  Dona  Maria  beyond  the  church, 
that  they  might  not  hear  the  grewsome  tidings.  When  the 
men  had  returned  to  their  homes,  the  little  band  on  the  hill 
top  ate  their  evening  meal  in  silence.  Then  a  bench  was  swept 
clean  for  Carmen's  bed,  for  she  insisted  on  sleeping  in  the 
old  church  with  Jose  when  she  learned  that  he  intended  to  pass 
the  night  there. 

Again,  as  the  heavy  shadows  were  gathering,  Jose  and  Ro 
sendo  descended  into  the  town  and  bore  out  the  body  of  Amado 
Sanchez  to  a  resting  place  beside  the  poor  lad  who  had  died  the 
day  before.  To  a  man  of  such  delicate  sensibilities  as  Jose, 
whose  nerves  were  raw  from  continual  friction  with  a  world 
with  which  he  was  ever  at  variance,  this  task  was  one  of 
almost  unendurable  horror.  He  returned  to  the  old  church 
in  a  state  bordering  on  collapse. 

"Rosendo,"  he  murmured,  as  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
hillside  in  the  still  night,  "I  think  we  shall  all  die  of  the 
plague.  And  it  were  wrell  so.  I  am  tired,  utterly  tired  of  striv 
ing  to  live  against  such  odds.  Bien,  let  it  come!" 

"Courage,  compadre!"  urged  Rosendo,  putting  his  great 
arm  about  the  priest's  shoulders.  "We  must  all  go  some  time, 
and  perhaps  now;  but  while  we  live  let  us  live  like  men!" 

"You  do  not  fear  death?" 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


"No — what  is  it  that  the  old  history  of  mine  says?  'Death 
is  not  departing,  but  arriving.'  I  am  not  afraid.  But  the  little 
Carmen — I  wish  that  she  might  live.  She — ah,  Padre,  she  could 
do  much  good  in  the  world.  Bien,  \ve  are  all  in  the  hands  of 
the  One  who  brought  us  here — and  He  will  take  us  in  the  way 
and  at  the  time  that  He  appoints — is  it  not  so,  Padre?" 

Jose  lapsed  again  into  meditation.  No,  he  could  not  say 
that  it  was  so.  The  thoughts  which  he  had  expressed  to  Car 
men  that  morning  still  flitted  through  his  mind.  The  child  was 
right — Rosendo's  philosophy  was  that  of  resignation  born  of 
ignorance.  It  was  the  despair  of  doubt.  And  he  did  not  really 
think  that  Carmen  would  be  smitten  of  the  plague.  Something 
seemed  to  tell  him  that  it  was  impossible.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  would  himself  observe  every  precaution  in  regard  to 
her.  No,  he  would  not  sleep  in  the  church  that  night.  He 
had  handled  the  body  of  the  plague's  second  victim,  and  he 
could  not  rest  near  the  child.  Perhaps  exposure  to  the  night 
air  and  the  heavy  dews  would  serve  to  cleanse  him.  And  so 
he  wrapped  himself  in  the  blanket  which  Dona  Maria  brought 
from  within  the  church,  and  lay  down  beside  the  faithful  pair. 

In  the  long  hours  of  that  lonely  night  Jose  lay  beneath  the 
shimmering  stars  pondering,  wondering.  Down  below  in  the 
smitten  town  the  poor  children  of  his  flock  were  eating  their 
hearts  out  in  anxious  dread  and  bitter  sorrow.  Was  it  through 
any  fault  of  theirs  that  this  thing  had  come  upon  them,  like  a 
bolt  from  a  cloudless  sky?  No — except  that  they  were  human, 
mortal.  And  if  the  thing  were  real,  it  came  from  the  mind 
that  is  God;  if  unreal — but  it  seemed  real  to  these  simple  folk, 
terribly  so! 

His  heart  yearned  toward  them  as  his  thought  penetrated 
the  still  reaches  of  the  night  and  hovered  about  their  lonely 
vigil.  Yet,  what  had  he  to  offer?  What  balm  could  he  extend 
to  those  wearing  out  weary  hours  on  beds  of  agony  below? 
Religion?  True  religion,  if  they  could  but  understand  it;  but 
not  again  the  empty  husks  of  the  faith  that  had  been  taught 
them  in  the  name  of  Christ!  Where  did  scholastic  theology 
stand  in  such  an  hour  as  this?  Did  it  offer  easement  from  their 
torture  of  mind  and  body?  No.  Strength  to  bear  in  patience 
their  heavy  burden?  No.  Hope?  Not  of  this  life — nay, 
naught  but  the  thread-worn,  undemonstrable  promise  of  a 
life  to  come,  if,  indeed,  they  might  happily  avoid  the  pangs  of 
purgatory  and  the  horrors  of  the  quenchless  flames  of  hell! 
God,  what  had  not  the  Church  to  answer  for! 

And  yet,  these  ignorant  children  were  but  succumbing  to 
the  evidence  of  their  material  senses — though  small  good  it 
would  do  to  tell  them  so!  Could  they  but  know — as  did  Car- 

176 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


men — that  rejection  of  error  and  reception  of  truth  meant 
life — ah,  could  they  but  know!  Could  he  himself  but  know — 
really  know — that  God  is  neither  the  producer  of  evil,  nor  the 
powerless  witness  of  its  ravages — could  he  but  understand  and 
prove  that  evil  is  not  a  self-existing  entity,  warring  eternally 
with  God,  what  might  he  not  accomplish!  For  Jesus  had  said: 
"These  signs" — the  cure  of  disease,  the  rout  of  death — "shall 
follow  them  that  believe,"  that  understand,  that  know.  Why 
could  he  not  go  down  to  those  beds  of  torture  and  say  with  the 
Christ:  "Arise,  for  God  hath  made  thee  whole"?  He  knew 
why — "without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  Him:  for  he 
that  cometh  of  God  must  believe" — must  know — "that  He  is  a 
rewarder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  Him."  The  suffering 
victims  in  the  town  below  were  asleep  in  a  state  of  religious 
dullness.  The  task  of  independent  thinking  was  onerous  to 
such  as  they.  Gladly  did  they  leave  it  to  the  Church  to  do 
their  thinking  for  them.  And  thus  did  they  suffer  for  the  trust 
betrayed ! 

But  truth  is  omnipotent,  and  "one  with  God  is  a  majority." 
Jesus  gave  few  rules,  but  none  more  fundamental  than  that 
"with  God  all  things  are  possible."  Was  he,  Jose,  walking 
with  God?  If  so,  he  might  arise  and  go  down  into  the  stricken 
town  and  bid  its  frightened  children  be  whole.  If  he  fully 
recognized  "the  Father"  as  all-powerful,  all-good,  and  if  he 
could  clearly  see  and  retain  his  grasp  on  the  truth  that  evil, 
the  supposititious  opposite  of  good,  had  neither  place  nor 
power,  except  in  the  minds  of  mortals  receptive  to  it — ah,  then 
—then — 

A  soft  patter  of  little  feet  on  the  shales  broke  in  upon  his 
thought.  He  turned  and  beheld  Carmen  coming  through  the 
night. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  whispered,  "why  didn't  you  come  and 
sleep  in  the  church  with  me?"  She  crept  close  to  him.  He 
had  not  the  heart  nor  the  courage  to  send  her  away.  He  put 
out  his  arm  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Padre  dear,"  the  child  murmured,  "it  is  nice  out  here 
under  the  stars — and  I  want  to  be  with  you — I  love  you — love 
you—  The  whisper  died  away,  and  the  child  slept  on  his 
arm. 

"Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear." 


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CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  20 

DAWN  brought  Juan  Mendoza  and  Pedro  Cardenas  again  to 
the  hill,  and  with  them  came  others.  "Mateo  Gil,  Pablo 
Polo,  and  Juanita  Gomez  are  sick,  Padre,"  announced 
Mendoza,  the  spokesman.  "They  ask  for  the  last  sacrament. 
You  could  come  down  and  give  it  to  them,  and  then  return  to 
the  hill,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Jose,  "I  will  come." 

"And,  Padre,"  continued  Mendoza,  "we  talked  it  over  last 
night,  after  Amado  Sanchez  died,  and  we  think  it  would  help 
if  you  said  a  Mass  for  us  in  the  church  to-day." 

"I  will  do  so  this  afternoon,  after  I  have  visited  the  sick," 
he  replied  pityingly. 

Mendoza  hesitated.     Then — 

"We  think,  too,  Padre,  that  if  we  held  a  procession — in 
honor  of  Santa  Barbara — perhaps  she  would  pray  for  us,  and 
might  stop  the  sickness.  We  could  march  through  the  town 
this  evening,  while  you  stood  here  and  prayed  as  we  passed 
around  the  hill.  What  say  you,  Padre?" 

Jose  was  about  to  express  a  vehement  protest.  But  the 
anxious  faces  directed  toward  him  melted  his  heart. 

"Yes,  children,"  he  replied  gently,  "do  as  you  wish.  Keep 
your  houses  this  afternoon  while  I  visit  the  sick  and  offer  the 
Mass.  I  will  leave  the  hostia  on  the  altar.  You  need  not  fear 
to  touch  it.  Carry  it  with  you  in  your  rogation  to  Santa  Bar 
bara  this  evening,  and  I  will  stand  here  and  pray  for  you." 

The  people  departed,  sorrowing,  but  grateful.  Hope  revived 
in  the  breasts  of  some.  But  most  of  them  awaited  in  trembling 
the  icy  touch  of  the  plague. 

"Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  when  the  people  had  gone.  "I  have 
been  thinking  about  the  sickness,  and  I  remember  what  my 
father  told  me  he  learned  from  a  Jesuit  missionary.  It  was 
that  the  fat  from  a  human  body  would  cure  rheumatism.  And 
then  the  missionary  laughed  and  said  that  the  fat  from  a 
plump  woman  would  cure  all  diseases  of  mind  and  body.  If 
that  is  so,  Padre,  and  Juanita  Gomez  dies — she  is  very  plump, 
Padre — could  we  not  take  some  of  the  fat  from  her  body  and 
rub  it  on  the  sick— 

"God  above,  Rosendo!  what  are  you  saying!"  cried  Jose 
recoiling  in  horror. 

"Caramba!"  retorted  the  honest  man.  "Would  you  not  try 
everything  that  might  possibly  save  these  people?  What  the 
missionary  said  may  be  true." 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"No,  my  faithful  ally,"  replied  Jose.  "You  did  not  get  the 
sense  in  which  he  said  it.  Neither  human  fat  nor  medicine  of 
any  kind  will  help  these  people.  Nothing  will  be  accomplished 
for  them  until  their  fear  has  been  removed.  For,  I — well,  the 
symptoms  manifested  by  poor  Feliz  may  have  been  those  of 
Asiatic  cholera.  But — I  begin  to  doubt.  And  as  for  Sanchez 
— Bien,  we  do  not  know — not  for  certain."  He  stopped  and 
pondered  the  question. 

"Padre,"  pursued  Rosendo,  "I  have  used  the  liver  of  a 
lizard  for  toothache,  and  it  was  very  good." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Rosendo,"  replied  Jose,  with  a  smile. 
"And  in  days  past  stranger  remedies  than  that  were  used  by 
supposedly  wise  people.  When  the  eyesight  was  poor,  they 
rubbed  wax  from  the  human  ear  upon  the  eyes,  and  I  doubt 
not  marvelous  restorations  of  sight  were  made.  So  also  dogs' 
teeth  were  ground  into  powder  and  taken  to  alleviate  certain 
bodily  pains.  Almost  everything  that  could  be  swallowed  has 
been  taken  by  mankind  to  cure  their  aches  and  torments.  But 
they  still  ache  to-day;  and  will  continue  to  do  so,  I  believe, 
until  their  present  state  of  mind  greatly  changes." 

When  the  simple  midday  meal  of  corn  arepa  and  black 
coffee  was  finished,  Jose  descended  into  the  quiet  town.  "It  is 
absurd  that  we  should  be  kept  on  the  hill,"  he  had  said  to 
Rosendo,  "but  these  dull,  simple  minds  believe  that,  having 
handled  those  dead  of  the  plague,  we  have  become  agents  of 
infection.  They  forget  that  they  themselves  are  living  either  in 
the  same  house  with  it,  or  closely  adjacent.  But  it  humors 
them,  poor  children,  and  we  will  stay  here  for  their  sakes." 

"Caramba!  and  they  have  made  us  their  sextons!"  muttered 
Rosendo. 

Jose  shuddered.  The  clammy  hand  of  fear  again  reached 
for  his  heart.  He  turned  to  Carmen,  who  was  busily  occupied 
in  the  shade  of  the  old  church. 

"Your  lessons,  chiquita?"  he  queried,  going  to  her  for  a 
moment's  abstraction. 

"No,  Padre  dear,"  she  replied,  smiling  up  at  him,  while 
she  quickly  concealed  the  bit  of  paper  on  which  she  had  been 
writing. 

"Then  what  are  you  doing,  little  one?"  he  insisted. 

"Padre  dear — don't — don't  always  make  me  tell  you  every 
thing,"  she  pleaded,  but  only  half  in  earnest,  as  she  cast  an 
enigmatical  glance  at  him. 

"But  this  time  I  insist  on  knowing;  so  you  might  as  well 
tell  me." 

"Well  then,  if  you  must  know,"  she  replied,  her  face  beam 
ing  with  a  happiness  which  seemed  to  Jose  strangely  out  of 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


place  in  that  tense  atmosphere,  "I  have  been  writing  a  ques 
tion  to  God."  She  held  out  the  paper. 

"Writing  a  question  to  God!    Well—!" 

"Why,  yes,  Padre  dear.  I  have  done  that  for  a  long,  long 
time.  When  I  want  to  know  what  to  do,  and  think  I  don't  see 
just  what  is  best,  I  write  my  question  to  God  on  a  piece  of 
paper.  Then  I  read  it  to  Him,  and  tell  Him  I  know  He  knows 
the  answer  and  that  He  will  tell  me.  And  then  I  put  the  paper 
under  a  stone  some  place,  and — well,  that's  all,  Padre.  Isn't 
it  a  good  way?"  She  beamed  at  him  like  a  glorious  noonday 
sun. 

The  priest  stood  before  her  in  \vonder  and  admiration. 
"And  does  He  tell  you  the  answers  to  your  questions,  chi- 
quita?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

"Always,  Padre  dear.  Not  always  right  away — but  He  never 
fails — never!" 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  you  are  asking  Him  now?"  he  said. 

She  handed  him  the  paper.    His  eyes  dimmed  as  he  read: 

"Dear,  dear  Father,  please  tell  your  little  girl  and  her  dear  Padre  Jose 
what  it  is  that  makes  the  people  think  they  have  to  die  down  in  the  town." 

"And  where  will  you  put  the  paper,  little  girl?"  he  asked, 
striving  to  control  his  voice. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,  Padre.  Oh,  why  not  put  it  under  the 
altar  in  this  old  church?"  she  exclaimed,  pleased  with  the 
thought  of  such  a  novel  hiding  place. 

"Excellent!"  assented  Jose;  and  together  they  entered  the 
building.  After  much  stumbling  over  rubbish,  much  soiling  of 
hands  and  disturbing  of  bats  and  lizards,  while  Carmen's  happy 
laugh  rang  merrily  through  the  gloomy  old  pile,  they  laid  the 
paper  carefully  away  behind  the  altar  in  a  little  pocket,  and 
covered  it  with  an  adobe  brick. 

"There!"  panted  the  girl,  the  task  finished.  "Now  we  will 
wait  for  the  answer." 

Jose  went  down  into  the  ominous  silence  of  the  town  with 
a  lighter  heart.  The  sublime  faith  of  the  child  moved  before 
him  like  a  beacon.  To  the  sick  he  spoke  words  of  comfort, 
with  the  vision  of  Carmen  always  before  him.  At  the  altar  in 
the  empty  church,  where  he  offered  the  Mass  in  fulfillment  of 
his  promise  to  the  people,  her  fair  form  glowed  with  heavenly 
radiance  from  the  pedestal  wrhere  before  had  stood  the  dilapi 
dated  image  of  the  Virgin.  He  prepared  the  sacred  wafer  and 
left  a  part  of  it  on  the  altar  for  the  people  to  carry  in  their 
procession  to  Santa  Barbara.  The  other  portion  he  took  to  the 
sick  ones  who  had  asked  for  the  sacrament. 

Two   more  had   fallen   ill   that   afternoon.      Mateo  Gil,   he 

180 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


thought,  could  not  live  the  night  through.  He  knelt  at  the 
loathsome  bedside  of  the  suffering  man  and  prayed  long  and 
earnestly  for  light.  He  tried  not  to  ask,  but  to  know.  While 
there,  he  heard  a  call  from  the  street,  announcing  the  passing 
of  Guillermo  Hernandez.  Another  one!  His  heart  sank  again. 
The  plague  was  upon  them  in  all  its  cruel  virulence. 

Sadly  he  returned  to  the  hill,  just  as  the  sun  tipped  the 
highest  peaks  of  the  Cordilleras.  Standing  on  the  crest,  he 
waited  with  heavy  heart,  while  the  mournful  little  procession 
wended  its  sad  way  through  the  streets  below.  An  old,  bat 
tered  wooden  image  of  one  of  the  Saints,  rescued  from  the 
oblivion  of  the  sacristia,  had  been  dressed  to  represent  Santa 
Barbara.  This,  bedecked  with  bits  of  bright  colored  ribbon, 
was  carried  at  the  head  of  the  procession  by  the  faithful  Juan. 
Following  him,  Pedro  Gonzales,  old  and  tottering,  bore  a  din 
ner  plate,  on  which  rested  the  hostia,  while  over  the  wafer  a 
tall  young  lad  held  a  soiled  umbrella,  for  there  was  no  canopy. 

A  slow  chant  rose  from  the  lips  of  the  people  like  a  dirge. 
It  struck  the  heart  of  the  priest  like  a  chill  wind.  "Ora  pro 
nobis!  Ora  pro  nobis!"  Tears  streamed  from  his  eyes  while 
he  gazed  upon  his  stricken  people.  Slowly,  wearily,  they 
wound  around  the  base  of  the  hill,  some  sullen  with  despair, 
others  with  eyes  turned  beseechingly  upward  to  where  the 
priest  of  God  stood  with  outstretched  hands,  his  full  heart 
pouring  forth  a  passionate  appeal  to  Him  to  turn  His  light 
upon  these  simple-minded  children.  When  they  had  gone  back 
down  the  road,  their  bare  feet  raising  a  cloud  of  thick  dust 
which  hid  them  from  his  view,  Jose  sank  down  upon  the  rock 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"I  know — I  think  I  know,  oh,  God,"  he  murmured;  "but 
as  yet  I  have  not  proved — not  yet.  But  grant  that  I  may  soon 
— for  their  sakes." 

Rosendo  touched  his  shoulder.     "There  is  another  body  to 
bury  to-night,  Padre.     Eat  now,  and  we  will  go  down." 
****** 

Standing  over  the  new  grave,  in  the  solemn  hush  of  night, 
the  priest  murmured:  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 
But  the  mound  upon  which  Rosendo  was  stolidly  heaping  the 
loose  earth  marked  only  another  victory  of  the  mortal  law  of 
death  over  a  human  sense  of  life.  And  there  was  no  one  there 
to  call  forth  the  sleeping  man. 

"Behold,  I  give  you  power  over  all  things,"  said  the  mar 
velous  Jesus.  The  wondrous,  irresistible  power  which  he  ex 
erted  in  behalf  of  suffering  humanity,  he  left  with  the  world 
when  he  went  away.  But  where  is  it  now? 

"Still   here,"   sighed   the   sorrowing  priest,    "still  here — lo, 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


always  here — but  we  know  it  not.  Sunken  in  materiality,  and 
enslaved  to  the  false  testimony  of  the  physical  senses,  we  lack 
the  spirituality  that  alone  would  enable  us  to  grasp  and  use 
that  Christ-power,  which  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

"Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  when  they  turned  back  toward  the 
hill,  "Hernandez  is  now  with  the  angels.  You  gave  him  the 
sacrament,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes,  Rosendo." 

"Bien,  then  you  remitted  his  sins,  and  he  is  doubtless  in 
paradise.  But,"  he  mused,  "it  may  be  that  he  had  first  to  pass 
through  purgatory.  Caramba!  I  like  not  the  thought  of  those 
hot  fires!" 

"Rosendo!"  exclaimed  Jose  in  impatience.  "Your  mental 
wanderings  at  times  are  puerile!  You  talk  like  the  veriest 
child!  Do  not  be  deceived,  Hernandez  is  still  the  same  man, 
even  though  he  has  left  his  earthly  body  behind.  Do  not  think 
he  has  been  lifted  at  once  into  eternal  bliss.  The  Church  has 
taught  such  rubbish  for  ages,  and  has  based  its  pernicious 
teachings  upon  the  grossly  misunderstood  words  of  Jesus.  The 
Church  is  a  failure — a  dead,  dead  failure,  in  every  sense  of  the 
word !  And  that  man  lying  there  in  his  grave  is  a  ghastly  proof 
of  it!" 

Rosendo  looked  wonderingly  at  the  excited  priest,  whose 
bitter  words  rang  out  so  harshly  on  the  still  night  air. 

"The  Church  has  failed  utterly  to  preserve  the  simple 
gospel  of  the  Christ!  It  has  basely,  wantonly  betrayed  its  tra 
ditional  trust!  It  has  fought  and  slain  and  burned  for  centu 
ries  over  trivial,  vulnerable  non-essentials,  and  thrown  its 
greatest  pearls  to  the  swine!  It  no  longer  prophesies;  it  carps 
and  reviles!  It  no  longer  heals  the  sick;  but  it  conducts  a 
purgatorial  lottery  at  so  much  a  head!  It  has  become  a  jumble 
of  idle  words,  a  mumbling  of  silly  formulae,  a  category  of 
stupid,  insensate  ceremonies!  Its  children  are  taught  to  derive 
their  faith  from  such  legends  as  that  of  the  holy  Saint  Francis, 
who,  to  convince  a  heretic,  showed  the  hostia  to  an  ass,  which 
on  beholding  the  sacred  dough  immediately  kneeled!  Good 
God!" 

"Ca-ram-ba!  But  you  speak  hard  words,  Padre!"  muttered 
Rosendo,  vague  speculations  flitting  through  his  brain  as  to  the 
priest's  mental  state. 

"God!"  continued  Jose  heatedly,  "the  Church  has  fought 
truth  desperately  ever  since  the  Master's  day!  It  has  fawned 
at  the  feet  of  emperor  and  plutocrat,  and  licked  the  bloody 
hand  of  the  usurer  who  tossed  her  a  pittance  of  his  foul  gains! 
In  the  great  world-battles  for  reform,  for  the  rights  of  man, 
for  freedom  from  the  slavery  of  man  to  man  or  to  drink  and 

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drugs,  she  has  come  up  only  as  the  smoke  has  cleared  away, 
but  always  in  time  to  demand  the  spoils !  She  has  filched  from 
the  systems  of  philosophy  of  every  land  and  age,  and  after  be 
daubing  them  with  her  own  gaudy  colors,  has  foisted  them 
upon  unthinking  mankind  as  divine  decrees  and  mandates! 
She  has  foully  insulted  God  and  man! — " 

"Caramba,  Padre!  You  are  not  well!  Hombre,  we  must 
get  back  to  the  hill!  You  are  falling  sick!" 

"I  am  not,  Rosendo!  You  voice  the  Church's  stock  com 
plaint  of  every  man  who  exposes  her  shams:  'He  hath  a 
devil!'" 

Rosendo  whistled  softly.    Jose  went  on  more  excitedly: 

"You  ask  if  Hernandez  is  in  paradise  or  purgatory.  He 
is  in  a  state  no  better  nor  worse  than  our  own,  for  both  are 
wholly  mental.  We  are  now  in  the  fires  of  as  great  a  purgatory 
as  any  man  can  ever  experience!  Yes,  there  is  a  purgatory — 
right  here  on  earth — and  it  follows  us  after  death,  and  after 
every  death  that  we  shall  die,  until  we  learn  to  know  God  and 
see  Him  as  infinite  good,  without  taint  or  trace  of  evil!  The 
flames  of  hell  are  eternal  to  us  as  long  as  we  eat  of  'the  tree 
of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil' — as  long  as  we  believe  in 
other  powers  than  God — as  long  as  we  believe  sin  and  disease 
and  evil  to  be  as  real  and  as  potent  as  good!  When  we  know 
these  things  as  awful  human  illusions,  and  when  we  recognize 
God  as  the  infinite  mind  that  did  not  create  evil,  and  does  not 
know  or  behold  it,  then,  and  then  only,  will  the  flames  of 
purgatory  and  hell  in  this  state  of  consciousness  which  we 
mistakenly  call  life,  and  in  the  states  of  consciousness  still  to 
come,  begin  to  diminish  in  intensity,  and  finally  die  out!" 

He  walked  along  in  silence  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
turned  to  Rosendo  and  put  his  hand  affectionately  upon  the 
old  man's  shoulder.  "My  good  friend,"  he  said  more  calmly, 
"I  speak  with  intense  feeling,  for  I  have  suffered  much  through 
the  intolerance,  the  unspirituality,  and  the  worldly  ambition 
of  the  agents  of  Holy  Church.  I  suffer,  because  I  see  what 
she  is,  and  how  widely  she  has  missed  the  mark.  But,  worse, 
I  see  how  blindly,  how  cruelly,  she  leads  and  betrays  her  trust 
ing  children — and  it  is  the  thought  of  that  which  at  times 
almost  drives  me  mad!  But  never  mind  me,  Rosendo.  Let  me 
rave.  My  full  heart  must  empty  itself.  Do  you  but  look  to 
Carmen  for  your  faith.  She  is  not  of  the  Church.  She  knows 
God,  and  she  will  lead  you  straight  to  Him.  And  as  you  follow 
her,  your  foolish  ideas  of  purgatory,  hell,  and  paradise,  of 
wafers  and  virgins — all  the  tawdry  beliefs  which  the  Church 
has  laid  upon  you,  will  drop  off,  one  by  one,  and  melt  away  as 
do  the  mists  on  the  lake  when  the  sun  mounts  high." 

183 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Carmen  and  Doiia  Maria  sat  against  the  wall  of  the  old 
church,  waiting  for  them.  The  child  ran  through  the  darkness 
and  grasped  Jose's  hand. 

"I  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  until  you  came,  Padre!"  she  cried 
happily.  "I  wanted  to  be  sure  you  wouldn't  sleep  anywhere 
else  than  right  next  to  me." 

"Padre,"  admonished  Rosendo  anxiously,  "do  you  think 
you  ought  to  let  her  come  close  to  you  now?  The  plague — " 

Jose  turned  to  him  and  spoke  low.  "There  is  no  power 
or  influence  that  we  can  exert  upon  her,  Rosendo,  either  for 
good  or  evil.  She  is  obeying  a  spiritual  law  of  which  we  know 
but  little." 

"And  that,  Padre?" 

"Just  this,  Rosendo:  'Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace 
whose  mind  is  stayed  on  thee.'  " 

The  late  moon  peeped  timidly  above  the  drowsing  tree- 
tops.  Its  yellow  beams  stole  silently  across  the  still  lake  and 
up  the  hillside  to  the  crumbling  church.  When  they  reached 
the  four  quiet  figures,  huddled  close  against  the  ghostly  wall, 
they  filtered  like  streams  of  liquid  gold  through  the  brown 
curls  of  the  little  head  lying  on  the  priest's  shoulder.  And 
there  they  dwelt  as  symbols  of  Love's  protecting  care  over  the 
trusting  children  of  this  world,  until  the  full  dawn  of  the 
glorious  sun  of  Truth. 


CHAPTER  21 

JOSE  rose  from  his  hard  bed  stiff  and  weary.  Depression 
sat  heavily  upon  his  soul,  and  he  felt  miserably  unable  to 
meet  the  day.  Dona  Maria  was  preparing  the  coffee  over 
a  little  fire  back  of  the  church.  The  odor  of  the  steaming 
liquid  drifted  to  him  on  the  warm  morning  air  and  gave  him 
a  feeling  of  nausea.  A  sharp  pain  shot  through  his  body.  His 
heart  stopped.  Was  the  plague's  cold  hand  settling  upon  him? 
Giddiness  seized  him,  and  he  sat  down  again  upon  the  rocks. 

In  the  road  below  a  cloud  of  dust  was  rising,  and  across 
the  distance  a  murmur  of  voices  floated  up  to  his  ears.  Men 
were  approaching.  He  wondered  dully  what  additional  trouble 
it  portended.  Rosendo  came  to  him  at  that  moment. 

"Muy  buenos  dias,  Padre,  I  saw  a  boat  come  across  the 
lake  some  minutes  ago.  I  wonder  if  Don  Mario  has  returned." 

The  men  below  were  ascending  the  hill.  Jose  struggled  to 
his  feet  and  went  forth  to  meet  them.  A  familiar  voice  greeted 
him  cheerily. 

184 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Ho/a,  Senor  Padre  Jose!    Dios  mio,  but  your  hill  is  steep!" 

Jose  strained  his  eyes  at  the  newcomer.  The  man  quickly 
gained  the  summit,  and  hurried  to  grasp  the  bewildered  priest's 
hand. 

"Love  of  the  Virgin!  don't  you  know  me,  Senor  Padre?" 
he  cried,  slapping  Jose  roundly  upon  the  back. 

The  light  of  recognition  slowly  came  into  the  priest's  eyes. 
The  man  was  Don  Jorge,  his  erstwhile  traveling  companion  on 
the  Magdalena  river. 

"And  now  a  cup  of  that  coffee,  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor, 
my  good  Cura.  And  then  tell  me  what  ails  you  here,"  he 
added,  seating  himself.  "Caramba,  what  a  town!  Diego  was 
right — the  devil  himself  made  this  place!  But  they  say  you 
have  all  taken  to  dying!  Have  you  nothing  else  to  do? 
Caramba,  I  do  not  wonder!  Such  a  God-forsaken  spot!  Well, 
what  is  it?  Speak,  man!" 

Jose  collected  his  scattered  thoughts.  "The  cholera!"  he 
said  hoarsely. 

"Cholera!  Caramba!  so  they  told  me  down  below,  and  I 
would  not  believe  them!  But  where  did  it  come  from?" 

"One  of  our  men  brought  it  from  Bodega  Central." 

"Bodega  Central!"  ejaculated  Don  Jorge.  "Impossible!  I 
came  from  there  this  morning  myself.  Have  been  there  two 
days.  There  isn't  a  trace  of  cholera  in  the  place,  as  far  as  I 
know!  You  have  all  gone  crazy — but  small  wonder!"  looking 
out  over  the  decrepit  town. 

The  priest's  head  was  awhirl.  He  felt  his  senses  leaving 
him.  His  ears  were  reporting  things  basely  false.  "You  say — " 
he  began  in  bewilderment. 

"I  say  what  I  have  said,  amigo!  There  is  no  more  cholera 
in  Bodega  Central  than  there  is  in  heaven!  I  arrived  there 
day  before  yesterday,  and  left  before  sunrise  this  morning.  So 
I  should  know." 

Jose  sank  weakly  down  at  the  man's  side.  "But — Don 
Jorge — Feliz  Gomez  returned  from  there  three  nights  ago,  and 
reported  that  a  Turk,  who  had  come  up  from  the  coast,  had 
died  of  the  plague!" 

Don  Jorge's  brows  knit  in  perplexity.  "I  recall  now,"  he 
said  slowly,  after  some  moments  of  study.  "The  inn-keeper 
did  say  that  a  Turk  had  died  there — some  sort  of  intestinal 
trouble,  I  believe.  When  I  told  him  I  was  bound  for  Simiti,  he 
laughed  as  if  he  would  split,  and  then  began  to  talk  about  the 
great  fright  he  had  given  a  man  from  here.  Said  he  scared 
the  fellow  until  his  black  face  turned  white.  But  I  was  occu 
pied  with  my  own  affairs,  and  paid  him  little  attention.  But 
come,  tell  me  all  about  it." 

185 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


With  the  truth  slowly  dawning  upon  his  clouded  thought, 
Jose  related  the  grewsome  experiences  of  the  past  three  days. 

"Ca-ram-ba!"  Don  Jorge  whistled  softly.  "Who  would 
have  thought  it!  But,  was  Feliz  Gomez  sick  before  he  went  to 
Bodega  Central?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Jose. 

"Yes,  senor,"  interposed  Rosendo.  "He  and  Amado  San 
chez  b.oth  had  bowel  trouble.  Their  women  told  my  wife  so, 
after  you  and  I,  Padre,  had  come  up  here  to  the  hill.  But  it 
was  nothing.  We  have  it  here  often,  as  you  know." 

"True,"  assented  Jose,  "but  we  have  never  given  it  any 
serious  thought." 

Don  Jorge  leaned  back  and  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"Por  el  amor  del  cielo!  You  are  all  crazy,  amigo — you  die 
like  rats  of  fear!  Did  you  ever  put  a  mouse  into  a  bottle  and 
then  scare  it  to  death  with  a  loud  noise?  Hombre!  That  is 
what  has  happened  to  you!"  The  hill  reverberated  with  his 
loud  shouts. 

But  Jose  could  not  share  in  the  merriment.  The  awful  con 
sequences  of  the  inn-keeper's  coarse  joke  upon  the  childish 
minds  of  these  poor,  impressionable  people  pressed  heavily 
upon  his  heart.  Bitter  tears  welled  to  his  eyes.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"Come,  Rosendo!"  he  cried.  "We  must  go  down  and  tell 
these  people  the  truth!" 

Don  Jorge  joined  them,  and  they  all  hastened  down  into 
the  town.  Ramona  Chaves  met  them  in  the  plaza,  her  eyes 
streaming. 

"Padre,"  she  wailed,  "my  man  Pedro  has  the  sickness!  He 
is  dying!" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Ramona!"  loudly  cried  Jose;  "there 
is  no  cholera  here!"  He  hastened  to  the  bedside  of  the  writhing 
Pedro. 

"Up,  man!"  he  shouted,  seizing  his  hand.  "Up!  You  are 
not  sick!  There  is  no  cholera  in  Simiti!  There  is  none  in 
Bodega  Central!  Feliz  did  not  bring  it!  He  and  Amado  had 
only  a  touch  of  the  flux,  and  they  died  of  fear!" 

The  priest's  ringing  words  acted  upon  the  man  like  magic. 
He  roused  up  from  his  lethargy  and  stared  at  the  assemblage. 
Don  Jorge  repeated  the  priest's  words,  and  added  his  own 
laughing  and  boisterous  comments.  Pedro  rose  from  his  bed, 
and  stood  staring. 

Together,  their  little  band  augmented  at  every  corner  by 
the  startled  people,  they  hurried  to  the  homes  of  all  who  lay 
upon  beds  of  sickness,  spreading  the  glad  tidings,  until  the 
little  town  was  in  a  state  of  uproar.  Like  black  shadows  before 

186 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  light,  the  plague  fled  into  the  realm  of  imagination  from 
which  it  had  come.  By  night,  all  but  Mateo  Gil  were  up  and 
about  their  usual  affairs.  But  even  Mateo  had  revived  wonder 
fully;  and  Jose  was  confident  that  the  good  news  would  be 
the  leaven  of  health  that  would  work  a  complete  restoration 
within  him  in  time.  The  exiles  left  the  hilltop  and  the  old 
church,  and  returned  again  to  their  homes.  Don  Jorge  took 
up  his  abode  with  Jose. 

"Bien,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  at  the  rear  door  of  the  priest's 
house,  looking  through  the  late  afternoon  haze  out  over  the 
lake,  "you  have  had  a  strange  experience — Caramba!  most 
strange! — and  yet  one  from  which  you  should  gather  an  ex 
cellent  lesson.  You  are  dealing  with  children  here — children 
who  have  always  been  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  Church. 
But — "  looking  archly  at  Jose,  "do  I  offend?  For,  as  I  told 
you  on  the  boat  a  year  ago,  I  do  not  think  you  are  a  good 
priest."  He  laughed  softly.  "Bien,"  he  added,  "I  will  correct 
that.  You  are  good — but  not  a  priest,  is  it  not  so?" 

"I  have  some  views,  Don  Jorge,  which  differ  radically  from 
those  of  the  faith,"  Jose  said  cautiously. 

"Caramba!    I  should  hope  so!"  his  friend  ejaculated. 

"But,"  interposed  Jose,  anxious  to  direct  the  conversation 
into  other  channels,  "may  I  ask  how  and  where  you  have  occu 
pied  yourself  since  I  left  the  boat  at  Badillo?" 

"Ah,  Dios!"  said  Don  Jorge,  shaking  his  head,  although  his 
eyes  twinkled.  "I  have  wandered  ever  since — and  am  poorer 
now  than  when  I  started.  I  left  our  boat  at  Puerto  Nacional, 
to  go  to  Medellin;  and  from  there  to  Remedies  and  Guamoco. 
But  while  in  the  river  town  I  met  another  guaquero — grave 
hunter,  you  know — who  was  preparing  to  go  to  Honda,  to 
investigate  the  'castles'  at  that  place.  There  is  a  strange  legend 
— you  may  have  heard  it — hanging  over  those  rocks.  It  ap 
pears  that  a  lone  hermit  lived  in  one  of  the  many  caverns  in 
the  great  limestone  deposits  rising  abruptly  from  the  river 
near  the  town  of  Honda.  How  he  came  there,  no  one  knew. 
Day  after  day,  year  after  year,  he  labored  in  his  cave,  extend 
ing  it  further  into  the  hillside.  People  laughed  at  him  for 
tunneling  in  that  barren  rock,  for  gold  has  never  been  found 
anywhere  in  it.  But  the  fellow  paid  them  no  attention;  and 
gradually  he  was  accepted  as  a  harmless  fanatic,  and  was  left 
unmolested  to  dig  his  way  into  the  hill  as  far  as  he  would. 
Years  passed.  No  one  knew  how  the  fellow  lived,  for  he  held 
no  human  intercourse.  Kind  people  often  brought  food  and 
left  it  at  the  mouth  of  his  cavern,  but  he  would  have  none  of 
it.  They  brought  clothes,  but  they  rotted  where  they  were  left. 
What  he  ate,  no  one  could  discover.  At  last  some  good  soul 

187 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


planted  a  fig  tree  near  the  cave,  hoping  that  the  fruit  in  time 
would  prove  acceptable  to  him.  One  day  they  found  the  tree 
cut  down.  Bien,  time  passed,  and  he  was  forgotten.  One  day 
some  men,  passing  the  cave,  found  his  body,  pale  and  thin, 
with  long,  white  hair,  lying  at  the  entrance.  But — Caramba! 
when  they  buried  the  body  they  found  it  was  that  of  a  wroman!" 

He  paused  to  draw  some  leaves  of  tobacco  from  his  wallet 
and  roll  a  thick  cigar.  The  sudden  turn  of  his  story  drew  an 
expression  of  amazement  from  the  priest. 

"Bien,"  he  resumed,  "where  the  woman  came  from,  and 
who  she  was,  never  wras  learned.  Nor  how  she  lived.  But  of 
course  some  one  must  have  supplied  her  with  food  and  clothes 
all  these  years.  Perhaps  she  wras  some  grand  dame,  with  a 
dramatic  past,  who  had  come  there  to  escape  the  world  and 
do  penance  for  her  sins.  What  sorrow,  what  black  tragedy 
that  cave  concealed,  no  one  may  ever  know!  Nor  am  I  at  all 
interested  in  that.  The  point  is,  either  she  found  gold  there, 
or  had  a  quantity  of  it  that  she  brought  with  her — at  least  so 
I  thought  at  the  time.  So,  wrhen  the  guaquero  at  Puerto  Na- 
cional  told  me  the  story,  nothing  would  do  but  I  must  go  with 
him  to  search  the  cave.  Caramba!  We  wasted  three  full 
months  prying  around  there — and  had  our  labor  for  our 
pains!" 

He  tilted  his  chair  back  and  puffed  savagely  at  his  cigar. 

"Well,  then  I  got  on  the  windy  side  of  another  legend,  a 
wild  tale  of  buried  treasure  in  the  vicinity  of  Mompox.  Of 
course  I  hurried  after  it.  Spent  six  months  pawing  the  hot  dirt 
around  that  old  town. .  Fell  in  with  your  estimable  citizen, 
Don  Felipe,  who  swindled  me  out  of  a  hundred  good  pesos  oro 
on  a  fraudulent  location  and  a  forged  map.  Then  I  cursed  him 
and  the  place  and  went  up  to  Banco." 

"Banco!"  Jose's  heart  began  beating  rapidly.  Don  Jorge 
went  on : 

"Your  genial  friend  Diego  is  back  there.  Told  me  about 
his  trip  to  Simiti  to  see  his  little  daughter." 

"What  did  he  say  about  her,  amigo?"  asked  Jose  in  a  con 
trolled  voice. 

"Not  much — only  that  he  expected  to  send  for  her  soon. 
You  know,  Rosendo's  daughter  is  living  with  him.  Fine  look 
ing  wench,  too!" 

"But,  Don  Jorge,"  pursued  Jose  anxiously,  "what  think 
you,  is  the  little  Carmen  Diego's  child?" 

"H ombre!    How  should  I  know?    He  no  doubt  has  many." 

"She  does  not  look  like  him,"  asserted  Jose,  clinging  to  his 
note  of  optimism. 

"No.  And  fortunate  she  is  in  that!  Caramba,  but  he  looks 
like  an  imp  from  sheol!" 

188 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Jose  saw  that  little  consolation  was  to  be  derived  from 
Don  Jorge  as  far  as  Carmen  was  concerned.  So  he  allowed 
the  subject  to  lapse. 

"Bien,"  continued  Don  Jorge,  whose  present  volubility  was 
in  striking  contrast  to  his  reticence  on  the  boat  the  year  be 
fore,  "I  had  occasion  to  come  up  to  Bodega  Central — another 
legend,  if  I  must  confess  it.  And  there  Don  Carlos  Norosi 
directed  me  here." 

"What  a  life!"  exclaimed  Jos£. 

"Yes,  no  doubt  it  appears  so  to  you,  Senor  Padre'1  replied 
Don  Jorge.  "And  yet  my  business,  that  of  treasure  hunting, 
has  in  times  past  proved  very  lucrative.  The  Indian  graves  of 
Colombia  have  yielded  enormous  quantities  of  gold.  The 
Spaniards  opened  many  of  them;  and  in  one,  that  of  a  famous 
chieftain,  discovered  down  below  us,  near  Zaragoza,  they  found 
a  solid  gold  pineapple,  a  marvelous  piece  of  workmanship,  and 
of  immense  value.  They  sent  it  to  the  king  of  Spain.  Carambal 
it  never  would  have  reached  him  if  I  had  been  there! 

"But,"  he  resumed,  "we  have  no  idea  of  the  amount  of 
treasure  that  has  been  buried  in  various  parts  of  Colombia. 
This  country  has  been,  and  still  is,  enormously  rich  in  minerals 
— a  veritable  gold  mine  of  itself.  And  since  the  time  of  the 
Spanish  conquest  it  has  been  in  a  state  of  almost  constant 
turmoil.  Nothing  and  nobody  has  been  safe.  And,  up  to  very 
recent  times,  whenever  the  people  collected  a  bit  of  gold  above 
their  daily  needs,  they  promptly  banked  it  with  good  Mother 
Earth.  Then,  like  as  not,  they  got  themselves  killed  in  the 
wars,  and  the  treasure  was  left  for  some  curious  and  greedy 
hunter  like  myself  to  dig  up  years  after.  The  Royalists  and 
Tories  buried  huge  sums  all  over  the  country  during  the  War 
of  Independence.  Why,  it  was  only  a  year  or  so  ago  that  two 
men  came  over  from  Spain  and  went  up  the  Magdalena  river 
to  Bucaramanga.  They  were  close-mouthed  fellows,  well- 
dressed,  and  evidently  well-to-do.  But  they  had  nothing  to  say 
to  anybody.  The  inn-keeper  pried  around  until  he  discovered 
that  they  spent  much  time  in  their  room  poring  over  maps  and 
papers.  Then  they  set  off  alone,  with  an  outfit  of  mules  and 
supplies  to  last  several  weeks.  Bueno,  they  came  back  at  last 
with  a  box  of  good  size,  made  of  mahogany,  and  bound  around 
with  iron  bands.  Caramba!  They  did  not  tarry  long,  you  may 
be  sure.  And  I  learned  afterward  that  they  sailed  away  safely 
from  Cartagena,  box  and  all,  for  sunny  Spain,  where,  I  doubt 
not,  they  are  now  living  in  idleness  and  gentlemanly  ease  on 
what  they  found  in  the  big  coffer  they  dug  up  near  that  old 
Spanish  city." 

Jose  listened  eagerly.     To  him,  cooped  up  for  a  year  and 

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more  in  the  narrow  confines  of  Simiti,  the  ready  flow  of  this 
man's  conversation  was  like  a  fountain  of  sparkling  water  to 
a  thirsty  traveler.  He  urged  him  to  go  on,  plying  him  with 
questions  about  his  strange  avocation. 

"Caramba,  but  the  old  Indian  chiefs  were  wise  fellows!" 
Don  Jorge  pursued.  "They  seemed  to  know  that  greedy  van 
dals  like  myself  would  some  day  poke  around  in  their  last  rest 
ing  places  for  the  gold  that  was  always  buried  with  them — 
possibly  to  pay  their  freight  across  the  dark  river.  And  so 
they  dug  their  graves  in  the  form  of  an  L,  in  the  extreme  tip 
of  which  the  royal  carcasses  were  laid.  In  this  way  they  have 
deceived  many  a  grave-hunter,  who  dug  straight  down  without 
finding  the  body,  which  was  safely  tucked  away  in  the  toe  of 
the  L.  I  have  gone  back  and  reopened  many  a  grave  that  I  had 
abandoned  as  empty,  and  found  His  Royal  Highness  five  or  six 
feet  to  one  side  of  the  straight  shaft  I  had  previously  sunk." 

"I  suppose,"  mused  Jose,  "that  you  now  follow  this  work 
because  of  its  fascination — for  you  must  have  found  and  laid 
aside  much  treasure  in  the  years  that  you  have  pursued  it." 

"Caramba!"  ejaculated  the  guaquero.  "I  have  been  rich 
and  poor,  like  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun!  What  I  find, 
I  spend  again  hunting  more.  It  is  the  way  of  the  world.  The 
man  who  has  enough  money  never  knows  it.  And  his  greed  for 
more — more  that  he  needs  not,  and  cannot  possibly  spend  on 
himself — generally  results,  as  in  my  case,  in  the  loss  of  what 
he  already  has.  But  there  are  reasons  aside  from  the  excite 
ment  of  the  chase  that  keep  me  at  it." 

He  fell  strangely  silent,  and  Jose  knew  that  there  were 
aroused  within  him  memories  that  seared  the  tissues  of  the 
brain  as  they  entered. 

"Amigo''  Don  Jorge  resumed.  His  voice  was  low,  tense 
and  cold.  "There  are  some  things  which  I  am  trying  to  forget. 
This  exciting  and  dangerous  business  of  mine  keeps  my 
thought  occupied.  I  care  nothing  now  for  the  treasure  I  may 
discover.  But  I  crave  forgetfulness.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Surely,  good  friend,"  replied  Jose  quickly;  "and  I  ask 
pardon  for  recalling  those  things  to  you." 

"De  nada,  amigo!"  said  Don  Jorge,  with  a  gesture  of  depre 
cation.  Then:  "I  told  you  on  the  boat  that  I  had  lost  a  wife 
and  girl.  The  Church  got  them  both.  I  tell  you  this  because 
I  know  you,  too,  have  grievances  against  her.  Caramba!  Yet 
I  will  tell  you  only  a  part.  I  lived  in  Maganguey,  where  my 
wife's  brother  kept  a  store  and  did  an  excellent  commission 
business.  I  was  mining  and  hunting  graves  in  the  Cauca  re 
gion,  sometimes  going  up  the  Magdalena,  too,  and  working 
on  both  sides  of  the  river.  Maganguey  was  a  convenient  place 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


for  me  to  live,  as  it  stands  at  the  junction  of  the  two  great 
rivers.  Besides,  my  wife  wished  to  remain  near  her  own  peo 
ple.  Bien,  we  had  a  daughter.  She  grew  up  fair  and  good. 
And  then,  one  day,  the  priest  told  my  wife  that  the  girl  was 
destined  to  a  great  future,  and  must  enter  a  convent  and  con 
secrate  herself  to  the  Church.  Caramba!  I  am  not  a  Catholic 
—was  never  one!  My  parents  were  patriots,  and  both  took 
part  in  the  great  war  that  gave  liberty  to  this  country.  But 
they  were  liberal  in  thought;  and  I  was  never  confirmed  to  the 
Church.  Bien,  the  priest  made  my  life  a  hell — my  wife  became 
estranged  from  me — and  one  day,  returning  from  the  Cauca, 
I  found  my  house  deserted.  Wife  and  girl  and  the  child's  nurse 
had  gone  down  the  river!" 

The  man's  face  darkened,  and  hard  lines  drew  around  his 
mouth. 

"They  had  taken  my  money  chest,  some  thousands  of  pesos. 
I  sought  the  priest.  He  laughed  at  me,  and— Caramba!  I  struck 
him  such  a  blow  between  his  pig  eyes  that  he  lay  senseless  for 
hours!" 

Jose  glanced  at  the  broad  shoulders  and  the  great  knots  of 
muscle  on  the  man's  arms.  He  was  of  medium  height,  but 
with  a  frame  of  iron. 

"Bien,  Senor  Padre,  I,  too,  fled  wild  and  raving  from  Magan- 
guey  that  night,  and  plunged  into  the  jungle.  Months  later  I 
drifted  down  the  river,  as  far  as  Mompox.  And  there  one  day 
I  chanced  upon  old  Marcelena,  the  child's  nurse.  Like  a  cay 
man  I  seized  her  and  dragged  her  into  an  alley.  She  confessed 
that  my  wife  and  girl  were  living  there — the  wife  had  become 
housekeeper  for  a  young  priest — the  girl  was  in  the  convent. 
Caramba!  I  hurled  the  woman  to  the  ground  and  turned  my 
back  upon  the  city!" 

Jose's  interest  in  the  all  too  common  recital  received  a 
sudden  stimulus. 

"Your  daughter's   name,   Don   Jorge,   was — " 

"Maria,  Senor  Padre." 

"And — she  would  now  be,  how  old,  perhaps?" 

"About  twenty-two,  I  think." 

"Her  appearance?" 

"Fair — complexion  light,  like  her  mother's.  Maria  was  a 
beautiful  child — and  good  as  she  was  beautiful." 

"But — the  child's  nurse  remained  with  her?" 

"Marcelena?  Yes.  She  was  devoted  to  the  little  Maria. 
The  woman  was  old  and  ugly — but  she  loved  the  child." 

"Did  you  not  inquire  for  them  when  you  were  in  Mompox 
a  few  months  ago?"  pursued  Jose  eagerly. 

"I  made  slight  inquiry  through  the  clerk  in  the  office  of 

191 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


the  Alcalde.  I  did  not  intend  to — but  I  could  not  help  it. 
Caramba!  He  made  further  inquiry,  but  said  only  that  he 
was  told  they  had  long  since  gone  down  to  Cartagena,  and 
nothing  had  been  heard  from  them." 

The  gates  of  memory's  great  reservoir  opened  at  the  touch 
of  this  man's  story,  and  Jose  again  lived  through  that  moonlit 
night  in  Cartagena,  when  the  little  victim  of  Wenceslas 
breathed  out  her  life  of  sorrow  and  shame  in  his  arms.  He 
heard  again  the  sobs  of  Marcelena  and  the  simple-minded 
Catalina.  He  saw  again  the  figure  of  the  compassionate  Christ 
in  the  smoke  that  drifted  past  the  window.  And  now  the 
father  of  that  wronged  girl  sat  before  him,  wrapped  in  the 
tatters  of  a  shredded  happiness!  Should  he  tell  him?  Should 
he  say  that  he  had  cared  for  this  man's  little  grandson  since 
his  advent  into  this  sense  of  existence  that  mortals  call  life? 
For  there  could  be  no  doubt  now  that  the  littie  Maria  was  his 
daughter. 

"Don  Jorge,"  he  said,  "you  have  suffered  much.  My  heart 
bleeds  for  you.  And  yet — " 

"ATa,  Padre,  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Were  I  to  find  my 
family  I  could  only  slay  them  and  the  priests  who  came  be 
tween  us!" 

"But,  Don  Jorge,"  cried  Jose  in  horror,  "you  surely  medi 
tate  no  such  vengeance  as  that!" 

The  man  smiled  grimly.  "Senor  Padre,"  he  returned  cold 
ly,  "I  am  Spanish.  The  blood  of  the  old  cavaliers  ilows  in  my 
veins.  I  have  been  betrayed,  trapped,  fooled,  and  my  honored 
name  has  been  foully  soiled.  What  will  remove  the  stain, 
think  you?  Blood — nothing  else!  Caramba!  The  priest  of 
Maganguey  who  poured  the  first  drop  of  poison  into  my  wife's 
too  willing  ears — Bien,  I  have  said  enough!" 

"Hombre!     You  don't  mean — " 

"I  mean,  Senor  Padre,  that  I  drifted  down  the  river,  unseen, 
to  Maganguey  one  night.  I  entered  that  priest's  house.  He 
did  not  awake  the  next  morning." 

"God!"  exclaimed  Jose,  starting  up. 

"Na,  Padre,  not  God,  but  Satan!     He  rules  this  world." 

Jose  sank  back  in  his  chair.  Don  Jorge  leaned  forward  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  knee.  "My  friend,"  he  said  evenly,  "you 
are  young — how  old,  may  I  ask?" 

"Twenty-seven,"  murmured  Jose. 

"Caramba!  A  child!  Bien,  you  have  much  to  learn.  I 
took  to  you  on  the  boat  because  I  knew  you  had  made  a  mess 
of  things,  and  it  was  not  entirely  your  fault.  I  have  seen 
others  like  you.  You  are  no  more  in  the  Church  than  I  am. 
Now  why  do  you  stay  here?  Do  I  offend  in  asking?" 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Jose  hesitated.     "I — I  have — work  here,  senor,"  he  replied. 

"True,"  said  Don  Jorge,  "a  chance  to  do  much  for  these 
poor  people — if  the  odds  are  not  too  strong  against  you.  But 
— are  you  working  for  them  alone?  Or — does  Diego's  child 
figure  in  the  case?  No  offense,  I  assure  you— I  have  reason 
to  ask." 

Jose  sought  to  read  his  eyes.  The  man  looked  squarely 
into  his  own,  and  the  priest  found  no  deception  in  their  black 
depths. 

"I — senor,  she  cannot  be  Diego's  child — and  I — I  would 
save  her!" 

Don  Jorge  nodded  his  head.  "Bien,"  he  said,  "to-morrow 
I  leave  for  San  Lucas.  I  will  return  this  way." 

After  the  evening  meal  the  guaquero  spread  his  petate  upon 
the  floor  and  disposed  himself  for  the  night.  He  stubbornly 
refused  to  accept  the  priest's  bed.  "Caramba!"  he  muttered, 
after  he  had  lain  quiet  for  some  time,  "why  does  not  the  Church 
permit  its  clergy  to  marry,  like  civilized  beings!  Do  you 
know,  Senor  Padre,  I  once  met  a  woman  in  Bogota  and  held 
some  discussion  with  her  on  this  topic.  She  said,  as  between  a 
priest  wTho  had  children,  and  a  married  minister,  she  would 
infinitely  prefer  the  priest,  because,  as  she  put  it,  no  matter 
how  dissolute  the  priest,  the  sacraments  from  his  hands  would 
still  retain  their  validity — but  never  from  those  of  a  married 
minister!  Caramba!  what  can  you  do  against  such  bigotry 
and  awful  narrowness,  such  dense  ignorance!  Cielo!" 

The  following  morning,  before  sunrise,  Don  Jorge  and  his 
boatmen  were  on  the  lake,  leaving  Jose  to  meditate  on  the 
vivid  experiences  of  the  past  few  days,  their  strange  mental 
origin,  and  the  lesson  which  they  brought. 


CHAPTER  22 

"T^ADRE  dear,"  said  Carmen,  "you  know  the  question  that 
we  put  under  the  altar  of  the  old  church?  Well,  God 
answered  it,  didn't  He?" 

"I — why,  I  had  forgotten  it,  child.  What  was  it?  You 
asked  Him  to  tell  us  why  the  people  thought  they  had  to  die, 
did  you  not?  Well — and  what  was  His  answer?" 

"Why,  He  told  us  that  they  were  frightened  to  death,  you 
know." 

"True,  chiquita.  Fear  killed  them — nothing  else!  They 
paid  the  penalty  of  death  for  believing  that  Feliz  Gomez  had 
slept  on  a  bed  where  a  man  had  died  of  the  plague.  They  died 
because  they — " 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Because  they  didn't  know  that  God  was  everywhere,  Padre 
dear,"  interrupted  Carmen. 

"Just  so,  chiquita.  And  that  is  why  all  people  die.  And 
yet,"  he  added  sadly,  "how  are  we  going  to  make  them  know 
that  He  is  everywhere?" 

"Why,  Padre  dear,  by  showing  them  in  our  talk  and  our 
actions  that  we  know  it — by  proving  it,  you  know,  just  as  we 
prove  our  problems  in  algebra." 

"Yes,  poor  Feliz,  and  Amado,  and  Guillermo  died  because 
they  sinned,"  he  mused.  "They  broke  the  first  Commandment 
by  believing  that  there  was  another  power  than  God.  And 
that  sin  brought  its  inevitable  wage,  death.  They  'missed 
the  mark,'  and  sank  into  the  oblivion  of  their  false  beliefs. 
God  above!  that  I  could  keep  my  own  mentality  free  from 
these  same  carnal  beliefs,  and  so  be  a  true  missionary  to 
suffering  humanity!  But  you,  Carmen,  you  are  going  to  be 
such  a  missionary.  And  I  believe,"  he  muttered  through  his 
set  teeth,  "that  I  am  appointed  to  shield  the  girl  until  God  is 
ready  to  send  her  forth!  But  what,  oh,  what  will  she  do  when 
she  meets  that  world  which  lies  beyond  her  little  Simiti?" 

Rosendo  had  returned  to  Guamoco.  "The  deposit  will  not 
last  much  longer,"  he  said  to  Jose,  shaking  his  head  dubiously. 
"And  then— 

"Why,  then  we  will  find  another,  Rosendo,"  replied  the 
priest  optimistically. 

"Ojald!"    exclaimed    the    old    man,    starting    for   the    trail. 

The  day  after  Don  Jorge's  departure  the  Alcalde  returned. 
He  stole  shamefacedly  through  the  streets  and  barricaded  him 
self  in  his  house.  There  he  gave  vent  to  his  monumental 
wrath.  He  cruelly  abused  his  long-suffering  spouse,  and  ended 
by  striking  her  across  the  face.  After  which  he  sat  down  and 
laboriously  penned  a  long  letter  to  Padre  Diego,  in  which  the 
names  of  Jose  and  Carmen  figured  plentifully. 

For  Don  Jorge  had  met  the  Alcalde  in  Juncal,  and  had 
roundly  jeered  him  for  his  cowardly  flight.  He  cited  Jose  and 
Rosendo  as  examples  of  valor,  and  pointed  out  that  the  Alcalde 
greatly  resembled  a  captain,  who  fled  at  the  smell  of  gun 
powder.  Don  Mario  swelled  with  indignation  and  shame.  His 
spleen  worked  particularly  against  Rosendo  and  the  priest. 
Come  what  might,  it  was  time  Diego  and  his  superiors  in 
Cartagena  knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  parish  of  Simiti ! 

A  few  days  later  an  unctuous  letter  came  to  Jose  from 
Diego,  requesting  that  Carmen  be  sent  to  him  at  once,  as  he 
now  desired  to  place  her  in  a  convent  and  thus  supplement  the 
religious  education  which  he  was  sure  Jose  had  so  wrell  begun 
in  her.  The  priest  had  scarcely  read  the  letter  when  Don  Mario 
appeared  at  the  parish  house. 

194 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Bien,  Padre,"  he  began  smoothly,  but  without  concealing 
the  malice  which  lurked  beneath  his  oily  words,  "Padre 
Diego  sends  for  the  little  Carmen,  and  bids  me  arrange  to  have 
her  conveyed  at  once  to  Banco.  I  think  Juan  will  take  her 
down,  is  it  not  so?" 

Jose  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "No,  senor,"  he  said 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  agitation,  "it  is  not  so!" 

"Hombre!"  exclaimed  Don  Mario,  swelling  with  suppressed 
rage.  "You  refuse  to  give  Diego  his  own  child?" 

"No,  senor,  but  I  refuse  to  give  him  a  child  that  is  not  his." 

"Caramba!  but  she  is — he  has  the  proofs!  And  I  shall 
send  her  to  him  this  day!" 

The  Alcalde  shrilled  forth  his  rage  like  a  ruffled  parrot. 
Jose  seized  him  by  the  shoulders  and,  turning  him  swiftly 
about,  pushed  him  out  into  the  road.  He  then  entered  the 
rear  door  of  Rosendo's  house  and  bade  Dona  Maria  keep  the 
child  close  to  her. 

A  few  minutes  later  Fernando  Perez  appeared  at  Jose's 
door.  He  was  municipal  clerk,  secretary,  and  constable  of 
Simiti,  all  in  one.  He  saluted  the  priest  gravely,  and  demanded 
the  body  of  the  child  Carmen,  to  be  returned  to  her  'proper 
father. 

Jose  groaned  inwardly.  What  could  he  do  against  the  es 
tablished  authority? 

"Bien,  Padre,"  said  Fernando,  after  delivering  his  message, 
"the  hour  is  too  late  to  send  her  down  the  river  to-day.  But 
deliver  her  to  me,  and  she  shall  go  down  at  daybreak." 

"Listen,"  Jose  pleaded  desperately,  "Fernando,  leave  her 
here  to-night — this  is  sudden,  you  must  acknowledge — she 
must  have  time  to  take  leave  of  Dona  Maria — and — " 

"Senor  Padre,  the  Alcalde's  order  is  that  she  go  with  me 
now.  I  must  obey." 

Jose  felt  his  control  oozing  fast.  Scarce  knowing  what  he 
did,  he  quickly  stepped  back  through  the  rear  door,  and  going 
to  Rosendo's  house,  seized  a  large  machete,  with  which  he  re 
turned  to  face  the  constable. 

"Look  you,  Fernando,"  he  cried,  holding  the  weapon  men 
acingly  aloft,  "if  you  lay  a  hand  on  that  girl,  I  will  scatter 
your  brains  through  yonder  plaza!" 

"Caramba!"  muttered  the  constable,  falling  back.  "Bien" 
he  hastily  added,  "I  will  make  this  report  to  the  Alcalde!" 
With  which  he  beat  an  abrupt  retreat. 

Jose  sank  into  a  chair.  But  he  hastily  arose  and  went  into 
Rosendo's  house.  "Dona  Maria!"  he  cried  excitedly,  "leave 
Carmen  with  me,  and  do  you  hurry  through  the  town  and  see 
if  Juan  is  here,  and  if  Lazaro  Ortiz  has  returned  from  the 

195 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


hacienda.     Bid   them   come   to   me   at   once,   and   bring   their 
machetes!" 

The  woman  set  out  on  her  errand.  Jose  seized  his  machete 
firmly  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  drew  Carmen  to  him. 

"What  is  it,  Padre  dear?"  the  child  asked,  her  eyes  big  with 
wonder.  "Why  do  you  tremble?  I  wish  you  wouldn't  always 
go  around  thinking  that  two  and  two  are  seven!" 

"Carmen,  child — you  do  not  understand — you  are  too 
young,  and  as  yet  you  have  had  no  experience  with — with  the 
world!  You  must  trust  me  now!" 

"I  do  not  trust  you,  Padre,"  she  said  sadly.  "I  can't  trust 
anybody  who  always  sees  things  that  are  not  so." 

"Carmen — you  are  in  danger — and  you  do  not  compre 
hend—  "  cried  the  desperate  man. 

"I  am  not  in  danger — and  I  do  understand — a  great  deal 
better  than  you  do,  Padre.  Now  let  me  go — you  are  afraid! 
People  who  are  afraid  die  of  the  plague!"  The  irony  of  her 
words  sank  into  his  soul. 

Juan  looked  in  at  the  door.  Jose  rose  hastily.  "Did  you 
meet  Dona  Maria?"  he  asked. 

"No,  senor,"  the  lad  replied. 

"She  is  searching  for  you — have  you  your  machete?" 

"Yes,  Padre,  I  have  just  come  back  from  the  island,  where 
I  was  cutting  wood." 

"Good,  then !     Remain  here  with  me.    I  need  you — or  may." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  looked  eagerly  down  the  street. 
"Ah!"  he  exclaimed  with  relief,  "here  come  Dona  Maria  and 
Lazaro!  Now,  friends,"  he  began,  when  they  were  assembled 
before  him,  "grave  danger  threatens — 

"Padre!"    It  was  Dona  Maria's  voice.    "Where  is  Carmen?" 

Jose  turned.    The  child  had  disappeared. 

"Lazaro!"  he  cried,  "go  at  once  to  the  Boque  trail!  Let 
no  one  pass  that  way  writh  Carmen,  if  your  life  be  the  penalty! 
Juan,  hurry  to  the  lake!  If  either  of  you  see  her,  call  loudly, 
and  I  will  come!  Dona  Maria,  start  through  the  town!  We 
must  find  her!  God  above,  help  us!" 

****** 

The  afternoon  dragged  its  interminable  length  across  the 
valley.  Jose  wearily  entered  his  house  and  threw  himself 
upon  a  chair.  He  had  not  dared  call  at  the  Alcalde's  house, 
for  fear  he  might  do  that  official  violence.  But  he  had  seen 
Fernando  in  the  street,  and  had  avoid*ed  him.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  a  thought  came  to  him  from  out  the  darkness.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  hurried  off  toward  the  shales.  There, 
beneath  the  stunted  algarroba  tree,  sat  the  child. 

"Carmen !"  He  rushed  to  her  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 
"Why  did  you  do  this—?" 

196 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre,"  she  replied,  when  she  could  get  her  breath,  "I  had 
to  come  out  here  and  try  to  know  for  you  the  things  you 
ought  to  know  for  yourself." 

He  said  nothing;  but,  holding  her  hand  tightly,  he  led  her 
back  to  the  house. 

That  evening  Jose  sent  for  Don  Mario,  the  constable,  and 
Juan  and  Lazaro.  Assembling  them  before  him  in  his  living 
room,  he  talked  with  them  long  and  earnestly. 

"Compadres,"  he  said,  "this  week  we  have  passed  through  a 
sad  experience,  and  the  dark  angel  has  robbed  us  of  three  of 
our  beloved  friends.  Is  it  your  wish  that  death  again  visit  us?" 

They  looked  at  one  another  in  wonder.  The  Alcalde 
scowled  darkly  at  the  priest  beneath  his  heavy  brows.  Jose 
continued: 

"Bien,  it  is  planned  to  seize  the  little  Carmen  by  force,  and 
send  her  down  the  river  to  Padre  Diego — " 

"Dios  y  diablo!"  Juan  had  sprung  to  his  feet.  "Who  says 
that,  Padre?"  he  demanded  savagely.  The  Alcalde  shrank  back 
in  his  chair. 

"Be  calm,  Juan!"  Jose  replied.  "Padre  Diego  sends  for  her 
by  letter — is  it  not  so,  Don  Mario?" 

The  latter  grunted.  Juan  wheeled  about  and  stared  men 
acingly  at  the  bulky  official. 

"Now,  friends,"  Jose  pursued,  "it  has  not  been  shown  that 
Carmen  belongs  to  Diego — in  fact,  all  things  point  to  the  con 
clusion  that  she  is  not  his  child.  My  wish  is  to  be  just  to  all 
concerned.  But  shall  we  let  the  child  go  to  him,  knowing  what 
manner  of  man  he  is,  until  it  is  proven  beyond  all  doubt  that  he 
is  her  father?" 

"Caramba!    No!"  exclaimed  Juan  and  Lazaro  in  unison. 

"And  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  majority  of  our  citizens 
would  support  us  in  the  contention.  What  think  you,  friends?" 

"Every  man  in  Simiti,  Padre,"  replied  Lazaro  earnestly. 

"Don  Mario,"  said  Jose,  turning  to  the  Alcalde,  "until  it  is 
established  that  Diego  has  a  parent's  claim  to  the  girl,  Juan 
and  Lazaro  and  I  will  protect  her  with  our  lives.  Is  it  not  so, 
amigos?"  addressing  the  two  men. 

"Hombre!  Let  me  see  a  hand  laid  upon  her!"  cried  Juan 
rising. 

Lazaro  spoke  more  deliberately.  "Padre,"  he  said.  "I  owe 
you  much.  I  know  you  to  be  a  good  man — not  like  Padre 
Diego.  I  know  not  what  claim  he  may  have  on  the  girl,  but 
this  I  say:  I  will  follow  and  support  you  until  it  is  shown  me 
that  you  are  in  the  wrong." 

Jose  went  over  and  clasped  his  hand.  Then,  to  the  town 
officials : 

197 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Bien,  amigos,  we  will  let  the  matter  rest  thus,  shall  we 
not?  We  now  understand  one  another.  If  harm  comes  to  the 
child,  the  death  angel  will  again  stalk  through  this  town, 
and — "  he  looked  hard  at  Don  Mario,  whilst  that  official  visibly 
shrank  in  size — "Bien"  he  concluded,  "a  sharp  watch  will  be 
kept  over  the  child.  We  will  submit  to  proofs — but  to  nothing 
less.  And  violence  will  bring  bloodshed  and  death." 

"But — Caramba!"  cried  Don  Maricf,  at  last  finding  his  voice. 
"If  Diego  has  the  Bishop  back  of  him,  he  will  force  us  to 
deliver  the  girl — or  the  Bishop  will  have  the  government  sol 
diers  sent  here!  I  can  ask  for  them — and  if  necessary  I  will!" 

Jose  paled  slightly.  He  knew  the  Alcalde  spoke  truth.  Don 
Mario,  seeing  that  his  words  had  taken  effect,  quickly  followed 
up  the  advantage.  "Now  you,  Juan  and  Lazaro,  do  you  think 
the  little  whelp  worth  that?" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  Juan  leaped 
across  the  floor  and  fell  upon  him.  Jose  seized  the  lad  and, 
with  Fernando's  help,  tore  him  loose.  Lazaro  held  his  machete 
aloft,  ready  to  strike.  Jose's  voice  rang  out  sharply: 

"Hold,  men!  Stop!  Go  you  to  your  homes  now!  Juan, 
do  you  stay  here  with  me!" 

The  lad  faced  the  Alcalde  and  shook  his  fist.  "Bien,"  he 
sputtered,  "send  for  the  soldiers,  fat  dog  that  you  are!  But 
when  I  see  them  crossing  the  lake,  I  will  come  first  to  your 
house  and  cut  open  that  big  belly!" 

"Arrest  him,  Fernando!"  shrilled  the  Alcalde,  shaking  with 
rage. 

"I  will  cut  off  the  hand  that  is  laid  on  Juan!"  cried  Lazaro, 
advancing. 

"Men!  Men!  Don  Mario  and  Fernando,  go  now!  Enough 
of  this!  And  for  God's  sake  think  twice  before  you  make  any 
further  move!" 

Don  Mario  and  his  constable  departed  in  sullen  silence. 
Jose  let  Lazaro  out  through  the  rear  door,  while  he  bade  Juan 
pass  the  night  in  the  parish  house.  A  consultation  was  held 
with  Dona  Maria,  and  it  was  arranged  that  Carmen  should 
sleep  in  the  room  with  Jose,  with  Juan  lying  before  the  door, 
until  Rosendo  should  return  from  the  mountains.  Then  Jose 
sat  down  and  wrote  to  the  Bishop. 

****** 

No  reply  came  from  Cartagena  until  Rosendo  returned  at 
the  end  of  the  month.  Meanwhile,  Jose  had  never  for  a  moment 
permitted  Carmen  to  leave  his  side.  The  child  chafed  under 
the  limitation;  but  Jose  and  Dona  Maria  were  firm.  Juan 
lived  with  the  priest;  and  Lazaro  lurked  about  the  parish  house 
like  a  shadow.  The  Alcalde  and  his  constable  remained  dis 
creetly  aloof. 

198 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


But  with  Rosendo's  return  came  letters  from  both  Wen- 
ceslas  and  Diego.  The  latter  had  laid  aside  his  unction,  and 
now  made  a  curt  and  peremptory  demand  upon  Jose  for  the 
child.  The  letter  from  Wenceslas  was  noncommittal,  stating 
only  that  he  was  quite  uninformed  of  Diego's  claim,  but  that  an 
investigation  should  be  made.  Jose  wondered  if  he  had  blun 
dered  in  laying  the  case  before  him. 

"Hombre!"  ejaculated  Rosendo,  when  he  heard  Jose's  story. 
"It  is  as  I  feared !  And  now  the  Bishop  has  the  matter  in  hand ! 
Caramba!  We  shall  lose  her  yet! 

"And,  Padre,"  he  added,  "the  deposit  is  played  out.  There 
is  no  more  gold  there.  And,  now  that  we  shall  have  none  to 
send  to  the  Bishop  each  month,  Carmen's  fate  is  settled — un 
less  we  go  away.  And  where  shall  we  go?  We  could  not  get 
out  of  the  country."  He  hung  his  head  and  sat  in  gloomy  de 
jection. 

For  more  than  a  year  Rosendo  had  panned  the  isolated 
alluvial  deposit,  and  on  his  regular  monthly  returns  to  Simiti 
he  and  the  priest  had  sent  from  thirty  to  ninety  pesos  gold  to 
Wenceslas.  To  this  Jose  sometimes  added  small  amounts  col 
lected  from  the  people  of  Simiti,  which  they  had  gratuitously 
given  him  for  Masses  and  for  the  support  of  the  parish.  Wen 
ceslas,  knowing  the  feeble  strength  of  the  parish,  was  sur 
prised,  but  discreet;  and  though  he  continually  urged  Jose  to 
greater  efforts,  and  held  out  the  allurements  of  "indulgences 
and  special  dispensations,"  he  made  no  inquiries  regarding 
the  source  of  the  monthly  contributions. 

For  many  days  following,  Rosendo  and  the  priest  went  about 
as  in  a  thick,  black  cloud.  "Rosendo,"  said  Jose  at  length, 
"go  back  to  the  mountains  and. search  again.  God  was  with 
us  before.  Have  we  any  reason  to  doubt  Him  now?" 

"And  leave  Carmen  here,  exposed  to  the  danger  that  always 
hangs  over  her?  Caramba,  no!  I  would  not  go  back  now  even 
if  the  deposit  were  not  worked  out!  No!"  Jose  knew  it  would 
be  futile  to  urge  him. 

Carmen  came  to  the  priest  that  same  day.  "Padre,  I  heard 
you  and  padre  Rosendo  talking  this  morning.  Have  you  no 
money,  no  gold?" 

"Why,  child — there  seems  to  be  a  need  just  at  present,"  he 
replied  lightly.  "But  we  might — well,  we  might  send  another 
of  your  questions  to  God.  What  say  you?" 

"Of  course!"  she  cried  delightedly,  turning  at  once  and  hur 
rying  away  for  pencil  and  paper. 

"Now,"  she  panted,  seating  herself  at  the  table,  "Let  us 
see;  we  want  Him  to  give  us  pesos,  don't  we?" 

"Yes — many — a  large  sum.  Make  it  big,"  he  said  face 
tiously. 

199 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Well,  you  know,  Padre  dear,"  she  replied  seriously,  "\ve 
can't  ask  for  too  much — for  we  already  have  everything, 
haven't  we?  After  all,  we  can  only  ask  to  see  what  we  really 
already  have. 

"Say  'yes/  Padre  dear,"  she  pleaded,  looking  up  appeal- 
ingly  at  him  staring  silently  at  her.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  im 
part  to  him  even  a  little  of  her  abundant  faith!  She  had 
enough,  and  to  spare! 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  paper. 

He  took  it  and  read — "Dear,  dear  God:  Padre  Jose  needs 
pesos — lots  of  them.  What  shall  he  do?" 

"And  now,"  she  continued,  "shall  we  put  it  under  the  altar 
of  the  old  church?" 

He  smiled;  but  immediately  assumed  an  expression  of  great 
seriousness.  "Why  not  in  the  church  here,  the  one  we  are 
using?  The  other  is  so  far  away?"  he  suggested.  "And  it  is 
getting  dark  now." 

"But — no,  we  will  go  where  we  went  before,"  she  concluded 
firmly. 

Again  he  yielded.  Taking  matches  and  a  piece  of  candle, 
he  set  off  with  the  girl  in  a  circuitous  route  for  the  hill,  which 
they  gained  unobserved.  Within  the  musty  old  church  he 
struck  a  light,  and  they  climbed  over  the  debris  and  to  the  rear 
of  the  crumbling  altar. 

"See!"  she  cried  joyously.  "Here  is  my  other  question  that 
He  answered!  Doesn't  He  answer  them  quick  though!  Why, 
it  took  only  a  day!" 

She  drew  the  old  paper  from  beneath  the  adobe  brick.  Then 
she  hesitated.  "Let  us  put  this  question  in  a  new  place,"  she 
said.  "Look,  up  there,  where  the  bricks  have  fallen  out," 
pointing  to  the  part  of  the  altar  that  had  crumbled  away. 

Jose  rose  obediently  to  execute  the  commission.  His  thought 
was  far  off,  even  in  Cartagena,  where  sat  the  powers  that  must 
be  held  quiet  if  his  cherished  plans  were  not  to  fail.  He  reached 
out  and  grasped  one  of  the  projecting  bricks  to  steady  himself. 
As  he  did  so,  the  brick,  which  was  loose,  gave  way  with  him, 
and  he  fell,  almost  across  Carmen,  followed  by  a  shower  of 
rubbish,  as  another  portion  of  the  old  altar  fell  out. 

"Hombre!"  he  ejaculated,  picking  himself  up.  "What  good 
luck  that  the  candle  was  not  extinguished!  And  now,  seiiorita, 
are  you  willing  that  we  should  bury  this  important  question 
here  on  the  floor;  or  must  I  again  try  to  put  it  in  the  altar 
itself?" 

"Up  there,"  insisted  the  child,  laughing  and  still  pointing 
above. 

He  rose  and  looked  about,  searching  for  a  convenient  place 

200 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


to  deposit  the  paper.  Then  something  attracted  his  attention, 
something  buried  in  the  altar,  but  now  exposed  by  the  falling 
out  of  the  fresh  portion.  It  was  metal,  and  it  glittered  in  the 
feeble  candle  light.  He  reached  in  and  hastily  scraped  away 
more  of  the  hard  mud.  Then,  trembling  with  suppressed  ex 
citement,  he  pulled  out  another  brick.  Clearly,  it  was  a  box 
that  had  been  buried  in  there — -who  knows  when?  He  gave  the 
candle  to  Carmen  and  bade  her  stand  up  close.  Then  with  both 
hands  he  carefully  removed  the  adjacent  bricks  until  the  entire 
box  was  in  view. 

"Hombre!"  he  muttered.  "What  do  you  suppose  this  is? 
A  box — " 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  girl  in  delight.  "A  box  to  put  our 
question  in,  Padre!" 

"More  likely  the  answer  itself,  child!"  muttered  the  ex 
cited  priest,  straining  and  tugging  away  at  it.  "Carmen !  Stand 
aside!"  he  suddenly  commanded.  "Now —  He  gave  a  final 
pull.  A  crash  of  falling  bricks  followed;  the  candle  was  ex 
tinguished;  and  both  he  and  the  child  were  precipitated  to  the 
floor. 

"Carmen!"  called  the  priest,  choking  with  dust,  "are  you 
hurt?" 

"No,  Padre  dear,"  came  the  laughing  answer  through  the 
darkness.  "But  I'm  pretty  full  of  dust.  And  the  candle  is 
buried." 

Jose  groped  about  for  the  box.  It  lay  near,  a  small,  wooden 
coffer,  bound  about  with  two  narrow  bands  of  steel.  He  dragged 
it  out  and  bore  it  down  the  aisle  to  the  door,  followed  by  Car 
men. 

"Padre!"  she  exclaimed  eagerly.     "What  is  it?" 

He  dusted  it  off  and  examined  it  carefully  in  the  fast  fading 
light.  It  was  some  twelve  inches  square  by  three  deep,  well 
made  of  mahogany,  and  secured  by  a  small,  iron  padlock.  On 
the  top  there  was  a  crest  of  arms  and  the  letters,  "I  de  R," 
burned  into  the  wood. 

Night  had  closed  in,  and  the  priest  and  girl  made  their 
way  hurriedly  back  home  by  way  of  the  lake,  to  avoid  being 
seen.  Under  his  cassock  Jose  carried  the  box,  so  heavy  that 
it  chafed  the  skin  from  his  hip  as  they  stumbled  along. 

"Carmen,  say  nothing — but  tell  your  padre  Rosendo  to 
come  to  me  at  once!" 

With  the  doors  secured,  and  Carmen  and  Dona  Maria  stand 
ing  guard  outside  to  apprise  them  of  danger,  Jose  and  Ro 
sendo  covertly  examined  the  discovery. 

"I  de  R!"  pondered  Rosendo,  studying  the  box.  Then — 
"Caramba!  Padre — Caramba!  It  is  Ignacio  de  Rinconl  Hombre  I 

201 

23 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


And  the  crest— it  is  his!  I  have  seen  it  before — years  and 
years  ago!  Caramba!  Caramba!"  The  old  man  danced  about 
like  a  child. 

"Ignacio  de  Rincon!  Your  grandfather!"  he  kept  exclaiming, 
his  eyes  big  as  saucers.  Then,  hastening  out  to  get  his  iron  bar, 
he  returned  and  with  a  blow  broke  the  rusty  padlock.  Tearing 
open  the  hinged  cover,  he  fell  back  with  a  loud  cry. 

Before  their  strained  gaze,  packed  carefully  in  sawdust,  lay 
several  bars  of  yellow  metal.  Rosendo  took  them  out  with 
trembling  hands  and  laid  them  upon  the  floor.  "Gold,  Padre, 
gold!"  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "Gold,  buried  by  your  grand 
father!  Caramba!— 

"Hold  these,  Padre!"  hurrying  out  and  returning  with  a 
pair  of  homemade  wooden  balances.  Again  and  again  he  care 
fully  weighed  the  bars.  Then  he  began  to  calculate.  It  seemed 
to  Jose  that  the  old  man  wasted  hours  arriving  at  a  satisfactory 
result. 

"Padre,"  he  finally  announced  in  tones  wrhich  he  strove 
vainly  to  control,  "there  cannot  be  less  than  six  thousand 
pesos  oro  here!" 

Jose  drew  a  long  breath.  "Six  thousand  pesos — twenty-four 
thousand  francs!  It  is  a  fortune!  Rosendo,  we  are  rich!" 

The  trembling  old  man  replaced  the  bars  and  carried  them 
to  Jose's  bed.  The  priest  opened  the  door  and  called  to  Gar- 
men. 

"What  was  in  the  old  box,  Padre?"  she  asked  happily, 
bounding  into  the  room. 

He  stooped  and  picked  her  up,  almost  crushing  her  in  his 
arms.  "The  answer  to  your  question,  chiquita.  'Before  they 
call  I  will  answer:  and  while  they  are  yet  speaking,  I  will 
hear.' ' 

CHAPTER  23 

WHEN  Jose  awoke  the  next  morning  he  quickly  put  his 
hand  under  his  pillow.  Yes,  the  little  coffer  was  there! 
It  had  not  been  a  dream.  He  drew  it  forth  and  raised 
the  cover.  The  yellow  bars  glittered  in  the  morning  rays  sifting 
through  the  overhanging  thatch  at  the  window.  He  passed  his 
hand  gently  across  them.  What  a  fortunate  discovery!  And 
how  strangely  brought  about !  They  were  rich !  Now  he  could 
take  Carmen  and  flee!  His  heart  leaped  within  him  as  he 
hastily  threw  on  his  scant  attire  and  went  out  into  the  bal 
samic  air  of  the  tropical  morning.  Rosendo  had  gone  to  the 
village  of  Boque,  starting  before  sun-up,  so  Dona  Maria  an- 

202 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nounced.  Some  sudden  impulse  had  seized  him,  and  he  had 
set  out  forthwith,  not  stopping  to  discuss  the  motive  with  his 
faithful  consort.  Jose  concluded  his  desayuno,  and  then  sum 
moned  Carmen  to  the  parish  house  for  the  day's  lessons.  She 
came  with  a  song  on  her  lips. 

"Don't  stop,  chiquita!  Sing  it  again — it  is  beautiful;  and 
my  soul  drinks  it  in  like  heavenly  dew!"  he  cried,  as  the 
child  danced  up  to  him  and  threw  her  plump  arms  about  his 
neck. 

She  turned  about  and  sat  down  on  the  dusty  threshold  and 
repeated  the  little  song.  The  glittering  sunlight  streamed 
through  her  rich  curls  like  stringers  of  wire  gold.  Cucumbra 
came  fawning  to  her  and  nestled  at  her  little  bare  feet,  caress 
ing  them  at  frequent  intervals  with  his  rough  tongue.  Cantar- 
las-horas  approached  with  dignified  tread,  and,  stopping  be 
fore  his  adored  little  mistress,  cocked  his  head  to  one  side  and 
listened  attentively,  his  beady  eyes  blinking  in  the  dazzling 
light. 

Jose  marveled  anew  as  he  listened.  Where  had  that  voice 
come  from?  Had  either  of  her  parents  been  so  gifted?  he 
wondered.  And  yet,  it  was  only  the  voicing  of  a  soul  of  stain 
less  purity — a  conscience  clear  as  the  light  that  gilded  her  curls 
— a  trust,  a  faith,  a  knowledge  of  immanent  good,  that  mani 
fested  daily,  hourly,  in  a  tide  of  happiness  whose  far  verge 
melted  into  the  shore  of  eternity.  As  he  sat  with  closed  eyes 
the  adobe  hut,  with  its  dirt  floor  and  shabby  furnishings,  ex 
panded  into  a  castle,  hung  with  richest  tapestries,  rarest  pic 
tures,  and  glittering  with  plate  of  gold.  The  familiar  odors  of 
garlic  and  saffron,  which  penetrated  from  the  primitive  kitchen 
of  Dona  Maria,  were  transmuted  into  delicate  perfumes.  The 
sun  drew  nearer,  and  suffused  him  with  its  glittering  flood. 
The  girl  became  a  white-robed  vision,  and  her  song  a  benedic 
tion,  voicing  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace 
among  men  of  good  will." 

The  song  ended,  and  left  the  thought  with  him :  "To  men 
of  good  will?"  Yes,  to  men  of  God's  will — the  will  that  is  good 
— to  men  of  sound  mind — that  mind  which  was  in  Christ  Jesus 
— the  mind  that  knows  no  evil !  To  such  is  eternal  peace. 

"Chiquita,"  the  priest  said  gently,  when  the  girl  returned  to 
him.  "Your  question  was  quickly  answered  yesterday,  was  it 
not?" 

She  laughed  up  into  his  face.  "It  was  answered,  Padre,  be 
fore  we  asked  it.  God  has  the  answers  to  all  questions  that 
could  ever  be  asked.  We  would  always  know  the  answers  if 
we  thought  the  way  He  does." 

"But — tell  me,  chiquita,  do  you  think  He  put  that  little  box 
up  there  in  the  altar  purposely  for  us?" 

203 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"No,  Padre — I  guess  it  was  hidden  there  by  some  man,  long 
ago,  who  was  afraid  he  would  lose  it.  And  since  he  was  afraid 
he  would  lose  it,  why — he  did,  for  now  we  have  it." 

"Yes,  the  thing  that  he  greatly  feared  came  upon  him.  But 
what  is  your  idea  regarding  the  way  we  happened  to  find  it? 
Did  God  lead  us  to  it?" 

"God  leads  to  everything  good,  Padre  dear,"  was  the  simple 
response. 

"Of  course.  But,  in  this  particular  case — would  we  have 
been  led  to  the  little  box  if  you  had  not  asked  your  question  of 
God?" 

"Why  not,  Padre?  People  are  always  led  right  when  they 
think  right." 

"And  so  thinking  right  was  the  cause  of  this  discovery, 
was  it?"  he  pursued,  relentlessly  probing  her  thought  to  its 
depths. 

"Why — yes,  Padre — of  course.  We  had  to  have  money — 
you  said  so,  you  know.  And  you  told  me  to  ask  for  lots  of 
pesos.  Well,  we  both  knew  that  God  had  already  given  us 
more  pesos  than  we  could  ever  know  what  to  do  with — He 
always  does.  He  just  can't  help  giving  Himself  to  everybody. 
And  He  gave  Himself  to  us — why,  we  have  always  had  Him! 
We  are  in  Him,  you  know.  And  \vhen  anybody  just  knows 
that — why,  he  sees  nothing  but  good  everywhere,  and  he  al 
ways  has  all  that  he  needs." 

"All  that  he  wants,  you  mean,  chiquita?" 

"No,  Padre,  not  all  that  he  wants.  Just  all  that  he  needs. 
You  might  want  all  the  gold  in  the  world — but  you  wouldn't 
need  it." 

"No,  that  would  be  only  a  selfish,  human  want.  It  would 
be  covetousness.  But — you  still  think  we  were  led  right  to  the 
little  box,  do  you?" 

"I  know  it,  Padre  dear,"  she  replied  emphatically.  "When 
we  think  good,  \ve  see  good.  It  always  comes  out  that  way. 
It  is  just  as  sure  as  getting  the  right  answers  to  my  problems  in 
algebra  when  I  think  right  about  them." 

"And  thinking  right  about  them  means  using  the  right  rule, 
does  it  not?" 

"Yes — of  course.  If  I  didn't  use  the  right  rule — why,  what 
sort  of  answers  would  I  get?  All  jumbled  up!" 

"Surely — perfect  chaos.  But  still,"  vigorously  pursuing  the 
subject,  "you  don't  think  we  happened  upon  the  little  box  just 
by  good  luck?" 

"Padre,"  she  shook  her  curls  insistently,  "things  never  hap 
pen,  never!  We  see  only  what  we  think — always!" 

"Yes,  there  surely  does  seem  to  be  a  definite  law  of  cause 
and  effect.  But  you  did  not  think  gold  yesterday,  chiquita." 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Oh,  Padre  dear,  what  a  bother  you  are!  No,  I  didn't  think 
gold  yesterday.  I  never  think  gold.  But  I  always  think  good. 
And  that  is  gold  and  everything  else  that  we  need.  Can't  you 
see?  And  it  wasn't  just  because  I  thought  good  yesterday,  but 
because  I  think  good  every  day,  that  I  saw  the  gold.  It  was 
because  we  needed  it,  and  God  had  already  given  us  all  that  we 
needed.  And  I  knew  that  it  just  had  to  come.  And  so  did  you. 
Then,  because  we  really  needed  it,  and  knew  that  it  was  right 
and  that  it  must  come — well,  it  did.  Can't  you  see?"  Her 
little  face  was  very  serious  as  she  looked  up  appealingly  into 
his. 

"Yes,  chiquita,  yes,  I  see.  I  just  wanted  to  know  how  you 
would  explain  it.  It  becomes  clearer  to  me  every  day  that  there 
are  no  such  things  as  miracles — never  were!  Christ-Jesus 
never  performed  miracles,  if  by  that  we  mean  that  he  set  aside 
God's  laws  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  But  he  acted  in  per 
fect  accord  with  those  laws — and  no  wonder  the  results  seemed 
miraculous  to  dull-witted  human  minds,  who  had  always  seen 
only  their  coarse,  material  thought  externalized  in  material 
laws  and  objects,  in  chance,  mixed  good  and  evil,  and  a  God  of 
human  characteristics!" 

"Yes — I — guess  so,  Padre  dear — only,  I  don't  understand 
your  big  words." 

"Ah,  chiquita,  you  understand  far,  far  better  than  I  do! 
Why,  I  am  learning  it  all  from  you!  But  come,  now  for  the 
lessons." 

And  Jose  had  learned  by  this  time,  too,  that  between  merely 
recognizing  righteousness  as  right-thinking,  and  actually  prac 
ticing  it — putting  it  to  the  test  so  as  to  "prove"  God — there  is 
a  vast  difference.  Things  cannot  be  "thought"  into  existence, 
nor  evils  "thought"  away — the  stumbling  block  of  the  mere  tyro 
in  the  study  of  mental  cause  and  effect.  A  vast  development  in 
spirituality  must  precede  those  "signs  following"  before  man 
kind  shall  again  do  the  works  of  the  Master.  Jose  knew  this; 
and  he  bowed  in  humble  submission,  praying  for  daily  light. 
****** 

At  dusk  Rosendo  returned.  "Bien,  Padre,  I  have  it  now,  I 
think!"  he  cried  excitedly,  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the  little 
room. 

"What,  Rosendo?"  asked  the  wondering  priest. 

"The  secret  of  the  little  box!  Come,  while  we  eat  I  will  tell 
you!" 

The  little  group  gathered  about  the  table,  while  •  Rosendo 
unfolded  his  theory. 

"I  went  to  Boque  this  morning  to  talk  with  Dona  Lucia. 
She  is  very  aged,  the  oldest  inhabitant  in  these  parts.  Bien,  I 

205 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


knew  that  she  had  known  Don  Ignacio,  although  she  was  not 
his  slave.  Her  story  brought  back  to  me  also  the  things  my 
father  had  often  told  me  about  Don  Ignacio's  last  trip  to  Simiti. 
Putting  all  these  things  together,  I  think  I  now  know  how 
the  little  box  came  to  be  hidden  in  the  altar  of  the  old  church." 

The  old  man's  eyes  sparkled  with  happiness,  while  his  au 
ditors  drew  closer  about  him  to  drink  in  his  dramatic  recital. 
For  Rosendo,  like  a  true  Latin,  reveled  in  a  wonder-tale.  And 
his  recitals  were  always  accompanied  by  profuse  gesticulation 
and  wonderful  facial  expressions  and  much  rolling  of  the  eyes. 

"Bien,"  he  continued,  "it  was  this  way.  Don  Ignacio's  pos 
sessions  in  Guamoco  were  enormous,  and  in  the  then  prosperous 
city  of  Simiti  he  had  stores  and  warehouses  and  much  property. 
When  the  War  of  Independence  neared  its  end,  and  he  saw 
that  the  Royalist  cause  was  lost,  he  made  a  last  and  flying  trip 
to  Simiti,  going  up  the  Magdalena  river  from  Cartagena  in  his 
own  champan,  propelled  by  some  of  his  still  faithful  slaves. 

"Bien,  he  found  that  one  of  his  foremen  had  just  returned 
from  the  mountains  with  the  final  clean-up  from  La  Libertad 
arrastras.  These  had  been  abandoned,  for  most  of  the  slaves 
had  deserted,  or  gone  to  fight  the  Spaniards.  But  the  foreman, 
who  was  not  a  slave,  but  a  faithful  employe,  had  cleaned  up 
the  arrastras  and  hidden  the  amalgam  until  he  could  find  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  come  down  to  Simiti  with  it. 

"Now,  when  Don  Ignacio  arrived  here,  he  found  the  town 
practically  deserted.  So  he  and  the  foreman  retorted  the 
amalgam  and  melted  the  gold  into  bars.  But,  just  as  they  had 
completed  their  task,  a  messenger  came  flying  to  town  and 
reported  that  a  body  of  Royalist  soldiers  were  at  Badillo,  and 
that  they  had  learned  that  Simiti  was  the  bodega  of  the  rich 
Guamoco  district,  and  were  preparing  to  come  over  and  sack 
the  town.  They  were  fleeing  down  the  river  to  the  coast,  to 
get  away  to  Spain  as  soon  as  possible,  but  had  put  off  at  Badillo 
to  come  over  here.  Fortunately,  they  had  become  very  intoxi 
cated,  and  their  expedition  was  for  that  reason  delayed. 

"Bueno,  at  the  news  the  foreman  dropped  everything  and 
fled  for  his  life.  A  few  people  gathered  with  the  priest  in  the 
Rincon  church,  the  one  you  are  using  now,  Padre.  The  priest 
of  the  other  old  church  on  the  hill  fled.  Caramba,  but  he  was 
a  cowrard — and  he  got  well  paid  for  it,  too!  But  of  that  later. 

"Don  Ignacio's  champan  was  at  Badillo,  and  he  had  come 
across  to  Simiti  by  canoe.  Bien,  he  dared  not  take  this  gold 
back  with  him;  and  so  he  thought  of  hiding  it  in  one  of  the 
churches,  for  that  is  always  a  sacred  place.  There  were  people 
in  his  own  church,  and  so  he  hurried  to  the  one  on  the  hill. 
Evidently,  as  he  looked  about  in  the  deserted  building  for  a 

206 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


place  to  hide  the  bars,  he  saw  that  some  of  the  bricks  could 
easily  be  removed  from  the  rear  of  the  altar.  A  couple  of 
hours  sufficed  to  do  the  work  of  secreting  the  box.  Then  he 
fled  across  the  shales  to  the  town  of  Boque,  where  he  got  a 
canoe  to  take  him  down  to  the  Magdalena;  and  there  he  waited 
until  he  saw  the  soldiers  come  across  and  enter  the  cano.  Then 
he  fled  to  Badillo.  Don  Nicolas,  son  of  Dona  Lucia,  was  his 
boatman,  and  he  says  that  he  remained  with  your  grandfather 
at  that  place  over  night,  and  that  there  they  received  the  report 
that  the  Royalists  had  been  terribly  whipped  in  the  battle — the 
battle  of — Caramba!  I  forget— 

"Of  Ayacucho,"  suggested  Jose. 

"Just  so,"  resumed  Rosendo.  "Bien,  there  was  nothing  for 
the  poor  man  to  do  but  hasten  down  the  river  to  Cartagena  as 
fast  as  possible,  for  he  knew  not  what  might  have  befallen  his 
family.  He  did  not  dare  go  back  to  Simiti  then  for  the  box. 
And  so  the  gold  was  left  in  the  altar." 

"Hombrc!"  exclaimed  Jose.  "Now  I  understand  what  he 
meant  by  that  note  in  his  old  diary,  which  we  had  in  my 
father's  house,  in  Spain!  Of  course!  Arriving  in  Cartagena 
he  went  at  once  to  the  Department  of  Mines  and  tore  out  all 
the  pages  of  the  register  that  contained  descriptions  of  his 
mineral  properties.  He  intended  some  day  to  return  to  Gua- 
moco  and  again  locate  them.  And  meantime,  he  protected  him 
self  by  destroying  all  the  registered  locations.  It  was  easy  for 
him  to  do  this,  influential  as  he  was  in  Cartagena.  And  doubt 
less  at  that  stormy  time  the  office  of  the  Department  of  Mines 
was  deserted.  This  note,  Ros-endo,  I  have  read  in  his  old  diary, 
many  times,  but  never  knew  to  what  it  referred." 

"Hombrc!"  ejaculated  Rosendo.  "Bueno,  the  soldiers  sacked 
Simiti  and  slaughtered  all  the  people  they  could  find.  Then 
they  set  fire  to  the  town,  and  left.  My  parents  had  fled  to 
Guamoco. 

"But  now  for  the  old  church  and  the  picture  of  the  Virgin 
that  was  lost  during  the  terrible  storm  when  the  priest  fell 
dead.  We  will  have  to  guess  that  later,  when  peace  had  been 
restored,  the  priest  of  the  old  church  in  prying  around  the  altar 
discovered  the  loose  bricks  and  the  box  behind  them.  Bueno, 
the  night  of  the  awful  storm  he  had  gone  secretly  to  the  church 
to  remove  the  box.  I  remember  that  my  father  said  the  priest 
had  arranged  for  my  father  to  take  him  down  to  Bodega  Cen 
tral  the  very  next  day.  You  see,  he  was  going  to  flee  with  the 
gold,  the  rogue!  Bien,  while  he  was  in  the  church  taking  out 
the  loose  bricks,  that  storm  broke — and,  from  what  I  remember, 
it  was  terrible!  The  heavens  were  ablaze  with  lightning;  the 
thunder  roared  like  cannon;  and  the  lake  rose  right  out  of  its 

207 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


bed!  Caramba!  The  door  of  the  church  crashed  open,  and 
the  wind  whistled  in  and  blew  out  the  candles  on  the  altar. 
The  wind  also  tore  loose  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  Virgin  that 
was  hanging  near  the  altar.  The  picture  was  blown  out  of  its 
frame  and  swept  off  to  the  hills,  or  into  the  lake.  It  was  never 
seen  again,  although  the  frame  was  found  just  outside  the  door. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  extinguishing  of  the  candles  and  the  falling 
of  the  picture  that  frightened  the  old  priest  so  terribly.  At 
any  rate  he  ran  from  the  church  to  his  house,  and  when  he 
reached  his  door  he  fell  dead  of  apoplexy. 

"Bueno,  after  that  you  could  never  get  any  of  the  Simiti 
people  to  enter  the  church  again.  They  closed  the  doors  and 
left  it,  just  as  it  was,  for  they  thought  the  curse  of  God  had 
fallen  upon  it  because  it  had  been  erected  by  the  enemies  of 
the  Rincon  family,  whose  patron  saint  was  the  blessed  Virgin 
herself.  Well,  the  old  altar  began  to  crumble,  and  parts  of  it 
fell  away  from  time  to  time.  And  when  the  people  heard  the 
bricks  falling  they  said  it  was  the  bad  angel  that  the  Virgin  had 
locked  in  there — the  angel  of  Satan  that  had  extinguished  the 
candles  on  the  altar  that  night  of  the  storm.  Caramba!  And 
I  believed  it,  too!  I  am  a  fool,  Padre,  a  fool!" 

"We  are  all  fools,  Rosendo,  when  we  yield  ourselves  to 
superstition  and  false  belief,"  said  Jose  solemnly.  "But  you 
have  worked  out  a  very  ingenious  story,  and  I  doubt  not  you 
have  come  very  near  to  accounting  in  the  right  way  for  the 
presence  of  the  little  box  in  the  altar.  But  now,  amigo,  come 
with  me  to  my  house.  I  would  discuss  a  plan  with  you. 

"It  is  this,  Rosendo,"  he  said,  when  they  were  alone.  "We 
now  have  gold,  and  the  way  has  been  providentially  opened. 
Carmen  is  in  great  danger  here.  What  say  you,  shall  we  take 
her  and  leave  Simiti?" 

Rosendo's  face  became  grave.  He  did  not  reply  for  some 
moments. 

"Padre,"  he  said  at  length,  "you  are  right.  It  would  be 
best  for  her  if  we  could  get  her  away.  But— you  would  have 
to  leave  the  country.  I  see  now  that  neither  she  nor  you  would 
be  safe  anywhere  in  Colombia  if  you  left  Simiti." 

"True,  Rosendo,"  replied  Jose.  "And  I  am  sure  that  no 
country  offers  the  asylum  that  America  does — the  America  of 
the  north.  I  have  never  been  there,  amigo;  but  of  all  countries 
I  learn  that  it  is  the  most  tolerant  in  matters  religious.  And 
it  offers  the  greatest  opportunities  to  one,  like  Carmen,  just 
entering  upon  life.  We  will  go  there.  And,  Rosendo,  prepare 
yourself  and  Dona  Maria  at  once,  for  we  had  best  start  without 
delay." 

But  Rosendo  shook  his  head.     "No,  Padre,"  he  said  slowly. 

208 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"No.    I  could  not  go  to  the  North  with  you;  nor  could  Maria." 

"But,  Rosendo!"  exclaimed  the  priest  impatiently,  "why?" 

"Bien,  Padre,  we  are  old.  And  we  know  not  the  language  of 
those  up  there.  Nor  the  customs.  We  could  not  adapt  our 
selves  to  their  ways  of  life — no,  not  at  our  age.  Nor  could  we 
endure  the  change  of  climate.  You  tell  me  they  have  cold,  ice, 
snow,  up  there.  What  could  we  do?  We  would  die.  No,  we 
must  remain  here.  But — "  his  voice  choked. 

"Bien,  Padre,  do  you  go,  and  take  the  girl.  Bring  her  up 
to  be  a  power  for  good  in  that  great  land.  We — Maria  and  I — • 
will  remain  in  Simiti.  It  is  not  permitted  that  we  should  ever 
leave.  This  has  always  been  our  home,  and  here  we  will  die." 

Jose  exclaimed  again  in  impatience.  But  the  old  man  was 
immovable. 

"No,  Padre,  we  could  not  make  so  great  a  change.  Any 
where  in  Colombia  would  be  but  little  different  from  Simiti. 
But  up  north— in  that  great  country  where  they  do  those  won 
derful  things  you  have  told  me  about — no,  Padre,  Maria  and  I 
could  not  make  so  great  a  change. 

"But,  Padre,"  he  continued,  "what  will  you  do — leave  the 
Church?  Or  will  you  still  be  a  priest  up  there?" 

The  question  startled  Jose  rudely.  In  the  great  joy  which 
the  discovery  of  the  gold  had  stimulated,  and  in  the  thought  of 
the  possibilities  opened  by  it,  he  had  given  no  heed  to  his 
status  respecting  the  Church.  Yet,  if  he  remained  in  the  Church, 
he  could  not  make  this  transfer  without  the  approval  of  the 
Vatican.  And  that,  he  well  knew,  could  not  be  obtained.  No, 
if  he  went,  he  must  leave  behind  all  ecclesiastical  ties.  And 
with  them,  doubtless,  the  ties  which  still  bound  him  to  his 
distant  mother  and  the  family  whose  honored  name  he  bore. 
It  was  not  so  easy  a  matter  to  take  the  girl  and  leave  Simiti,  now 
that  he  gave  the  project  further  consideration. 

And  yet  he  could  not  abandon  the  idea,  however  great  his 
present  sense  of  disappointment.  He  would  cling  to  it  as  an 
ideal,  some  day  to  be  realized,  and  to  be  worked  up  to  as  rapidly 
as  might  be,  without  exciting  suspicion,  and  without  abruptly 
severing  the  ties  which,  on  serious  reflection,  he  found  he  was 
not  morally  strong  enough  as  yet  to  break. 

"Bien,  Rosendo,"  he  concluded  in  chastened  tones.  "We 
will  think  it  over,  and  try  to  devise  ways  to  accomplish  the 
greatest  good  for  the  child.  I  shall  remain  here  for  the 
present." 

Rosendo's  face  beamed  with  joy.  "The  way  will  be  shown 
us  some  time,  Padre!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  while  we  wait,  we 
will  keep  our  eyes  open,  no?" 

Yes,  Jose  would  keep  his  eyes  open  and  his  heart  receptive. 

209 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


After  all,  as  he  meditated  the  situation  in  the  quiet  of  his  little 
cottage  that  evening,  he  was  not  sorry  that  circumstances  kept 
him  longer  in  Simiti.  For  he  had  long  been  meditating  a  plan, 
and  the  distraction  incident  upon  a  complete  change  of  en 
vironment  certainly  would  delay,  if  not  entirely  defeat,  its 
consummation.  He  had  planned  to  translate  his  Testament 
anew,  in  the  light  of  various  works  on  Bible  criticism  which 
the  explorer  had  mentioned,  and  which  the  possession  of  the 
newly  discovered  gold  now  made  attainable.  He  had  with  him 
his  Greek  lexicon.  He  would  now,  in  the  freedom  from  inter 
ruption  which  Simiti  could  and  probably  would  afford  for  the 
ensuing  few  months,  give  himself  up  to  his  consecrated  desire 
to  extract  from  the  sacred  writings  the  spiritual  meaning 
crystallized  writhin  them.  The  vivid  experiences  which  had 
fallen  to  him  in  Simiti  had  resulted  in  the  evolution  of  ideas — 
radically  at  variance  with  the  world's  materialistic  thought,  it 
is  true — which  he  \vas  learning  to  look  upon  as  demonstrable 
truths.  The  Bible  had  slowly  taken  on  a  new  meaning  to  him, 
a  meaning  far  different  from  that  set  forth  in  the  clumsy,  awk 
ward  phrases  and  expressions  into  which  the  translators  so 
frequently  poured  the  \vine  of  the  spirit,  and  which,  literally 
interpreted,  have  resulted  in  such  violent  controversies,  such 
puerile  ideas  of  God  and  His  thought  toward  man,  and  such 
religious  hatred  and  bigotry,  bloodshed,  suffering,  and  mate 
rial  stagnation  throughout  the  so-called  Christian  era.  He 
would  approach  the  Gospels,  not  as  books  of  almost  unde 
cipherable  mystery,  not  as  the  biography  of  the  blessed  Virgin, 
but  as  containing  the  highest  human  interpretation  of  truth  and 
its  relation  to  mankind. 

"I  seek  knowledge,"  he  repeated  aloud,  as  he  paced  back 
and  forth  through  his  little  living  room  at  night;  "but  it  is  not 
a  knowledge  of  Goethe,  of  Kant,  or  Shakespeare;  it  is  not  a 
knowledge  of  the  poets,  the  scientists,  the  philosophers,  all 
wrhom  the  world  holds  greatest  in  the  realm  of  thought;  it  is  a 
knowledge  of  Thee,  my  God,  to  know  whom  is  life  eternal!  Men 
think  they  can  know  Homer,  Plato,  Confucius — and  so  they 
can.  But  they  think  they  can  not  know  Thee !  And  yet  Thou 
art  nearer  to  us  than  the  air  we  breathe,  for  Thou  art  Life! 
What  is  there  out  in  the  world  among  the  multifold  interests  of 
mankind  that  can  equal  in  importance  a  demonstrable  knowl 
edge  of  Thee?  Not  the  unproven  theories  and  opinions,  the  so- 
called  'authority'  of  the  ancient  Fathers,  good  men  though  they 
may  have  been;  not  modern  pseudo-science,  half-truths  and 
relative  facts,  saturated  with  materialism  and  founded  on  spec 
ulation  and  hypothesis;  but  real  knowledge,  a  knowledge  of 
Thee  that  is  as  demonstrable  as  the  simplest  rule  in  mathe- 

210 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


matics!  Alas!  that  men  should  be  so  mesmerized  by  their  own 
beliefs  as  to  say  Thou  canst  not  be  known.  Alas!  for  the  bur 
den  which  such  thinkers  as  Spencer  have  laid  upon  the  shoul 
ders  of  stumbling  mankind.  For  God  can  be  known,  and 
proven — else  is  Jesus  responsible  for  the  most  cruel  lie  ever 
perpetrated  upon  the  ignorant,  suffering  world!" 

And  so,  putting  aside  a  portion  of  his  gold — his  by  right  of 
inheritance  as  well  as  discovery — for  the  future  purchase  of 
such  books  and  aids  as  he  might  require,  Jose  set  his  house 
in  order  and  then  plunged  into  such  a  search  of  the  Scriptures 
as  rendered  him  oblivious  to  all  but  the  immediate  interests  of 
Carmen  and  her  foster-parents.  The  great  world  again  nar 
rowed  into  the  rock-bound  confines  of  little  Simiti.  Each 
rushing  morn  that  shot  its  fiery  glow  through  the  lofty  treetops 
sank  quickly  into  the  hush  of  noon,  while  the  dust  lay  thick, 
white,  and  hot  on  the  slumbering  streets  of  the  ancient  town; 
each  setting  sun  burned  with  dreamy  radiance  through  the 
afternoon  haze  that  drew  its  filmy  veil  across  the  seething 
valley;  each  night  died  into  a  stillness,  lonely  and  awful.  Na 
ture  changed  her  garb  with  monotonous  regularity;  the  drows 
ing  children  of  this  tropic  region  passed  their  days  in  dull  tor 
pidity;  Jose  saw  nothing  of  it  all.  At  times  a  villager  would 
bring  a  tale  of  grievance  to  pour  into  his  ears — perhaps  a  jaguar 
had  pounced  upon  his  dog  on  his  little  finca  across  the  lake,  or 
a  huge  snake  had  lured  a  suckling  pig  into  its  cavernous  maw. 
At  times  a  credulous  woman  would  stop  before  his  open  door 
to  dilate  upon  the  thick  worms  that  hung  upon  the  leaves  of 
the  algarrobas  and  dropped  their  wool-like  fibers  upon  the 
natives  as  they  passed  below,  causing  intermittent  fevers.  Per 
haps  an  anxious  mother  would  seek  him  for  advice  regarding 
her  little  son,  who  had  eaten  too  much  dirt,  and  was  suffering 
from  the  common  "jipitera,"  that  made  his  poor  little  abdomen 
protrude  so  uncomfortably.  Again,  Rosendo  might  steal  in  for 
a  few  moments'  mysterious,  whispered  talk  about  buried  treas 
ure,  or  the  fables  of  El  Dorado  and  Parime.  Jose  had  time  for 
them  all,  though  as  he  listened  his  thought  hovered  ever  about 
the  green  verge  of  Galilee. 

By  his  side  worked  Carmen,  delving  assiduously  into  the 
mysteries  of  mathematics  and  the  modern  languages.  When 
the  day's  work  closed  for  them  both,  he  often  asked  her  to  sing 
to  him.  And  then,  leaning  back  with  closed  eyes,  he  would 
yield  himself  to  the  soft  dreams  which  her  sweet  voice  called 
up  from  his  soul's  unfathomed  depths.  Often  they  walked 
together  by  the  lake  on  a  clear  night;  and  on  these  little  ex 
cursions,  during  which  they  were  never  beyond  Rosendo's 
watchful  eye,  Jose  reveled  in  the  girl's  airy  gaiety  and  the 

211 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


spontaneous  flow  of  her  sparkling  thought.  He  called  her  his 
domestic  sunbeam;  but  in  his  serious  moments — and  they 
were  many — he  studied  her  with  a  wistful  earnestness,  while 
he  sought  to  imbibe  her  great  trust,  her  fearlessness,  her  un 
swerving  loyalty  to  the  Christ-principle  of  immanent  Good. 
He  would  never  permit  restraint  to  be  imposed  upon  her,  even 
by  Rosendo  or  his  good  wife.  She  knew  not  what  it  was  to  be 
checked  in  the  freest  manifestation  of  her  natural  character. 
But  there  was  little  occasion  for  restraint,  for  Carmen  dwelt  ever 
in  the  consciousness  of  a  spiritual  universe,  and  to  it  paid 
faithful  tribute.  She  saw  and  knew  only  from  a  spiritual  basis; 
and  she  reaped  the  rewards  incident  thereto.  His  life  and  hers 
were  such  as  fools  might  label  madness,  a  colorless,  vegetative 
existence,  devoid  of  even  the  elemental  things  that  make  mun 
dane  existence  worth  the  while.  But  the  appraisal  of  fools  is 
their  own  folly.  Jose  knew  that  the  torrid  days  which  drew  their 
monotonous  length  over  the  little  town  were  witnessing  a  de 
velopment  in  both  himself  and  the  child  that  some  day  would 
bear  richest  fruit.  So  far  from  being  educated  to  distrust 
spiritual  power,  as  are  the  children  of  this  world,  Carmen  was 
growing  up  to  know  no  other.  Instead  of  the  preponderance  of 
her  belief  and  confidence  being  directed  to  the  material,  she 
was  developing  the  consciousness  that  the  so-called  evidence  of 
the  physical  senses  is  but  mortal  thought,  the  suppositional  op 
posite  of  the  thought  of  the  infinite  God  who  says  to  mankind: 
"For  I  know  the  thoughts  that  I  think  toward  you,  thoughts  of 
peace  and  not  of  evil,  to  give  you  an  expected  end."  Jose  knew 
that  his  method  of  education  was  revolutionary.  But  he  also 
knew  that  it  was  not  wholly  his;  that  the  child  had  really  taken 
this  course  herself,  as  if  led  thereto  by  a  power  beyond  them 
both. 

And  so  he  watched  her,  and  sought  to  learn  from  her  as 
from  Christ's  own  loving  and  obedient  disciple.  It  wras  because 
of  his  obedience  to  God  that  Jesus  was  able  to  "prove"  Him  in 
the  mighty  works  which  we  call  miracles.  He  said,  "If  any  man 
will  do  His  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be 
of  God."  Plain  enough,  indeed!  And  Carmen  did  do  His  will; 
she  kept  the  very  first  Commandment;  she  walked  by  faith, 
and  not  by  the  sight  of  the  human  senses.  She  had  been  called 
an  "hada,"  a  witch,  by  the  dull-witted  folk  of  Simiti;  and  some 
day  it  would  be  told  that  she  had  a  devil.  But  the  Master  had 
borne  the  same  ignominy.  And  so  has  every  pioneer  in  Truth, 
who  has  dared  to  lay  the  axe  at  the  roots  of  undemonstrable 
orthodox  belief  and  entrenched  human  error. 

Jose  often  trembled  for  the  child  when  he  thought  of  the 
probable  reception  that  awaited  her  in  the  world  without,  in 

212 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


case  she  ever  left  Simiti.  Would  her  supreme  confidence  in 
good  ever  be  weakened  by  an  opposite  belief  in  evil?  Would 
her  glorious  faith  ever  be  neutralized  or  counterbalanced  by 
faith  in  a  power  opposed  to  God?  He  wondered.  And  some 
times  in  the  fits  of  abstraction  resulting  from  these  thoughts, 
the  girl  would  steal  up  to  him  and  softly  whisper,  "Why,  Padre, 
are  you  trying  to  make  two  and  two  equal  seven?"  Then  he 
would  laugh  with  her,  and  remember  how  from  her  algebraic 
work  she  had  looked  up  one  day  and  exclaimed,  "Padre — why, 
all  evil  can  be  reduced  to  a  common  denominator,  too — and  it 
is  zero!" 

As  recreation  from  the  task  of  retranslating  his  Greek  Testa 
ment,  Jose  often  read  to  Carmen  portions  from  the  various 
books  of  the  Bible,  or  told  her  the  old  sacred  stories  that  chil 
dren  so  love  to  hear.  But  Carmen's  incisive  thought  cut  deep 
into  them,  and  Jose  generally  found  himself  hanging  upon  the 
naive  interpretations  of  this  young  girl.  When,  after  reading 
aloud  the  two  opposing  accounts  of  the  Creation,  as  given  in  the 
first  and  second  chapters  of  Genesis,  she  asked,  "But,  Padre, 
why  did  God  change  His  mind  after  He  made  people  and  gave 
them  dominion  over  everything?"  Jose  was  obliged  to  say  that 
God  had  not  made  a  mistake,  and  then  gone  back  afterward  to 
rectify  it;  that  the  account  of  the  Creation,  as  given  in  Genesis, 
was  not  His,  but  was  a  record  of  the  dawning  upon  the  human 
thought  of  the  idea  of  the  spiritual  Creation;  that  the  "mist" 
which  went  up  from  the  earth  was  suppositional  error;  and 
that  the  record  of  the  Creation  which  follows  after  this  was 
only  the  human  mind's  interpretation  of  the  real,  spiritual 
Creation,  that  Creation  which  is  the  ever  unfolding  of  infinite 
Mind's  numberless,  perfect  ideas.  The  book  of  Genesis  has 
been  a  fetish  to  human  minds;  and  not  until  the  limitations  im 
posed  by  its  literal  interpretation  were  in  a  measure  removed 
did  the  human  mentality  begin  to  rise  and  expand.  And  when, 
reading  from  Isaiah,  the  grandest  of  the  ancient  prophets,  the 
ringing  words,  "Cease  ye  from  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his 
nostrils:  for  wherein  is  he  to  be  accounted  of?"  the  child  asked 
him  if  that  did  not  refer  to  the  very  kind  of  people  with  whom 
they  had  daily  intercourse,  he  had  been  obliged  to  say  that  it 
did,  and  that  that  sort  of  man  was  far,  very  far,  from  being  the 
man  of  God's  own  creating. 

"The  mist,  child,  which  is  mentioned  in  the  second  chapter 
of  Genesis,  is  said  to  have  gone  up  from  the  ground.  That  is, 
it  went  up  from  matter.  And  so  it  is  typical  of  materialism, 
from  which  all  evil  comes.  The  material  is  the  direct  op 
posite  of  the  spiritual.  Every  bit  of  evil  that  men  think  they 
can  see,  or  know,  or  do,  comes  as  testimony  of  the  five  material 

213 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


senses.  These  might  well  be  called  the  'ground'  senses.  In  the 
book  of  Genesis,  you  will  notice  that  the  account  of  the  real 
comes  first;  then  follows  the  account  of  its  opposite,  the  unreal 
man  of  dust." 

"Surely,  Padre!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  plus  sign  is  followed 
by  a  minus  sign,  isn't  it?  And  the  man  made  of  dust  is  the 
real  man  with  a  minus  sign  before  him." 

"The  man  of  dust  is  the  human  mind's  interpretation  of  the 
spiritual  man,  dear  child,"  returned  Jose.  "All  human  beings 
are  interpretations  by  the  mortal,  or  human,  mind  of  infinite 
Mind,  God,  and  His  spiritual  Creation.  The  interpretation  is 
made  in  the  human  mind,  and  remains  there.  The  human  mind 
does  not  see  these  interpretations  outside  of  itself — it  does  not 
see  real  men,  and  houses,  and  trees,  outside  of  itself — but  it  sees 
its  mental  interpretations  of  God,  which  it  calls  men,  and 
houses,  and  trees,  and  so  on.  These  things  are  what  we  might 
call  mental  concepts.  They  are  the  man  and  the  creation 
spoken  of  in  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis  after  the  mist  went 
up  from  matter,  from  the  ground,  from  materialism,  resulting 
in  the  testimony  of  the  physical  senses." 

"But,  Padre,  they  are  not  real — these  mental  concepts?" 

"No.  They  are  illusions.  They  are  formed  in  mentalities 
that  are  themselves  wrong  interpretations  of  the  infinite  Men 
tality,  called  God.  They  are  formed  without  any  rule  or  prin 
ciple.  They  are  made  up  of  false  thoughts,  false  opinions,  be 
liefs  of  power  opposed  to  God,  beliefs  in  evil,  in  sickness,  dis 
aster,  loss,  and  death.  They  are  the  results  of  educated  and  in 
herited  and  attached  beliefs.  They  are  largely  made  up  of  fear- 
beliefs.  The  human  mentalities  see  these  various  beliefs  com 
bined  in  what  it  calls  men  and  women,  houses,  animals,  trees, 
and  so  on,  all  through  the  material  so-called  creation.  It  is  this 
wrong  interpretation  that  has  caused  all  the  suffering  and 
sorrow  in  the  world.  And  it  is  this  false  stuff  that  the  good 
man  Jesus  finally  said  he  had  overcome." 

"How  did  he  do  it,  Padre?" 

"By  knowing  its  nothingness,  and  by  knowing  the  Allness 
of  his  Father,  infinite  Mind.  He  called  this  false  stuff  a  lie 
about  God.  And  he  overcame  that  lie  by  knowing  the  truth — 
just  as  you  overcome  the  thought  that  you  cannot  solve  your 
algebraic  problems  by  knowing  the  truth  that  will  and  does 
solve  them." 

"But,  Padre,  you  said  once  that  Jesus  was  the  best  man 
that  ever  lived.  Was  he  just  a  man?" 

"Yes,  chiquita.  That  is,  the  human  minds  all  about  him 
saw  their  mental  concepts  of  him  as  a  man.  But  he  was  a 
human  concept  that  most  clearly  represented  God's  idea  of 

214 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Himself.  Mortal,  human  minds  are  like  window-panes,  chi- 
quita.  When  a  window-pane  is  very  dirty,  very  much  covered 
with  matter,  only  a  little  light  can  get  through  it.  Some 
human  minds  are  cleaner,  less  material,  than  others,  and  they 
let  more  light  through.  Jesus  was  the  cleanest  mind  that  was 
ever  with  us.  He  kept  letting  more  and  more  light — Truth — 
through  himself,  until  at  last  all  the  matter,  even  the  matter 
composing  the  material  concept  that  people  called  his  earthly 
body,  dissolved  in  the  strong  light,  and  the  people  saw  him  no 
more.  That  is  called  the  Ascension." 

"And — Padre,  don't  we  have  to  do  that  way,  too?"  she  asked 
earnestly. 

"Just  so,  chiquita.  We  must,  every  one  of  us,  do  exactly 
as  Jesus  did.  We  must  wash  ourselves  clean — wash  off  the 
dirty  beliefs  of  power  apart  from  God;  we  must  wash  off  the 
beliefs  of  evil  as  a  power,  created  in  opposition  to  Him,  or  per 
mitted  by  Him  to  exist  and  to  use  His  children;  we  must  wash 
off  beliefs  of  matter  as  real  and  created  by  Him.  We  must 
know  that  matter  and  all  evil,  all  that  decays  and  passes  away, 
all  discord  and  disease,  everything  that  comes  as  testimony  of 
the  five  physical  senses,  is  but  a  part  of  the  lie  about  Him,  the 
stuff  that  has  the  minus  sign  before  it,  making  it  less  than 
nothing.  We  must  know  that  it  is  the  suppositional  opposite 
of  the  real — it  is  a'n  illusion,  seeming  to  exist,  yet  evaporating 
when  we  try  to  define  it  or  put  a  finger  on  it,  for  it  has  no  rule 
or  principle  by  which  it  was  created  and  by  which  it  continues 
to  exist.  Its  existence  is  only  in  human  thought." 

No,  Jose  assured  himself,  the  Gospels  are  not  "loose,  exag 
gerated,  inaccurate,  credulous  narratives."  They  are  the  story 
of  the  clearest  transparency  to  truth  that  was  ever  known  to 
mortals  as  a  human  being.  They  preserve  the  life-giving  words 
of  him  whose  mission  it  was  to  show  mankind  the  \vay  out  of 
error  by  giving  them  truth.  They  contain  the  rule  given  by  the 
great  Mathematician,  who  taught  mankind  how  to  solve  their 
life-problems.  They  tell  the  world  plainly  that  there  seems  to 
exist  a  lie  about  God;  that  every  real  idea  of  the  infinite  Mind 
seems  to  have  its  suppositional  opposite  in  a  material  illusion. 
They  tell  us  plainly  that  resisting  these  illusions  with  truth 
renders  them  nugatory.  They  tell  us  clearly  that  the  man 
Jesus  was  so  filled  writh  truth  that  he  proved  the  nothingness 
of  the  lie  about  God  by  doing  those  deeds  that  seemed  mar 
velous  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  yet  which  he  said  we  could  and 
should  do  ourselves.  And  we  must  do  them,  if  we  would  throw 
off  the  mesmerism  of  the  lie.  The  human  concept  of  man  and 
the  universe  must  dissolve  in  the  light  of  the  truth  that  comes 
through  us  as  transparencies.  And  it  were  well  if  we  set  about 

215 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


washing  away  the  dirt  of  materialism,  that  the  light  may  shine 
through  more  abundantly. 

Jesus  did  not  say  that  his  great  deeds  were  accomplished 
contrary  to  law,  but  that  they  fulfilled  the  law  of  God.  The 
law  is  spiritual,  never  material.  Material  law  is  but  human 
limitation.  Ignorance  of  spiritual  law  permits  the  belief  in 
its  opposite,  material  law,  or  laws  of  matter.  False,  human 
beliefs,  opinions,  and  theories,  material  speculations  and  super 
stitions,  parade  before  the  human  mind  as  laws.  Jesus  swept 
them  all  aside  by  knowing  that  their  supposed  power  lay  only 
in  human  acceptance.  The  human  mind  is  mesmerized  by  its 
own  false  thought.  Even  Paul  at  times  felt  its  mesmerism 
and  exclaimed:  "I  find  then  a  iaw,  that,  when  I  would  do 
good,  evil  is  present  with  me."  The  very  idea  of  good  stirs  up 
its  opposite  in  the  human  consciousness.  But  Paul  rose  above 
it  and  saw  its  nothingness.  Then  he  cried:  "The  law  of  the 
Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus  hath  made  me  free  from  the  law 
of  sin  and  death."  He  recognized  the  spiritual  law  that  Jesus 
employed;  and  with  it  he  overcame  the  mesmerism  of  the  lie. 

"To  be  a  Christian,  then,"  said  Jose,  "means  not  merely 
taking  the  name  of  Christ,  and,  while  morally  opposing  sin, 
succumbing  to  every  form  of  mesmerism  that  the  lie  about 
God  exerts.  No,  it  is  infinitely  more!  It  means  recognizing  the 
nature  of  God  and  His  Creation,  including  Man,  to  be  wholly 
spiritual — and  the  nature  of  the  material  creation  and  mankind 
as  their  opposite,  as  mental  concepts,  existing  as  false  interpre 
tations  of  the  spiritual  Universe  and  Man,  and  as  having  their 
place  only  in  the  false  human  consciousness,  which  itself  is  a 
mental  activity  concerned  only  with  false  thought,  the  sup 
positional  opposite  of  God's  thought.  It  means  taking  this 
Truth,  this  spiritual  law,  as  we  \vould  take  a  mathematical  rule 
or  principle,  and  with  it  overcoming  sin,  sickness,  discord  of 
every  name  and  nature,  even  to  death  itself.  What,  oh,  what 
have  so-called  Christians  been  doing  these  nearly  two  thousand 
years,  that  they  have  not  ere  this  worked  out  their  salvation  as 
Jesus  directed  them  to  do?  Alas!  they  have  been  mesmerized— 
simply  mesmerized  by  the  lie.  The  millennium  should  have 
come  long,  long  ago.  It  would  come  to-day  if  the  world  would 
obey  Jesus.  But  it  will  not  come  until  it  does  obey  him." 

Day  after  day,  week  after  week,  month  after  month,  Jose 
delved  and  toiled,  studied  and  pondered.  The  books  which  he 
ordered  through  the  Empresa  Alemania,  and  for  which  for 
some  two  months  he  waited  in  trembling  anticipation  and  fear 
lest  they  be  lost  in  transit,  finally  arrived.  When  Juan  brought 
them  up  from  Bodega  Central,  Jose  could  have  wept  for  joy. 
Except  for  the  very  few  letters  he  had  received  at  rare  inter- 

216 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


vals,  these  were  the  only  messages  that  had  penetrated  the 
isolation  of  Simiti  from  the  outside  world  in  the  two  long  years 
of  his  exile.  His  starving  mind  ravenously  devoured  them. 
They  afforded  his  first  introduction  to  that  fearlessly  critical 
thought  regarding  things  religious  which  has  swept  across  the 
world  like  a  tidal  wave,  and  washed  away  so  many  of  the  bul 
warks  of  superstition  and  ignorance  bred  of  fear  of  the  un 
known  and  supposedly  unknowable. 

And  yet  they  were  not  really  his  first  introduction  to  that 
thought,  for,  as  he  pored  over  these  books,  his  heart  expanded 
with  gratitude  to  the  brusque  explorer  whom  he  had  met  in 
Cartagena,  that  genial,  odd  medley  of  blunt  honesty,  unquib- 
bling  candor,  and  hatred  of  dissimulation,  whose  ridicule  of 
the  religious  fetishism  of  the  human  mentality  tore  up  the 
last  root  of  educated  orthodox  belief  that  remained  struggling 
for  life  in  the  altered  soil  of  his  mind. 

But,  though  they  tore  down  with  ruthless  hand,  these  books 
did  not  reconstruct.  Jose  turned  from  them  with  something  of 
disappointment.  He  could  understand  why  the  trembling  heart, 
searching  wearily  for  truth,  turned  always  from  such  as  they 
\vith  sinking  hope.  They  were  violently  iconoclastic — they  up 
rooted — they  overthrew — they  swept  aside  with  unsparing  hand 
— but  they  robbed  the  starving  mortal  of  his  once  cherished 
beliefs — they  snatched  the  stale  and  feebly  nourishing  bread 
from  his  mouth,  and  gave  nothing  in  return.  They  emptied  his 
heart,  and  left  it  starving.  What  did  it  boot  to  tell  a  man  that 
the  orthodox  dream  of  eternal  bliss  beyond  the  gates  of  death 
was  but  a  hoax,  if  no  substitute  be  offered?  Why  point  out  the 
fallacies,  the  puerile  conceptions,  the  worse  than  childish 
thought  expressed  in  the  religious  creeds  of  men,  if  they  were 
not  to  be  replaced  by  life-sustaining  truth?  If  the  demolition  of 
cherished  beliefs  be  not  followed  by  reconstruction  upon  a  sure 
foundation  of  demonstrable  truth,  then  is  the  resulting  state  of 
mind  worse  than  before,  for  the  trusting,  though  deceived,  soul 
has  no  recourse  but  to  fall  into  the  agnosticism  of  despair,  or 
the  black  atheism  of  positive  negation. 

"Happily  for  me,"  he  sighed,  as  he  closed  his  books  at  length, 
"that  Carmen  entered  my  empty  life  in  time  with  the  truth  that 
she  hourly  demonstrates!" 


217 

24 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


CHAPTER  24 

DAYS  melted  into  weeks,  and  these  in  turn  into  months. 
Simiti,  drab  and  shabby,  a  crumbling  and  abandoned 
relique  of  ancient  Spanish  pride  and  arrogance,  drowsed 
undisturbed  in  the  ardent  embrace  of  the  tropical  sun.  Don 
Jorge  returned,  unsuccessful,  from  his  long  quest  in  the  San 
Lucas  mountains,  and  departed  again  down  the  Magdalena 
river. 

"It  is  a  marvelous  country  up  there,"  he  told  Jose.  "I  do  not 
wonder  that  it  has  given  rise  to  legends.  I  felt  myself  in  a 
land  of  enchantment  while  I  wras  roaming  those  quiet  moun 
tains.  When,  after  days  of  steady  traveling,  I  would  chance 
upon  a  little  group  of  natives  hidden  away  in  some  dense 
thicket,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  must  be  fairies,  not  real. 
I  came  upon  the  old  trail,  Padre,  the  Camino  Real,  now 
sunken  and  overgrown,  which  the  Spaniards  used.  They 
called  it  the  Panama  trail.  It  used  to  lead  down  to  Carta 
gena.  Hombre!  in  places  it  is  now  twenty  feet  deep!" 

"But,  gold,  Don  Jorge?" 

"Ah,  Padre,  what  quartz  veins  I  saw  in  that  country! 
Hombre!  Gold  will  be  discovered  there  without  measure  some 
day!  But — Caramba!  This  map  which  Don  Carlos  gave  me  is 
much  in  error.  I  must  consult  again  writh  him.  Then  I 
shall  return  to  Simiti."  Jose  regretfully  saw  him  depart,  for 
he  had  grown  to  love  this  ruggedly  honest  soul. 

Meantime,  Don  Mario  sulked  in  his  house;  nor  during  the 
intervening  year  would  he  hold  anything  more  than  the  most 
formal  intercourse  with  the  priest.  Jose  ignored  him  as  far 
as  possible.  Events  move  with  terrible  deliberation  in  these 
tropic  lands,  and  men's  minds  are  heavy  and  lethargic.  Jose 
assumed  that  Don  Mario  had  failed  in  the  support  upon  which 
he  had  counted;  or  else  Diego's  interest  in  Carmen  was  dor 
mant,  perhaps  utterly  passed.  Each  succeeding  day  of  quiet 
increased  his  confidence,  while  he  rounded  out  month  after 
month  in  this  sequestered  vale  on  the  far  confines  of  civiliza 
tion,  and  the  girl  attained  her  twelfth  year.  Moreover,  as  he 
noted  with  marveling,  often  incredulous,  mental  gaze  her 
swift,  unhindered  progress,  the  rapid  unfolding  of  her  rich  na 
ture,  and  the  increasing  development  of  a  spirituality  which 
seemed  to  raise  her  daily  farther  above  the  plane  on  which  he 
dwelt,  he  began  to  regard  the  uninterrupted  culmination  of  his 
plans  for  her  as  reasonably  assured,  if  not  altogether  certain. 

Juan  continued  his  frequent  trips  down  to  Bodega  Central 

218 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


as  general  messenger  and  transportation  agent  for  his  fellow- 
townsmen,  meanwhile  adoring  Carmen  from  a  distance  of 
respectful  decorum.  Rosendo  and  Lazaro,  relaxing  somewhat 
their  vigilance  over  the  girl,  labored  daily  on  the  little  hacienda 
across  the  lake.  The  dull-witted  folk,  keeping  to  their  dis 
mally  pretentious  mud  houses  during  the  pulsing  heat  of  day, 
and  singing  their  weird,  moaning  laments  in  the  quiet  which 
reigned  over  this  maculate  hollow  at  night,  followed  un- 
deviatingly  the  monotonous  routine  of  an  existence  which  had 
no  other  aim  than  the  indulgence  of  the  most  primitive  mate 
rial  wants. 

"Ah,  Padre,"  Rosendo  would  say  of  them,  "they  are  so 
easy!  They  love  idleness;  they  like  not  labor.  They  fish,  they 
play  the  guitar,  they  gather  fruits.  They  sing  and  dance — 
and  then  die.  Padre,  it  is  sad,  is  it  not?" 

Aye,  thought  the  priest,  doubly  sad  in  its  mute  answer  to 
the  heartlessly  selfish  query  of  Cain.  No  one,  not  even  the 
Church,  was  the  keeper  of  these  benighted  brothers.  He  alone 
had  constituted  himself  their  shepherd.  And  as  they  learned 
to  love  him,  to  confide  their  simple  wants  and  childish  hopes 
to  him,  he  came  to  realize  the  immense  ascendency  which  the 
priests  of  Colombia  possess  over  the  simple  understanding  of 
the  people.  An  ascendency  hereditary  and  dominant,  capable 
of  utmost  good,  but  expressed  in  the  fettering  of  initiative 
and  action,  in  the  suppression  of  ambition,  and  the  quenching 
of  every  impulse  toward  independence  of  thought.  How  he 
longed  to  lift  them  up  from  the  drag  of  their  mental  encom- 
passment!  Yet  how  helpless  he  was  to  afford  them  the  needed 
lustration  of  soul  which  alone  could  accomplish  it! 

"I  can  do  little  more  than  try  to  set  them  a  standard  of 
thought,"  he  would  muse,  as  he  looked  out  from  the  altar  over 
the  camellia-like  faces  of  his  adult  children  when  he  con 
ducted  his  simple  Sunday  services.  "I  can  only  strive  to 
point  out  the  better  things  of  this  life — to  tell  them  of  the 
wonders  of  invention,  of  art,  of  civilization — 1  can  only  relate 
to  them  tales  of  romance  and  achievement,  and  beautiful 
stories — and  try  to  omit  in  the  recital  all  reference  to  the  evil 
methods,  aims,  and  motives  which  have  manifested  in  those 
dark  crimes  staining  the  records  of  history.  The  world  calls 
them  historical  incident  and  fact.  I  must  call  them  'the  mist 
that  went  up  from  the  ground  and  watered  the  face  of  the 
earth.'  " 

But  Jose  had  progressed  during  his  years  in  Simiti.  It  had 
been  hard — only  he  could  know  how  hard! — to  adapt  himself 
to  the  narrow  environment  in  which  he  dwelt.  It  had  been 
hard  to  conform  to  these  odd  ways  and  strange  usages.  But 

219 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


he  now  knew  that  the  people's  reserve  and  shyness  at  first  wras 
due  to  their  natural  suspicion  of  him.  For  days,  even  weeks, 
he  had  known  that  he  was  being  weighed  and  watched.  And 
then  love  triumphed. 

It  is  true,  the  dull  staring  of  the  natives  of  this  unkempt 
town  had  long  continued  to  throw  him  into  fits  of  prolonged 
nervousness.  They  had  not  meant  to  offend,  of  course.  Their 
curiosity  was  far  from  malicious.  But  at  hardly  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night  could  he  look  up  from  his  work  without  see 
ing  dark,  inquisitive  faces  peering  in  through  the  latticed 
window  or  the  open  door  at  him,  watchful  of  the  minutest 
detail  of  his  activity.  He  had  now  grown  used  to  that.  And 
he  had  grown  used  to  their  thoughtless  intrusion  upon  him 
at  any  hour.  He  had  learned,  too,  not  to  pale  with  nausea 
when,  as  was  their  wont  of  many  centuries,  the  dwellers  in 
this  uncouth  town  relentlessly  pursued  their  custom  of  ex 
pectorating  upon  his  floor  immediately  they  entered  and  stood 
before  him.  He  had  accustomed  himself  to  the  hourly  intru 
sion  of  the  scavenger  pigs  and  starving  dogs  in  his  house. 
And  he  could  now  endure  without  aching  nerves  the  awful 
singing,  the  maudlin  wails,  the  thin,  piercing,  falsetto  howls 
which  rose  almost  nightly  about  him  in  the  sacred  name  of 
music.  For  these  were  children  with  whom  he  dwelt.  And 
he  was  trying  to  show  them  that  they  were  children  of  God. 

The  girl's  education  was  progressing  marvelously.  Al 
ready  Jose  had  been  obliged  to  supplement  his  oral  instruc 
tion  with  texts  purchased  for  her  from  abroad.  Her  grasp  of 
the  English  language  was  his  daily  wonder.  After  two  years 
of  study  she  spoke  it  readily.  She  loved  it,  and  insisted  that 
her  conversations  with  him  should  be  conducted  wholly  in  it. 
French  and  German  likewise  had  been  taken  up;  and  her 
knowledge  of  her  own  Castilian  tongue  had  been  enriched  by 
the  few  books  which  he  had  been  able  to  secure  for  her  from 
Spain. 

Jose's  anomalous  position  in  Simiti  had  ceased  to  cause 
him  worry.  What  mattered  it,  now  that  he  had  endeared  him 
self  to  its  people,  and  was  progressing  undisturbed  in  the  train 
ing  of  Carmen?  He  performed  his  religious  duties  faithfully. 
His  people  wanted  them.  And  he,  in  turn,  knew  that  upon  his 
observance  of  them  depended  his  tenure  of  the  parish. 

And  he  wanted  to  remain  among  them,  to  lead  them,  if 
possible,  at  least  a  little  way  along  what  he  was  daily  seeing 
to  be  the  only  path  out  of  the  corroding  beliefs  of  the  human 
mind.  He  knew  that  his  people's  growth  would  be  slow — how 
slow  might  not  his  own  be,  too!  Who  could  say  how  un 
utterably  slow  would  be  their  united  march  heavenward !  And 

220 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


yet,  the  human  mind  was  expanding  with  wonderful  rapidity 
in  these  last  days.  What  acceleration  had  it  not  acquired  since 
that  distant  era  of  the  Old  Stone  Man,  when  through  a  hundred 
thousand  years  of  darkness  the  only  observable  progress  was  a 
little  greater  skill  in  the  shaping  of  his  crude  flint  weapons! 

To  Padre  Diego's  one  or  two  subsequent  curt  demands  that 
Carmen  be  sent  to  him,  Jose  had  given  no  heed.  And  perhaps 
Diego,  absorbed  in  his  political  activities  as  the  confidential 
agent  of  Wenceslas,  would  have  been  content  to  let  his  claim 
upon  the  child  lapse,  after  many  months  of  quiet,  had  not 
Don  Jorge  inadvertently  set  the  current  of  the  man's  thought 
again  in  her  direction. 

For  Don  Jorge  was  making  frequent  trips  along  the  Magda- 
lena  river.  It  was  essential  to  his  business  to  visit  the  various 
riverine  towns  and  to  mingle  freely  with  all  grades  of  people, 
that  he  might  run  down  rumors  or  draw  from  the  inhabitants 
information  which  might  result  in  valuable  clues  anent  buried 
treasure.  Returning  one  day  to  Simiti  from  such  a  trip,  he 
regaled  Jose  with  the  spirited  recital  of  his  experience  on  a 
steamboat  which  had  become  stranded  on  a  river  bar. 

"Bien,"  he  concluded,  "the  old  tub  at  last  broke  loose. 
Then  we  saw  that  its  engines  were  out  of  commission;  and  so 
the  captain  let  her  drift  down  to  Banco,  where  we  docked.  I 
was  forced,  not  altogether  against  my  will,  to  put  up  with 
Padre  Diego.  Caramba!  The  old  fox!  But  I  had  much 
amusement  at  his  expense  when  I  twitted  him  about  his 
daughter  Carmen,  and  his  silly  efforts  to  get  possession  of  her!" 

Jose  shook  with  indignation.  "Good  heaven,  friend!"  he 
cried,  "why  can  you  not  let  sleeping  dogs  alone?  Diego  is  not 
the  man  to  be  bearded  like  that!  Would  that  you  had  kept 
away  from  the  subject!  And  what  did  you  say  to  him  about 
the  girl?" 

"Caramba,  man!  I  only  told  him  how  beautiful  she  was, 
and  how  large  for  her  few  years.  Bien,  I  think  I  said  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  and  well-formed  girl  I  had  ever  seen.  But 
was  there  anything  wrong  in  telling  the  truth,  amigo?" 

"No,"  replied  Jose  bitterly,  as  he  turned  away;  "you  meant 
no  harm.  But,  knowing  the  man's  brutal  nature,  and  his  as 
sumed  claim  on  the  girl,  why  could  you  not  have  foreseen 
possible  misfortune  to  her  in  dwelling  thus  on  her  physical 
beauty?  H ombre,  it  is  too  bad!" 

"Na,  amigo,"  said  Don  Jorge  soothingly,  "nothing  can  come 
of  it.  Bien,  you  take  things  so  hard!"  But  when  Don  Jorge 
again  set  out  for  the  mountains  he  left  the  priest's  heart  filled 
with  apprehension. 

A  few  weeks  later  came  what  Jose  had  been  awaiting,  an- 

221 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


other  demand  upon  him  for  the  girl.  Failure  to  comply  with 
it,  said  Diego's  letter,  meant  the  placing  of  the  case  in  the 
hands  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities  for  action. 

Rosendo's  face  grew  hard  when  he  read  the  note.  "There  is 
a  way,  Padre.  Let  my  woman  take  the  girl  and  go  up  the 
Boque  river  to  Rosa  Maria,  the  clearing  of  Don  Nicolas.  It  is 
a  wild  region,  where  tapirs  and  deer  roam,  and  where  hardly 
a  man  has  set  foot  for  centuries.  The  people  of  Boque  will 
keep  our  secret,  and  she  can  remain  hidden  there  until— 

"No,  Rosendo,  that  will  not  do,"  replied  Jose,  shaking  his 
head  in  perplexity.  "The  girl  is  developing  rapidly,  and  such 
a  course  would  result  in  a  mental  check  that  might  spell  in 
finite  harm.  She  and  Dona  Maria  would  die  to  live  by  them 
selves  up  there  in  that  lonely  region.  What  about  her  studies? 
And— what  would  I  do?" 

"Then  do  you  go  too,  Padre,"  suggested  Rosendo. 

"No,  amigo,  for  that  would  cause  search  to  be  instituted  by 
the  Bishop,  and  we  certainly  would  be  discovered.  But,  to  take 
her  and  flee  the  country — and  the  Church — how  can  I  yet? 
No,  it  is  impossible!"  He  shook  his  head  dolefully,  while  his 
thoughts  flew  back  to  Seville  and  the  proud  mother  there. 

"Bien,  Padre,  let  us  increase  our  contributions  to  Don 
Wenceslas.  Let  us  send  him  from  now  on  not  less  than  one 
hundred  pesos  oro  each  month.  Will  not  that  keep  him  quiet, 
no  matter  what  Diego  says?" 

"Possibly,"  assented  Jose.  "At  any  rate,  we  will  try  it." 
They  still  had  some  three  thousand  pesos  gold  left. 

****** 

"Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  some  days  later,  as  they  sat  together 
in  the  parish  house,  "what  do  you  think  Diego  wants  of  the 
girl?" 

Jose  hesitated.  "I  think,  Rosendo — •"  he  began.  But  could 
even  a  human  mind  touch  such  depths  of  depravity?  And  yet 
—"I  think,"  he  continued  slowly,  "that  Diego,  having  seen  her, 
and  now  speculating  on  her  future  beauty  of  face  and  form — I 
think  he  means  to  place  her  in  a  convent,  writh  the  view  of 
holding  her  as  a  ready  substitute  for  the  woman  who  now  lives 
with  him — 

"Dios!  And  that  is  my  own  daughter!"  cried  Rosendo, 
springing  up. 

"Yes— true,  Rosendo.  And,  if  I  mistake  not,  Diego  also 
would  like  to  repay  the  score  he  has  against  you,  for  driving 
him  from  Simiti  and  holding  the  threat  of  death  over  him  these 
many  years.  He  can  most  readily  do  this  by  getting  Carmen 
away  from  you — as  he  did  the  other  daughter,  is  it  not  so?" 

Rosendo  came  and  stood  before  the  priest.     His  face  was 

222 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


strained  with  fearful  anxiety.  "Padre,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"I  shall  end  this  matter  at  once.  I  go  to  Banco  to-morrow  to 
kill  Diego." 

"You  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  cried  Jose,  seizing  his 
hand.  "Why — Rosendo,  it  would  mean  your  own  death,  or 
lifelong  imprisonment!" 

"And  what  of  that,  Padre?"  said  the  old  man  with  awful 
calmness.  "I  have  nothing  that  is  not  hers,  even  to  my  life. 
Gladly  would  I  give  it  for  her.  Let  me  die,  or  spend  my  re 
maining  days  in  the  prison,  if  that  will  save  her.  Such  a  price 
for  her  safety  would  be  low." 

While  he  was  speaking,  Fernando,  the  town  constable,  en 
tered.  He  saluted  the  men  gravely,  and  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  document  to  which  was  attached  the  Alcalde's  official  seal. 

"Senores,"  he  said  with  much  dignity,  as  if  the  majesty  of 
his  little  office  weighed  upon  him,  "I  am  commanded  by  Senor, 
the  Alcalde,  to  exercise  the  authority  reposing  in  him  and  place 
Don  Rosendo  Ariza  under  arrest.  You  will  at  once  accompany 
me  to  the  cdrcel,"  he  added,  going  up  to  the  astonished  Rosendo 
and  laying  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Arrest!  Me!  Hombre!  what  have  I  done?"  cried  the  old 
man,  stepping  back. 

"Bien,  amigo,  I  do  not  find  it  my  duty  to  tell  you.  The 
Senor  Alcalde  hands  me  the  document  and  commands  me  to 
execute  it.  As  for  the  cause — Bien,  you  must  ask  him." 

"Come,"  said  Jose,  the  first  to  recover  from  his  astonishment, 
"let  us  go  to  him  at  once."  He  at  any  rate  had  now  an  opportu 
nity  to  confront  Don  Mario  and  learn  what  plans  the  man  had 
been  devising  these  many  months. 

The  Alcalde  received  the  men  in  his  little  patio,  scowling 
and  menacing.  He  offered  them  no  greeting  when  they  con 
fronted  him. 

"Don  Mario,"  asked  Jose  in  a  trembling  voice,  "why  have 
you  put  this  indignity  upon  our  friend,  Rosendo?  Who  orders 
his  arrest?" 

"Ask,  rather,  Senor  Padre,"  replied  the  Alcalde,  full  of 
wrath,  "what  alone  saves  you  from  the  same  indignity. 
Only  that  you  are  a  priest,  Senor  Padre,  nada  mas!  His  ar 
rest  is  ordered  by  Padre  Diego." 

"And  why,  if  I  may  beg  the  favor?"  pursued  Jose,  though 
he  well  knew  the  sordid  motive. 

"Why?  Caramba!  Why  lay  the  hands  of  the  law  upon 
those  who  deprive  a  suffering  father  of  his  child!  Bien, 
Fernando,"  turning  to  the  constable,  "you  have  done  well. 
Take  your  prisoner  to  the  cdrcel." 

"No!"  cried  Rosendo,  drawing  back.  "No,  Don  Mario,  I 
will  not  go  to  the  jail!  I  will — 

223 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Caramba!"  shouted  the  Alcalde,  his  face  purple.  "I  set 
your  trial  for  to-morrow,  in  the  early  morning.  But  this 
night  you  will  spend  in  the  jail!  Hombre!  I  will  see  if  I  am 
not  Alcalde  here!  And  look  you,  Senor  Padre,  if  there  is  any 
disturbance,  I  will  send  for  the  government  soldiers!  Then 
they  will  take  Rosendo  to  the  prison  in  Cartagena!  And  that 
finishes  him!" 

Jose  knew  that,  if  Diego  had  the  support  of  the  Bishop, 
this  was  no  idle  threat.  Rosendo  turned  to  him  in  helpless 
appeal.  "What  shall  I  do,  Padre?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  best  that  you  go  to  the  jail  to-night,  Rosendo,"  said 
Jose  with  sinking  heart.  "But,  Don  Mario,"  turning  menac 
ingly  to  the  Alcalde,  "mark  you,  his  trial  takes  place  in  the 
morning,  and  he  shall  be  judged,  not  by  you  alone,  but  by  his 
fellow-townsmen !" 

"Have  I  not  said  so,  senor?"  returned  Don  Mario  curtly, 
with  a  note  of  deep  contempt  in  his  voice. 

As  in  most  small  Spanish  towns,  the  jail  was  a  rude  adobe 
hut,  with  no  furnishings,  save  the  wooden  stocks  into  which 
the  feet  of  the  hapless  prisoners  were  secured.  Thus  con 
fined,  the  luckless  wight  who  chanced  to  feel  the  law's  heavy 
hand  might  sit  in  a  torturing  position  for  days,  cruelly  tor 
mented  at  night  by  ravenous  mosquitoes,  and  wholly  de 
pendent  upon  the  charity  of  the  townsfolk  for  his  daily  rations, 
unless  he  have  friends  or  family  to  supply  his  needs.  In  the 
present  instance  Don  Mario  took  the  extra  precaution  of 
setting  a  guard  over  his  important  prisoner. 

Jose,  benumbed  by  the  shock  and  bewildered  by  the  sudden 
precipitation  of  events,  accompanied  Rosendo  to  the  jail  and 
mutely  watched  the  procedure  as  Fernando  secured  the  old 
man's  bare  feet  in  the  rude  stocks.  And  yet,  despite  the  situa 
tion,  he  could  not  repress  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  as  his 
thought  dwelt  momentarily  on  the  little  opera  bouffe  which 
these  child-like  people  were  so  continually  enacting  in  their 
attempts  at  self-government.  But  it  was  a  play  that  at  times 
approached  dangerously  near  to  the  tragic.  The  passions  of 
this  Latin  offshoot  were  strong,  if  their  minds  were  dull  and 
lethargic,  and  when  aroused  were  capable  of  the  most  des 
picable,  as  well  as  the  most  grandly  heroic  deeds.  And  in 
the  present  instance,  when  the  fleeting  sense  of  the  absurd 
passed,  Jose  knew  that  he  was  facing  a  crisis.  Something 
told  him  that  resistance  now  would  be  useless.  True,  Ro 
sendo  might  have  opposed  arrest  with  violence,  and  perhaps 
have  escaped.  But  that  would  have  accomplished  nothing  for 
Carmen,  the  pivot  upon  which  events  were  turning.  Jose  had 
reasoned  that  it  were  better  to  let  the  Alcalde  play  his  hand 

224 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


first,  in  the  small  hope  that  as  the  cards  fell  he  might  more 
than  match  his  opponent's  strength  with  his  own. 

"Na,  Padre,  do  not  worry,"  said  Rosendo  reassuringly.  "It 
is  for  her  sake;  and  we  shall  have  to  know,  as  she  does,  that 
everything  will  come  out  right.  My  friends  will  set  me  free 
to-morrow,  when  the  trial  takes  place.  And  then"— he  drew 
the  priest  down  to  him  and  whispered  low — "we  will  leave 
Simiti  and  take  to  the  mountains." 

Jose  bent  his  heavy  steps  homeward.  Arriving  at  Ro- 
sendo's  house,  he  saw  the  little  living  room  crowded  with 
sympathetic  friends  who  had  come  to  condole  with  Dona 
Maria.  That  placid  woman,  however,  had  not  lost  in  any  de 
gree  her  wonted  calm,  even  though  her  companions  held  forth 
with  much  impassioned  declamation  against  the  indignity 
which  had  been  heaped  upon  her  worthy  consort.  He  looked 
about  for  Carmen.  She  was  not  with  her  foster-mother,  nor 
did  his  inquiry  reveal  her  whereabouts.  He  smiled  sadly,  as 
he  thought  of  her  out  on  the  shales,  her  customary  refuge 
when  storms  broke.  He  started  in  search  of  her;  but  as  he 
passed  through  the  plaza  Manuela  Cortez  met  him.  "Padre," 
she  exclaimed,  "is  the  little  Carmen  to  go  to  jail,  too?" 

Jose  stopped  short.  "Manuela — why  do  you  say  that?" 
he  asked  hurriedly,  his  heart  starting  to  beat  like  a  trip 
hammer. 

"Because,  Padre,  I  saw  the  constable,  Fernando,  take  her 
into  Don  Mario's  house  some  time  ago." 

Jose  uttered  an  exclamation  and  started  for  the  house  of 
the  Alcalde.  Don  Mario  stood  at  the  door,  his  huge  bulk 
denying  the  priest  admission. 

"Don  Mario!"  panted  Jose.  "Carmen — you  have  her 
here?" 

Fernando,  who  had  been  sitting  just  within  the  door,  rose 
and  came  to  his  chief's  side.  Jose  felt  his  brain  whirling. 
Fernando  stepped  outside  and  took  his  arm.  The  Alcalde's 
unlovely  face  expanded  in  a  sinister  leer.  "It  is  permissible 
to  place  even  a  priest  in  the  stocks  if  he  becomes  loco,"  he 
said  significantly. 

Jose  tightened  his  grip  upon  himself.  Fernando  spoke 
quickly: 

"It  was  necessary  to  take  the  girl  in  custody,  too,  Padre. 
But  do  not  worry;  she  is  safe." 

"But — you   have  no  right  to  take  her — " 

"There,  Senor  Padre,  calm  yourself.  What  right  had  you 
to  separate  her  from  her  father?" 

"Diego  is  not  her  father!  He  lies!  And,  Don  Mario,  you 
have  no  authority  but  his — " 

225 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"You  mistake,  Scnor  Padre,"  calmly  interrupted  the  Al 
calde.  "I  have  a  much  higher  authority." 

Jose  stared  dully  at  him.  "Whose,  then?"  he  muttered, 
scarce  hearing  his  own  words. 

"The  Bishop's,  Senor  Padre,"  answered  Don  Mario,  with  a 
cruel  grin. 

"The  Bishop!     But — the  old  man— 

"ATa,  Senor  Padre,  but  the  Bishop  is  fairly  young,  you  know. 
That  is,  the  new  one — 

"The  new  one!"  cried  the  uncomprehending  Jose. 

"To  be  sure,  Senor  Padre,  the  new  Bishop — formerly  Senor 
Don  Wenceslas  Ortiz." 

Jose  beat  the  air  feebly  as  his  hand  sought  his  damp  brow. 
His  confused  brain  became  suddenly  stagnant. 

"Bien,  Senor  Padre"  put  in  Fernando  gently,  pitying  the 
priest's  agony.  "You  had  not  heard  the  news.  Don  Mario 
received  letters  to-day.  The  old  Bishop  of  Cartagena  died 
suddenly  some  days  ago,  and  Don  Wenceslas  at  once  received 
the  temporary  appointment,  until  the  vacancy  can  be  per 
manently  filled.  There  is  talk  of  making  Cartagena  an  arch 
bishopric,  and  so  a  new  bishop  will  not  be  appointed  until 
that  question  is  settled.  Meanwhile,  Don  Wenceslas  adminis 
ters  the  affairs  of  the  Church  there." 

"And  he — he —  "  stammered  the  stunned  priest. 

"To  be  sure,  Senor  Padre,"  interrupted  Don  Mario,  laugh 
ing  aloud;  "the  good  Don  Wenceslas  no  doubt  has  learned  of 
the  beautiful  Carmen,  and  he  cannot  permit  her  to  waste  her 
loveliness  in  so  dreary  a  place  as  Simiti.  And  so  he  summons 
her  to  Cartagena,  in  care  of  his  agent,  Padre  Diego,  who 
awaits  the  girl  now  in  Banco  to  conduct  her  safely  down  the 
river.  At  least,  this  is  what  Padre  Diego  writes  me.  Bien, 
it  is  the  making  of  the  girl,  to  be  so  favored  by  His  Grace!" 

Jose  staggered  and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  Fernando 
supported  him.  Don  Mario  turned  into  his  house.  But  as  he 
went  he  spitefully  hurled  back: 

"Bien,  Senor  Padre,  whom  have  you  to  blame  but  your 
self?  You  keep  a  child  from  her  suffering  father — you  give 
all  your  time  to  her,  neglecting  the  other  poor  children  of 
your  parish — you  send  Rosendo  into  the  mountains  to  search 
for  La  Libertad — you  break  your  agreement  with  me,  for  you 
long  ago  said  that  we  should  work  together — is  it  not  so? 
You  find  gold  in  the  mountains,  but  you  do  not  tell  me.  Na, 
you  work  against  me — you  oppose  my  authority  as  Alcalde — 
Bien,  you  opposed  even  the  authority  of  the  good  Bishop — 
may  he  rest  with  the  Saints!  You  have  not  made  a  good 
priest  for  Simiti,  Senor  Padre — na,  you  have  made  a  very  bad 

226 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


one!  And  now  you  wonder  that  the  good  Don  Wenceslas 
takes  the  girl  from  you,  to  bring  her  up  in  the  right  way. 
Caramba!  if  it  is  not  already  too  late  to  save  her  from  your 
bad  teachings!"  His  voice  steadily  rose  while  he  talked,  and 
ended  in  a  shrill  pipe. 

Jose  made  as  if  to  reach  him;  but  Fernando  held  him  back. 
The  Alcalde  got  quickly  within  the  house  and  secured  the 
door.  "Go  now  to  your  home,  Padre,"  urged  Fernando;  "else 
I  shall  call  help  and  put  you  in  the  stocks,  too!" 

"But  I  will  enter  that  house!  I  will  take  the  child  from 
him!"  shouted  Jose  desperately,  struggling  to  gain  the  Al 
calde's  door. 

"Listen  to  me,  Padre!"  cried  Fernando,  holding  to  the 
frenzied  man.  "The  little  Carmen — she  is  not  in  there!" 

"Not — in — there!  Then  where  is  she,  Fernando? — for  God's 
sake  tell  me!"  appealed  the  stricken  priest.  Great  beads  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  his  face,  and  tears  rolled  down  his 
drawn  cheeks. 

Fernando  could  not  but  pity  him.  "Bien,  Padre,"  he  said 
gently;  "come  away.  I  give  you  my  word  that  the  girl  is  not 
in  the  house  of  the  Alcalde.  But  I  am  not  permitted  to  say 
where  she  is." 

"Then  I  will  search  every  house  in  Simiti!"  cried  the  priest 
wildly. 

"Na,  Padre,  you  would  not  find  her.  Come,  I  will  go  home 
with  you."  He  took  Jose's  arm  again  and  led  him,  blindly 
stumbling,  to  the  parish  house. 

By  this  time  the  little  town  was  agog  with  excitement. 
People  ran  from  house  to  house,  or  gathered  on  the  street 
corners,  discussing  the  event. 

"Caramba!"  shrilled  one  wrinkled  beldame,  "but  Simiti 
was  very  quiet  until  the  Cura  came!" 

"Na,  senora,"  cried  another,  "say,  rather,  until  that  wicked 
little  hada  was  brought  here  by  Rosendo!" 

"Cierto,  she  is  an  hada!"  put  in  a  third;  "she  cured  Juanita 
of  goitre  by  her  charms!  I  saw  it!" 

"Caramba!  she  works  with  the  evil  one.  I  myself  saw  her 
come  from  the  old  church  on  the  hill  one  day!  Bien,  what 
was  she  doing?  I  say,  she  was  talking  with  the  bad  angel 
which  the  blessed  Virgin  has  locked  in  there!" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  seen  her  coming  from  the  cemetery.  She 
talks  with  the  buzzards  that  roost  on  the  old  wall,  and  they 
are  full  of  evil  spirits!" 

"And  she  brought  the  plague  two  years  ago — who  knows?" 
piped  another  excitedly. 

"Quien  sabe?    But  it  was  not  the  real  plague,  anyway." 

227 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Bueno,  and  that  proves  that  she  caused  it,  no?" 
"Cierto,  senora,  she  cast  a  spell  on  the  town!" 
Jose  sat  in  his  little  house  like  one  in  a  dream.  Fernando 
remained  with  him.  Doiia  Maria  had  gone  to  the  jail  to  see 
Rosendo.  Juan  had  returned  that  morning  to  Bodega  Central, 
and  Lazaro  was  at  work  on  the  plantation  across  the  lake. 
Jose  thought  bitterly  that  the  time  had  been  singularly  well 
chosen  for  the  coup.  Don  Mario's  last  words  burned  through 
his  tired  brain  like  live  coals.  In  a  sense  the  Alcalde  was 
right.  He  had  been  selfishly  absorbed  in  the  girl.  But  he 
alone,  excepting  Rosendo,  had  any  adequate  appreciation  of 
the  girl's  real  nature.  To  the  stagnant  wits  of  Simiti  she  was 
one  of  them,  but  with  singular  characteristics  which  caused 
the  more  superstitious  and  less  intelligent  to  look  upon  her 
as  an  uncanny  creature,  possessed  of  occult  powers. 

Moreover,  Jose  had  duped  Don  Mario  with  assurances  of 
cooperation.  He  had  allowed  him  to  believe  that  Rosendo  was 
searching  for  La  Libertad,  and  that  he  should  participate  in 
the  discovery,  if  made.  Had  his  course  been  wholly  wise, 
after  all?  He  could  not  say  that  it  had. 

But — God  above!  it  was  all  to  save  an  innocent  child  from 
the  blackest  of  fates!  If  he  had  been  stronger  himself,  this 
never  could  have  happened.  Or,  perhaps,  if  he  had  not  al 
lowed  himself  to  be  lulled  to  sleep  by  a  fancied  security  bred 
of  those  long  months  of  quiet,  he  might  have  been  awake  and 
alert  to  meet  the  enemy  when  he  returned  to  the  attack.  Alas! 
the  devil  had  left  him  for  a  season,  and  Jose  had  laid  down 
"the  shield  of  faith,"  while  he  lost  himself  in  the  intellectual 
content  which  the  study  of  the  new  books  purchased  with  his 
ancestral  gold  had  afforded.  But  evil  sleeps  not;  and  with  a 
persistency  that  were  admirable  in  a  better  cause,  it  returned 
with  unbated  vigor  at  the  moment  the  priest  was  off  his 
guard. 

****** 
Dawn  broke  upon  a  sleepless  night  for  Jose.  The  Alcalde 
had  sent  word  that  Fernando  must  remain  with  the  priest, 
and  that  no  visits  would  be  permitted  to  Rosendo  in  the  jail. 
Jose  had  heard  nothing  from  Carmen,  and,  though  often  dur 
ing  the  long  night  he  sought  to  know,  as  she  would,  that  God's 
protection  rested  upon  her;  and  though  he  sought  feebly  to 
prove  the  immanence  of  good  by  knowing  no  evil,  the  morn 
ing  found  him  drawn  and  haggard,  with  corroding  fear  gnaw 
ing  his  desolate  heart.  Fernando  remained  mute;  and  Dona 
Maria  could  only  learn  that  the  constable  had  been  seen  lead 
ing  the  girl  into  Don  Mario's  house  shortly  after  Rosendo's 
arrest. 

228 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


At  an  early  hour  the  people,  buzzing  with  excitement,  as 
sembled  for  the  trial,  which  was  held  in  the  town  hall,  a  long, 
empty  adobe  house  of  but  a  single  room,  with  dirt  floor,  and 
a  few  rough  benches.  The  Alcalde  occupied  a  broken  chair 
at  one  end  of  the  room.  The  trial  itself  was  of  the  simplest 
order:  any  person  might  voice  his  opinion;  and  the  final 
verdict  was  left  to  the  people. 

In  a  shaking  voice,  his  frame  tremulous  with  nervous  agi 
tation,  Rosendo  recounted  the  birth  of  the  child  at  Badillo, 
and  the  manner  of  her  coming  into  his  family.  He  told  of 
Diego's  appointment  to  Simiti,  and  of  the  loss  of  his  own 
daughter.  Waxing  more  and  more  energetic  as  his  recital 
drew  out,  he  denounced  Diego  as  the  prince  of  liars,  and  as 
worthy  of  the  violent  end  which  he  was  certain  to  meet  if 
ever  that  renegade  priest  should  venture  near  enough  for  him 
to  lay  his  hands  upon  him.  The  little  locket  was  produced, 
and  all  present  commented  on  the  probable  identity  of  the 
girl's  parents.  Many  affected  to  detect  a  resemblance  to  Diego 
in  the  blurred  photograph  of  the  man.  Others  scouted  the 
idea.  Don  Mario  swore  loudly  that  it  could  be  no  other. 
Diego  had  often  talked  to  him,  sorrowfully,  and  in  terms  of 
deepest  affection,  about  the  beautiful  woman  whose  love  he 
had  won,  but  whom  his  vows  of  celibacy  prevented  from  mak 
ing  his  lawful  wife.  The  Alcalde's  recital  was  dramatic  to  a 
degree,  and  at  its  close  several  excitedly  attempted  to  address 
the  multitude  at  the  same  time. 

Oratory  flowed  on  an  ever  rising  tide,  accompanied  by 
much  violent  gesticulation  and  expectoration  by  way  of  em 
phasis.  At  length  it  was  agreed  that  Diego  had  been,  in  times 
past,  a  bad  man,  but  that  the  verbal  proofs  which  he  had 
given  the  Alcalde  were  undoubtedly  valid,  inasmuch  as  the 
Bishop  stood  behind  them — and  Don  Mario  assured  the  people 
that  they  were  most  certainly  vouched  for  by  His  Grace.  The 
day  was  almost  carried  when  the  eloquent  Alcalde,  in  glowing 
rhetoric,  painted  the  splendid  future  awaiting  the  girl,  under 
the  patronage  of  the  Bishop.  How  cruel  to  retain  her  in 
dreary  little  Simiti,  even  though  Diego's  claim  still  remained 
somewhat  obscure,  when  His  Grace,  learning  of  her  talents, 
had  summoned  her  to  Cartagena  to  be  educated  in  the  convent 
for  a  glorious  future  of  service  to  God!  Ah,  that  a  like  beauti 
ful  career  awaited  all  the  children  of  Simiti ! 

Jose  at  length  forced  himself  before  the  people  and  begged 
them  to  listen  to  him.  But,  when  he  opened  his  mouth,  the 
words  stumbled  and  halted.  For  what  had  he  to  say?  To 
tell  these  people  that  he  was  striving  to  educate  the  girl  away 
from  them  was  impossible.  To  say  that  he  was  trying  to  save 

229 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her  from  the  Church  would  be  fatal.  And  to  reiterate  that 
Diego's  claim  was  a  fabrication,  added  nothing  of  value  to 
the  evidence,  for  W7hat  did  he  know  of  the  child's  parentage? 
He  feebly  begged  them  to  wait  until  Diego's  claim  had  been 
either  corroborated  or  annulled.  But  no;  they  had  the  Bishop's 
corroboration,  and  that  sufficed.  "And,  Caramba!"  cried  Don 
Mario,  interrupting  the  priest  in  a  loud  voice,  "if  we  oppose 
the  Bishop,  then  will  he  send  the  government  soldiers  to  us 
— and  you  know  what — 

"Cielo,  yes!"  came  from  the  multitude  in  one  voice. 

Jose  sank  down  thoroughly  beaten.  His  hands  were  tied. 
The  case  now  rested  with  her  God. 

The  people  drew  apart  in  little  groups  to  discuss  the  mat 
ter.  Don  Mario's  beady  eyes  searched  them,  until  he  was 
certain  of  the  way  the  tide  was  flowing.  Then  he  rose  and 
called  for  order. 

"Bueno,  amigos  y  amigas,"  he  began  with  immense  dignity; 
"what  say  you  if  we  sum  up  the  case  as  follows:  The  proofs 
have  the  support  of  the  Bishop,  and  show  that  the  girl  is  the 
daughter  of  Padre  Diego.  Rosendo  is  guilty  of  having  kept 
her  from  her  own  father,  and  for  that  he  should  be  severely 
punished.  Let  him  be  confined  in  the  jail  for  six  months,  and 
be  forced  to  pay  to  us  a  fine  of  one  thousand  pesos  oro — " 

"Caramba!  but  he  has  no  such  sum,"  cried  the  people 
with  mouths  agape. 

"Bien,  I  say  he  can  get  it!"  retorted  the  Alcalde,  looking 
meaningly  at  Jose.  "And  he  should  pay  it  for  depriving  the 
child  of  a  father's  love  and  the  religious  instruction  which  he 
would  have  given  her!" 

Jose  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Friends!"  he  cried,  playing  his 
last  card.  "Will  you  not  remember  that  more  than  that 
amount  is  due  Rosendo  for  the  care  of  the  child?  Who  will 
repay  him?" 

The  whimsical,  fickle  people  broke  into  excited  exclama 
tions. 

"Ciertol" 

"The  Cura  is  right!" 

"Let  Rosendo  pay  no  fine — he  has  no  gold,  anyway!" 

"Cut  down  the  sentence,  Don  Mario.    We  do  not  like  this!" 

The  Alcalde  saw  that  he  had  gone  a  bit  too  far.  "Bueno, 
then,"  he  amended.  "We  will  cancel  both  the  fine  and  Padre 
Diego's  debt  to  Rosendo,  and  the  sentence  shall  be  reduced  to 
— what  say  you  all?" 

"A  month  in  the  jail,  Don  Mario,  no  more,"  suggested  one. 

An  exclamation  of  approval  from  the  crowd  drowned  the 
protest  which  Jose  sought  vainly  to  voice.  Rosendo  rose 
quickly;  but  Fernando  and  others  seized  him. 

230 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Bien,  it  is  approved,"  bawled  the  Alcalde,  waving  his  thick 
arms.  "Take  the  prisoner  to  the  cdrcel,  Senor  Policia,"  turn 
ing  to  the  constable. 

"And  the  girl,  Senor  the  Alcalde — when  will  you  send  her 
to  her  father?"  called  some  one. 

"Yes,  Don  Mario,  she  must  be  taken  to  Padre  Diego  at 
once,"  piped  a  woman's  shrill  voice. 

"Bien,"  shouted  the  Alcalde,  following  his  words  with  a 
long,  coarse  laugh,  "I  was  wise  enough  to  know  what  you 
would  decide,  and  sent  the  girl  down  the  river  last  night!" 


CHAPTER  25 

THE  candles  and  smoky  oil  lamps  of  Banco  threw  a  fitful 
shimmer  out  upon  the  great  river,  casting  huge,  spectral 
shadows  across  its  muddy,  swirling  waters,  and  seeming 
rather  to  intensify  the  blackness  that  lay  thick  and  menacing 
upon  its  restless  bosom.  Rivermen  who  follow  their  hazard 
ous  calling  along  the  Magdalena  do  not  lightly  risk  the  dangers 
of  travel  by  night  in  their  native  canoes,  when  at  any  moment 
a  false  stroke,  a  sudden  crash  against  a  tossing  forest  tree, 
and  a  cry  through  the  inky  blackness,  might  sound  to  the 
straining  ears  of  hushed  listeners  on  the  distant  banks  the 
elements  of  another  of  the  mighty  river's  grim  nocturnal 
tragedies. 

But  on  the  night  following  the  trial  of  Rosendo  in  distant 
Simiti  a  canoe  stole  like  a  thing  ashamed  through  the  heavy 
shadows  along  the  river's  margin,  and  poked  its  blunt  nose 
into  the  ooze  at  the  upper  edge  of  the  town.  Its  two  scantily 
clad  bogas,  steaming  with  perspiration  and  flecked  with  mud 
from  the  charged  waters,  sprang  lightly  from  the  frail  craft 
and  quickly  made  it  fast  to  one  of  the  long  stilts  upon  which 
a  ramshackle  frame  house  rested.  Then  they  assisted  the 
third  occupant  of  the  canoe,  a  girl,  to  alight;  and  together 
they  wended  their  way  up  the  slippery  bank  and  toward  the 
town  above. 

"Caramba,  compadre!"  ejaculated  one  of  the  men,  stum 
bling  into  a  deep  rut,  "it  is  well  you  know  where  we  go. 
H ombre!  but  I  travel  no  more  on  the  river  by  night.  And, 
compadre,  we  had  best  ask  Padre  Diego  to  offer  a  candle  to 
the  Virgin  for  our  safe  arrival,  no?" 

The  other  man  chuckled.  "To  be  sure,  friend  Julio.  Don 
Diego  has  much  influence  with  virgins." 

"Hombre!     I  like  not  his  dirty  work." 

231 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Bien,  amigo,  what  would  you?  You  are  well  paid;  and 
besides,  you  score  against  that  baby-faced  priest,  Jose,  who 
drove  you  out  of  Simiti  because  you  were  not  married  to  your 
woman.  You  cannot  complain,  compadre." 

"Caramba!  I  have  yet  to  see  the  color  of  the  pesos.  I 
do  not  much  trust  your  Padre  Diego." 

"Na,  amigo,  a  bit  of  rum  will  put  new  life  into  your  soaked 
gizzard.  Cierto,  this  trip  down  the  river  was  a  taste  of  purga 
tory;  but  you  know  we  may  as  well  get  used  to  it  here,  for 
when  we  pobres  are  dead  who  will  buy  Masses  to  get  us  out?" 

"Caramba!"  muttered  the  other  sullenly,  as  he  stumbled 
on  through  the  darkness,  "but  if  we  have  no  money  the  priests 
will  let  us  burn  forever!" 

The  girl  went  along  with  the  men  silently  and  without  com 
plaint,  even  when  her  bare  feet  slipped  into  the  deep  ruts  in 
the  trail,  or  were  painfully  bruised  and  cut  by  the  sharp  stones 
and  bits  of  wood  that  lay  in  the  narrow  path.  Once  she  fell. 
The  man  addressed  as  Julio  assisted  her  to  her  feet.  The 
other  broke  into  a  torrent  of  profane  abuse. 

"Na,  Ricardo,"  interrupted  Julio,  "hold  your  foolish  tongue 
and  let  the  girl  alone!  You  and  I  have  cursed  all  the  way 
from  Simiti,  but  she  has  made  no  complaint.  She  shames 
me.  Caramba,  I  wish  I  were  well  out  of  this  business!" 

A  few  minutes  later  they  struck  one  of  the  main  thorough 
fares.  Then  the  men  stopped  to  draw  on  their  cotton  shirts 
and  trousers  before  entering  the  town.  The  road  was  better 
here,  and  they  made  rapid  progress.  The  night  was  far  spent, 
and  the  streets  were  deserted.  In  the  main  portion  of  the 
town  ancient  Spanish  lamps,  hanging  uncertainly  in  their 
sconces  against  old  colonial  houses,  threw  a  feeble  light  into 
the  darkness.  Before  one  of  the  better  of  these  houses  Julio 
and  the  girl  were  halted  by  their  companion. 

"Bien,"  he  said,  "it  is  here  that  the  holy  servant  of  God 
lives.  Caramba,  but  may  his  garrafon  be  full!" 

They  entered  the  open  door  and  mounted  the  stone  steps. 
On  the  floor  above  they  paused  in  the  rotunda,  and  Ricardo 
called  loudly  A  side  door  opened  and  a  young  woman  ap 
peared,  holding  a  lighted  candle  aloft.  Ricardo  greeted  her 
courteously.  "El  Senor  Padre,  senorita  Ana?"  he  said,  bow 
ing  low.  "You  will  do  us  the  favor  to  announce  our  arrival, 
no?" 

The  woman  stared  uncomprehendingly  at  the  odd  trio. 
"The  Padre  is  not  here,"  she  finally  said. 

"Dios  y  diablo!"  cried  Ricardo,  forgetting  his  courtesy. 
"But  we  have  risked  our  skins  to  bring  him  the  brat,  and  he 
not  here  to  receive  and  reward  us!  Caramba!" 

232 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But — Ricardo,  he  is  out  with  friends  to-night— he  may 
return  at  any  moment.  Who  is  the  girl?  And  why  do  you 
bring  her  here?"  She  stepped  forward,  holding  the  candle 
so  that  its  light  fell  full  upon  her  face.  As  she  did  this  the 
girl  darted  toward  her  and  threw  herself  into  the  woman's 
arms. 

"Anita!"  she  cried,  her  voice  breaking  with  emotion, 
"Anita — I  am  Carmen!  Do  you  not  know  me?" 

The  woman  fell  back  in  astonishment.  "Carmen!  What! 
The  little  Carmen,  my  father's — 

"Yes,  Anita,   I  am  padre  Rosendo's  Carmen — and  yours!" 

Ana  clasped  the  girl  in  her  arms.  "Santa  Maria,  child! 
What  brings  you  here,  of  all  places?" 

Ricardo  stepped  forward  to  explain.  "As  you  may  see, 
senorita,  it  is  we  who  have  brought  her  here,  at  the  command 
of  her  father,  Padre  Diego." 

"Her  father!" 

"Yes,  senorita.  And,  since  you  say  he  is  not  in,  we  must 
wait  until  he  returns." 

The  woman  stood  speechless  with  amazement.  Carmen 
clung  to  her,  while  Ricardo  stood  looking  at  them,  with  a 
foolish  leer  on  his  face.  Julio  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  wall. 

"Bien,  senorita,"  said  Ricardo,  stepping  up  to  the  child 
and  attempting  to  take  her  arm,  "we  will  be  held  to  account 
for  the  girl,  and  we  must  not  lose  her.  Caramba!  For  then 
would  the  good  Padre  damn  us  forever!" 

Carmen  shrank  away  from  him.  Julio  emerged  swiftly 
from  the  shadow  and  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  Ricardo.  The 
woman  tore  Carmen  from  his  grasp  and  thrust  the  girl  behind 
herself.  "Cierto,  friend  Ricardo,  we  are  all  responsible  for 
her,"  she  said  quickly.  "But  you  are  tired  and  hungry — is  it 
not  so?  Let  me  take  you  to  the  cocina,  where  you  will  find 
roast  pig  and  a  bit  of  red  rum." 

"Rum!"  The  man's  eyes  dilated.  "Caramba!  my  throat 
is  like  the  ashes  of  purgatory!" 

"Come,  then,"  said  the  woman,  holding  Carmen  tightly  by 
the  hand  and  leading  the  way  down  the  steps  to  the  kitchen 
below.  Arriving  there,  she  lighted  an  oil  lamp  and  hurriedly 
set  out  food  and  a  large  garrafon  of  Jamaica  rum. 

"There,  compadre,  is  a  part  of  your  reward.  And  we  will 
now  wait  until  Padre  Diego  arrives,  is  it  not  so?" 

While  the  men  ate  and  drank  voraciously,  interpolating 
their  actions  at  frequent  intervals  with  bits  of  vivid  comment 
on  their  river  trip,  the  woman  cast  many  anxious  glances 
toward  the  steps  leading  to  the  floor  above.  From  time  to 

233 

25 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


time  she  replenished  Ricardo's  glass,  and  urged  him  to  drink. 
The  man  needed  no  invitation.  Physical  exhaustion  and  short 
rations  while  on  the  river  had  prepared  him  for  just  what  the 
woman  most  desired  to  accomplish,  and  as  glass  after  glass  of 
the  fiery  liquor  burned  its  way  down  his  throat,  she  saw  his 
scant  wit  fading,  until  at  last  it  deserted  him  completely, 
and  he  sank  into  a  drunken  torpor.  Then,  motioning  to  Julio, 
who  had  consumed  less  of  the  rum,  she  seized  the  senseless 
Ricardo  by  the  feet,  and  together  they  dragged  him  out  into 
the  patio  and  threw  him  under  a  platano  tree. 

"But,  senorita — "  began  Julio  in  remonstrance,  as  thoughts 
of  Diego's  wrath  filtered  through  his  befuddled  brain. 

"Not  a  word,  hombre!"  she  commanded,  turning  upon  him. 
"If  you  lay  a  hand  upon  this  child  my  knife  shall  find  your 
heart!" 

"But— my  pay?" 

"How  much  did  Padre  Diego  say  he  would  give  you?"  she 
demanded. 

"Three  pesos  oro — and  rations,"  replied  the  man  thickly. 

"Wait  here,  then,  and  I  will  bring  you  the  money." 

Still  retaining  Carmen's  hand,  she  mounted  the  steps,  listen 
ing  cautiously  for  the  tread  of  her  master.  Reaching  the  ro 
tunda  above,  she  drew  Carmen  into  the  room  from  which  she 
had  emerged  before,  and,  bidding  her  conceal  herself  if  Diego 
should  arrive,  took  her  wallet  and  hastily  descended  to  where 
the  weaving  Julio  waited. 

"There,  amigo,"  she  said  hurriedly,  handing  him  the 
money.  "Now  do  you  go — at  once!  And  do  not  remain  in 
Banco,  or  Padre  Diego  will  surely  make  you  trouble.  Your 
life  is  not  safe  here  now.  Go!"  She  pointed  to  the  door;  and 
Julio,  impressed  with  a  sense  of  his  danger,  lost  no  time  in 
making  his  exit. 

Returning  to  Carmen,  the  woman  seated  herself  and  drew 
the  girl  to  her.  "Carmen,  child!"  she  cried,  trembling,  as  her 
eyes  searched  the  girl.  "Tell  me  why  you  are  here!" 

"I  do  not  know,  Anita  dear,"  murmured  the  girl,  nestling 
close  to  the  woman  and  twining  an  arm  about  her  neck;  "ex 
cept  that  day  before  yesterday  the  Alcalde  put  padre  Rosendo 
into  the  jail— 

"Into  the  jail!" 

"Yes,  Anita  dear.  And  then,  when  I  was  going  to  see  him, 
Fernando  ran  out  of  Don  Mario's  house  and  told  me  I  must  go 
in  and  see  the  Alcalde.  Julio  Gomez  and  this  man  Ricardo 
were  there  talking  with  Don  Mario  in  the  patio.  Then  they 
threw  a  ruana  over  me  and  carried  me  out  through  the  patio 
and  around  by  the  old  church  to  the  Boque  trail.  When  we 

234 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


got  to  the  trail  they  made  me  walk  with  the-m  to  the  Inanea 
river,  where  they  put  me  into  a  canoe.  They  paddled  fast, 
down  to  the  Boque  river;  then  to  the  Magdalena;  and  down 
here  to  Banco.  They  did  not  stop  at  all,  except  when  steam 
boats  went  by — oh,  Anita,  I  never  saw  a  steamboat  before! 
What  big,  noisy  things  they  are !  But  Padre  Jose  had  often 
told  me  about  them.  And  when  the  big  boats  passed  us  they 
made  me  lie  down  in  the  canoe,  and*  they  put  the  ruana  over 
me  and  told  me  if  I  made  any  noise  they  would  throw  me  into 
the  river.  But  I  knew  if  I  just  kept  still  and  knew — really 
knew — that  God  would  take  care  of  me,  why,  He  would.  And, 
you  see,  He  did,  for  He  brought  me  to  you."  A  tired  sigh 
escaped  her  lips  as  she  laid  her  head  on  the  woman's  shoulder. 

"But— oh,  Santa  Maria!"  moaned  the  woman,  "you  are 
not  safe  here!  What  can  I  do? — what  can  I  do?" 

"Well,  Anita  dear,  you  can  know  that  God  is  here,  can't 
you?  I  knew  that  all  the  way  down  the  river.  And,  oh,  I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you !  Why,  just  think,  it  is  eight  years  since  you 
used  to  play  with  me!  And  now  we  will  go  back  to  Simiti, 
will  we  not,  Anita?" 

"Pray  to  the  Virgin  to  help  us,  child!  You  may  have  in 
fluence  with  her — I  have  none,  for  my  soul  is  lost!" 

"Why,  Anita  dear,  that  is  not  true!  You  and  I  are  both 
God's  children,  and  He  is  right  here  with  us.  All  we  have  to 
do  is  to.  know  it — just  really  know  it." 

"But,  tell  me,  quick — Diego  may  be  here  any  moment — 
why  did  he  send  Ricardo  for  you?" 

The  girl  became  very  serious.  "Anita  dear,  Padre  Diego 
says  I  am  his  child." 

"What!" 

"Yes — his  daughter — that  he  is  my  father.  But — is  it  reallv 
so,  Anita?" 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  cried  the  woman.  "What  a  beast! — 
what  a  beast!  He  saw  you  in  Simiti  when  he  was  last  there 
— and  you  are  now  a  beautiful —  No,  child,  you  are  not  his 
daughter!  The  \vretch  lies — he  is  a  sink  of  lies!  He  is  rotten 
with  sin!  Oh,  Dios!" 

"Why,  no,  Anita  dear,  he  is  not  a  beast — we  must  love 
him,  for  he  is  God's  child,  too,"  said  Carmen,  patting  the 
woman's  wet  cheek  with  her  soft  hand. 

"He! — God's  child!"  She  broke  into  a  shrill  of  laughter. 
"Carita,  he  is  Satan  himself!  You  do  not  know  him!" 

"I  don't  mean  that  what  you  think  you  see  is  God's  child, 
Anita  dear;  but  that  what  you  think  you  see  stands  for  God's 
child,  and  isn't  real.  And  if  we  know  that,  why,  we  will  see 
the  real  child  of  God — the  real  man — and  not  what  you  call 
a  beast." 

235 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Ana  apparently  did  not  hear.  Her  thought  was  with  the 
future.  Carmen  looked  about  the  room.  "Oh,  Anita,"  she 
exclaimed,  "what  a  beautiful  place,  and  what  beautiful  things 
you  have!"  She  rubbed  the  tile  floor  with  her  bare  foot. 
"Why,  Anita  dear,  it  is  just  like  the  palaces  Padre  Jose  has 
told  me  about!"  She  walked  around  the  room,  touching  the 
various  toilet  articles  on  the  dresser,  passing  her  hands  care 
fully  over  the  upholstered  chairs,  and  uttering  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  delight.  "Anita — Anita  dear!  Whv,  it  is  a  palace! 
Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

The  woman  looked  up  with  a  wan  smile.  "Chiquita,  they 
are  nothing.  They  are  all  cheap  trinkets — nothing  compared 
with  W7hat  there  is  in  the  big  world  beyond  us.  You  poor  dear, 
you  have  lived  all  your  life  in  miserable  little  Simiti,  and  you 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  of  what  there  is  in  the  world!" 

"But,  Anita  dear,  Simiti  is  beautiful,"  the  girl  protested. 

"Beautiful!"  The  woman  laughed  aloud.  "My  dear,  sim 
ple  little  girl!  You  have  seen  only  this  poor  room,  and  you 
think  it  wonderful.  I  have  been  to  Barranquilla  and  Cartagena 
with  Padre  Diego,  and  have  seen  houses  a  thousand  times 
more  beautiful  than  this.  And  yet,  even  those  are  nothing  to 
what  there  is  in  the  world  outside." 

Carmen  went  to  the  bed  and  passed  her  hand  over  the 
white  counterpane.  "Anita — why,  is  this — is  this  your — 

"Yes,  chiquita,  it  is  my  bed.  You  have  never  seen  a  real 
bed,  poor  little  thing." 

"But —  "  the  child's  eyes  were  wide  with  wonder — "it  is  so 
soft — you  sink  way  into  it — oh,  so  soft — like  the  heron's  feath 
ers!  I  didn't  sleep  at  all  in  the  canoe — and  I  am  so  tired." 

"You  blessed  lamb!"  cried  the  woman,  springing  up  and 
clasping  the  girl  in  her  arms.  "But — what  can  I  do?  When 
he  returns,  he  mav  come  right  up  here!  Santa  Maria,  help 
me!— what  shall  Tdo?" 

"Anita — let  me  sleep  in  your  bed — it  is  so  soft — but — " 
looking  down  dubiously  at  her  muddy  feet. 

"Never  mind  them,  child."  The  woman's  face  had  set  in 
grim  determination.  She  went  to  the  dresser  and  took  out  a 
small  stiletto,  which  she  quickly  concealed  in  the  bosom  of 
her  dress.  "Get  right  in,  just  as  you  are!  I  will  take  care  of 
Diego,  if  he  comes!  Santa  Maria,  I  will — " 

"Anita  dear,"  murmured  the  girl,  sinking  down  between 
the  white  sheets,  "you  and  I  will  just  know  that  God  is  every 
where,  and  that  He  will  take  care  of  us,  and  of  Padre  Diego 
too."  With  a  sigh  of  contentment  the  child  closed  her  eyes. 
"Anita  dear,"  she  whispered  softly,  "wasn't  He  good  to  bring 
me  right  to  you?  And  to-morrow  we  will  go  back  to  Simiti— 

236 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  to  padre  Rosendo — and  Padre  Jose — and — and  Cantar- 
las-horas — you  haven't  seen  him  for  such  a  long  time — such 
a  long — long — Anita  dear,  I — love — you — 

The  child  dropped  asleep,  just  as  a  heavy  step  fell  outside 
the  door.  Ana  sprang  up  and  extinguished  the  lamp,  then 
went  quickly  out  into  the  rotunda.  Padre  Diego  was  standing 
on  the  top  step,  puffing  and  weaving  unsteadily.  The  woman 
hurried  to  him  and  passed  an  arm  about  his  waist. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  feigned  solicitation.  "I 
feared  you  had  met  with  an  accident!  My  heart  beats  like 
the  patter  of  rain !  Why  do  you  stay  out  so  late  and  cause  me 
worry?" 

The  bloated  face  of  the  man  leered  like  a  Jack-o'-lantern. 
"Spiritual  retreat,  my  love — spiritual  retreat,"  he  muttered 
thickly.  "Imbibing  the  spirits,  you  know."  He  laughed  heavily 
at  his  coarse  joke. 

The  woman  gave  him  a  look  of  inexpressible  disgust.  "But 
you  are  home  safe,  at  any  rate,"  she  said  in  a  fawning  voice; 
"and  my  fear  is  quieted.  Come  now,  and  I  will  help  you  into 
bed.  Not  in  there!"  she  cried,  as  he  lurched  toward  the  door 
of  the  room  where  Carmen  lay;  "in  your  own  room  to-night!" 

He  swayed  to  and  fro  before  her,  as  she  stood  with  her 
back  against  the  door. 

"N  ombre  de  Dios!"  he  muttered,  "but  you  grow  daily  more 
unkind  to  your  good  Padre!  Bien,  it  is  well  that  I  have  a 
fresh  little  housekeeper  coming!"  He  made  again  as  if  to 
enter  the  room.  The  woman  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  appealed,  "have  you  ceased  to  love  your 
Anita?  She  would  spend  this  night  alone;  and  can  you  not 
favor  her  this  once?" 

"Caramba!"  he  croaked  in  peevish  suspicion,  "but  I  think 
you  have  a  paramour  in  there.  Bien,  I  will  go  in  and  shrive 
his  wicked  soul !"  . 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you!"  cried  the  desperate  wroman,  her 
hand  stealing  to  the  weapon  concealed  in  her  dress.  "Pepito 
came  this  evening  wdth  the  case  of  Oporto  which  you  ordered 
long  ago  from  Spain.  I  put  it  in  your  study,  for  I  knew  you 
would  wTant  to  sample  it  the  moment  you  returned." 

"Caramba!"  he  cried,  turning  upon  her,  "why  do  you  not 
tell  me  important  things  as  soon  as  I  arrive?  I  marvel  that 
you  did  not  wait  until  morning  to  break  this  piece  of  heavenly 
news!  Bien,  come  to  the  study,  and  you  shall  open  a  bottle 
for  me.  Dios!  but  my  throat  is  seared  with  Don  Antonio's 
vile  rum!  My  parched  soul  panteth  for  the  wine  of  the  gods 
that  flows  from  sunny  Spain!  Caramba,  woman,  give  your 
self  haste!" 

237 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Suffering  himself  to  be  led  by  her,  he  staggered  across  the 
rotunda  and  into  the  room  where  long  before  he  had  enter 
tained  for  a  brief  hour  Don  Jorge  and  the  priest  Jose.  Ana 
quickly  broke  the  neck  of  a  bottle  of  the  newly  arrived  wine 
and  gave  him  a  generous  measure. 

"Ah,  God  in  heaven!"  murmured  the  besotted  priest,  sink 
ing  into  a  chair  and  sipping  the  beverage;  "it  is  the  nectar  of 
Olympus — triple  distilled  through  tubes  of  sunlight  and  per 
fumed  with  sweet  airs  and  the  smiles  of  voluptuous  houris! 
Ah,  Lord  above,  you  are  good  to  your  little  Diego!  Another 
sip,  my  lovely  Ana — and  bring  me  the  cigarettes.  And  come, 
fat  lass,  do  you  sit  beside  me  and  twine  your  graceful  arms 
about  my  neck,  while  your  soft  breath  kisses  my  old  cheek ! 
Ah,  Dios,  who  would  not  be  human!  Caramba!  the  good  God 
may  keep  His  heaven,  if  He  will  but  give  me  the  earth!" 

Ana  drew  his  head  against  her  bosom  and  murmured  hypo 
critical  words  of  endearment  in  his  ear,  while  she  kept  his 
glass  full.  Diego  babbled  like  a  child.  He  nodded;  struggled 
to  keep  awake;  and  at  length  fell  asleep  wath  his  head  on  her 
shoulder.  Then  she  arose,  and,  assured  that  he  would  be 
long  in  his  stupor,  extinguished  the  light  and  hurried  to  her 
own  room. 

Carmen  was  sleeping  peacefully.  The  woman  bent  over 
her  with  the  lighted  candle  and  looked  long  and  wistfully. 
"Ah,  Santa  Maria!"  she  prayed,  "if  you  will  but  save  her,  you 
may  do  what  you  will  with  me!" 

Tears  flowed  freely  down  her  cheeks  as  she  turned  to  the 
door  and  threw  the  bolt.  Coming  back  to  the  bed,  she  again 
bent  over  the  sleeping  girl.  "Santa  Virgen!"  she  murmured, 
"how  beautiful!  Like  an  angel!  Dios  mio — and  that  beast, 
he  has  seen  her,  and  he  would — ah,  Dios!" 

Going  again  to  the  dresser,  she  took  from  a  drawer  a  sandal- 
wrood  rosary.  Then  she  returned  to  the  bed  and  knelt  beside 
the  child.  "Blessed  Virgin,"  she  prayed,  while  her  hot  tears 
fell  upon  the  beads,  "I  am  lost — lost!  Ah,  I  have  not  told  my 
beads  for  many  years — I  cannot  say  them  now!  Santa  Virgen, 
pray  for  me — pray  for  me — and  if  I  kill  him  to-morrow,  tell 
the  blessed  Saviour  that  I  did  it  for  the  child!  Ah,  Santa 
Virgen,  how  beautiful  she  is — how  pure — what  hair — she  is 
from  heaven— San /a  Virgen,  you  will  protect  her?"  She  kissed 
the  cross  repeatedly.  "Madre  de  Dios — she  is  so  beautiful,  so 
pure — " 

Carmen  moved  slightly,  and  the  woman  rose  hastily  from 
her  knees.  "Anita  dear,"  murmured  the  child,  "Jesus  waked 
Lazarus — out  of  his — sleep.  Anita,  why  do  you  not  come? 
I  am  waiting  for  you." 

238 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


."Yes,  child,  yes!  But — Dios  mio!"  she  murmured  when 
Carmen  again  slept,  "I  am  too  wicked  to  sleep  with  so  pure  an 
angel! — no,  I  can  not!  I  must  not!" 

She  spread  a  light  shawl  upon  the  tile  floor  near  the  window 
and  lay  down  upon  it,  drawing  a  lace  mantilla  over  her  face  to 
protect  it  from  the  mosquitoes.  "Santa  Virgen,"  she  mur 
mured  repeatedly,  "pray  the  blessed  Saviour  to  protect  her 
to-morrow — pray  for  her,  Madre  de  Dios — pray  for  her!" 
****** 

The  piercing  shriek  of  a  steamboat  whistle  roused  the 
woman  just  as  the  first  harbingers  of  dawn  spread  over  the 
river  a  crimson  flush  that  turned  it  into  a  stream  of  blood. 
The  child  was  asleep.  Ana  bent  over  her  and  left  a  kiss  on 
her  forehead.  Then  she  stole  out  of  the  room  and  into  the 
study.  Padre  Diego  lay  sunk  in  his  chair  like  a  monster  toad. 
The  woman  threw  him  a  look  of  utter  loathing,  and  then 
hastily  descended  into  the  patio.  Ricardo  lay  under  the 
platano  tree,  sleeping  heavily.  She  roused  him  with  a  kick. 

"Up,  man!"  she  cried,  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder.  "Padre 
Diego  sends  you  this  money,  and  bids  you  go.  He  is  well  satis 
fied  with  your  work."  She  held  out  a  roll  of  pesos. 

The  man,  after  much  vigorous  persuasion,  got  heavily  to 
his  feet.  "Caramba,  senorita!"  he  muttered  in  a  dazed  voice. 
"That  last  tragito — it  was  a  bit  too  much,  no?.  But — Bicn, 
I  would  see  the  good  Padre.  Caramba,  my  poor  head!  What 
rum!  But,  senorita,  do  me  the  great  favor  to  ask  the  good 
Padre  to  see  me  one  little  moment.  I  must  deliver  this  letter 
to  him."  He  fumbled  in  his  wallet  and  drew  out  an  envelope. 

"He  will  not  see  you,  Ricardo.     He — 

"Caramba!"  ejaculated  the  man  loudly,  as  his  senses  re 
turned.  "But  I  believe  there  is  something  wrong  here!  Bicn, 
now  I  shall  see  the  Padre!  I  am  responsible  to  him!"  He 
pushed  the  woman  aside  and  entered  the  house. 

Ana  started  after  him,  and  seized  his  arm.  A  scuffle  ensued, 
and  Ricardo's  voice  was  loud  and  shrill  as  they  reached  the 
stairs.  The  \voman  clung  to  him  desperately.  "Ricardo — any 
thing  you  ask — double  the  amount,  if  you  will  go!  Leave  the 
house — I  will  tell  the  Padre — I  will  give  him  the  letter — 

"Caramba,  but  I  will  see  him  myself!"  shouted  the  light 
headed  Ricardo. 

"Dios  y  diablo!"  A  heavy  voice  rolled  down  from  above. 
"Bicn,  cnamorada,  is  this  the  paramour  whom  you  hid  in  your 
room  last  night?  Caramba,  you  might  have  chosen  a  hand 
somer  one!" 

Ana  sank  down  with  a  moan  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Diego  heavily  descended  the  stairs.  "Ha,  Ricardo!" 

239 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


he  exclaimed,  recognizing  the  man.  "Bien,  so  it  is  you!  And 
the  girl?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Padre,"  cried  the  man  excitedly.  "Senorita 
Ana,  she  made  me  drunk  last  night.  I  brought  the  girl — I 
waited  for  you,  but  the  senorita — 

"Caramba,  I  understand!"  replied  Diego,  turning  to  the 
woman. 

Ana  had  risen  and  was  making  for  the  stairs.  Diego  sprang 
to  her  and  seized  her  by  the  wrist.  With  her  free  hand  she 
drew  the  stiletto  from  her  bosom  and  raised  it  to  strike.  Ricardo 
saw  the  movement,  and  threw  himself  upon  her. 

"Dios!"  cried  Diego,  as  Ricardo  felled  the  woman  and 
wrenched  the  weapon  from  her  grasp.  "My  pretty  angel,  you 
have  the  venom  of  a  serpent!  Sly  wench!  did  you  think  to 
deceive  your  doting  Padre?  But — Dios  nos  guarde!" 

Carmen,  awakened  by  the  noise,  had  left  her  bed,  and  now 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  looking  with  dilated  eyes  at  the 
strange  scene  being  enacted  below. 

Silence  fell  upon  the  group.  Ana  lay  on  the  ground,  her 
eyes  strained  toward  the  girl.  Ricardo  bent  over  her,  awaiting 
his  master's  command.  He  knew  now  that  she  had  forever 
lost  her  power  over  the  priest.  Diego  stood  like  a  statue,  his 
eyes  riveted  upon  Carmen.  The  girl  looked  down  upon  them 
from  the  floor  above  with  an  expression  of  wonder,  yet  without 
fear. 

Diego  was  the  first  to  find  his  voice.  "Ah,  my  pretty  one!" 
he  wheedled.  "My  lovely  daughter!  At  last  you  come  to  your 
lonely  padre!  Wait  for  me,  hermosisima!"  He  puffed  pain 
fully  up  the  steps. 

"Carmen! — run! — run!  Don't  let  him  come  near  you — !" 
screamed  Ana  in  a  voice  of  horror.  Ricardo  clapped  his  hand 
heavily  over  her  mouth. 

But  the  child  did  not  move.  Diego  reached  her  and  seized 
her  hand. 

"Carisima!"  he  panted,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  her,  while  a 
thrill  passed  through  his  coarse  frame.  "Madre  de  Dios,  but 
you  have  grown  beautiful!  Don  Mario  was  right — you  are 
surely  the  most  voluptuous  object  in  human  form  that  has 
ever  crossed  my  path.  Bien,  the  blessed  God  is  still  good  to  his 
little  Diego!" 

He  started  away  with  her,  but  was  detained  by  the  loud 
voice  of  Ricardo. 

"Bien,  Padre,  my  pay!" 

"Cierto,  hombre!"  exclaimed  Diego.  "I  was  about  to  forget. 
But — a  father's  joy — ah!  Bien,  come  to  me  to-morrow— 

"Na,  Senor  Padre,  but  to-day — now!  I  have  risked  my  life 
— and  I  have  a  wife  and  babes!  You  will  pay  me  this  minute!" 

240 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Caramba,  ugly  beast,  but  I  will  consign  you  to  hell!  Mal- 
dito!  get  you  gone!  There  are  more  convenient  seasons  than 
this  for  your  business!"  And,  still  holding  tightly  to  the  girl's 
hand,  he  led  her  into  the  study. 

The  woman  turned  upon  Ricardo  with  the  fury  of  a  tiger. 
"See  now  what  you  have  done!"  she  screamed.  "This  will 
cost  your  life,  for  you  have  put  into  his  dirty  hands  the  soul  of 
an  angel,  and  he  will  damn  it!  Santa  Virgen!  If  you  had 
only  taken  the  money  I  brought  you — 

"Demon-tongue,  I  will  take  it  now!"  He  snatched  the  roll 
of  bills  from  her  hand  and  bolted  through  the  door.  With  a 
low  moan  the  woman  sank  to  the  ground,  while  oblivion  drew 
its  sable  veil  across  her  mind. 

Reaching  the  study,  Diego  pushed  Carmen  into  the  room 
and  then  followed,  closing  the  door  after  him  and  throwing  the 
iron  bolt.  Turning  about,  he  stood  with  arms  akimbo  upon 
his  bulging  hips  and  gazed  long  and  admiringly  at  the  girl  as 
she  waited  in  expectant  wonder  before  him.  A  smile  of  satis 
faction  and  triumph  slowly  spread  over  his  coarse  features. 
Then  it  faded,  and  his  heavy  jowls  and  deep  furrows  formed 
into  an  expression,  sinister  and  ominous,  through  which  lewd- 
ness,  debauchery,  and  utter  corruption  looked  out  brazenly, 
defiantly,  into  the  fair,  open  countenance  of  the  young  girl  be 
fore  him.  A  sense  of  weariness  and  dull  pain  then  seemed  to 
follow.  He  shook  his  heavy  head  and  passed  a  hand  across  his 
brow,  as  if  to  brush  aside  the  confusion  left  by  the  previous 
night's  potations. 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  he  muttered,  falling  heavily  into  a  chair, 
"but  had  I  known  you  were  here,  little  rosebud,  I  should  have 
tried  to  keep  sober."  He  reached  out  to  grasp  her;  but  she 
eluded  him  and  went  quickly  to  the  open  window,  where  she 
stood  looking  down  into  the  street  below.  The  morning  sun 
light,  streaming  into  the  room,  engulfed  her  in  its  golden  flood 
and  transmuted  the  child  of  earth  into  a  creature  divinely  ra 
diant,  despite  the  torn  gown  and  stains  of  river  travel. 

"Bien,  carisima,"  the  man  wheedled  in  a  small,  caressing 
voice,  "where  is  your  greeting  to  your  glad  padre?  Dios  mio!" 
he  muttered,  his  eyes  roving  over  her  full  figure,  "but  the  Vir 
gin  herself  was  never  more  lovely!  Come,  daughter,"  he 
purred,  extending  his  arms;  "come  to  a  father's  heart  that  now, 
praise  the  Saints!  shall  ache  no  more  for  its  lost  darling." 

The  girl  faced  about  and  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments. 
What  her  glance  conveyed,  the  man  was  utterly  incapable  of 
understanding.  Then  she  drew  up  a  chair  that  stood  near  the 
window,  and  sinking  into  it,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Caramba,  my  smile  of  heaven!  but  why  weep?"  chirped 

241 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Diego,  affecting  surprise.  "Is  it  thus  you  celebrate  your  home 
coming?  Or  are  these,  perchance,  fitting  tears  of  joy?  Bien, 
your  padre's  doting  heart  itself  weeps  that  its  years  of  loneli 
ness  are  at  last  ended."  He  held  the  sleeve  of  his  gown  to  his 
eyes  and  sniffed  affectedly. 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly.     "I  am  not  weeping,"  she  said. 

"Bien,  and  what  then?"  he  pursued. 

"I  was  just  knowing,"  she  answered  slowly,  "that  I  was  not 
afraid — that  God  was  everywhere,  even  right  here — and  that 
He  would  not  let  any  harm  come  to  me." 

Diego's  eyes  widened.  Then  he  burst  into  a  coarse  laugh. 
"Hombre!  and  you  ask  Him  to  protect  you  from  your  adoring 
father!  Come  here,  little  wench.  You  are  in  your  own  home. 
Why  be  afraid?"  He  again  held  out  his  arms  to  her. 

"I  am  not  afraid — now,"  she  answered  softly.  "But — I  do 
not  think  God  will  let  me  come  to  you.  If  you  were  really  my 
father,  He  would." 

The  man's  mouth  gaped  in  astonishment.  A  fleeting  sense 
of  shame  swept  through  his  festering  mind.  Then  the  lustful 
meanness  of  his  corrupted  soul  welled  up  anew,  and  he 
laughed  brutally.  The  idea  was  delightfully  novel;  the  girl 
beautifully  audacious;  the  situation  piquantly  amusing.  He 
wrould  draw  her  out  to  his  further  enjoyment.  "So,"  he  ob 
served  parenthetically,  "I  judge  you  are  on  quite  familiar  terms 
with  God,  eh?" 

"Very,"  she  replied,  profoundly  serious. 

The  joke  was  excellent,  and  he  roared  with  mirth.  "Bueno, 
pues!"  he  commented,  reaching  over  and  uncorking  with  shak 
ing  hand  the  bottle  that  stood  on  the  table.  Then,  filling  a  glass, 
"Suppose  you  thank  Him  for  sending  his  little  Diego  this  esti 
mable  wine  and  your  own  charming  self,  eh?  Then  tell  me 
what  He  says."  Whereat  he  guffawed  loudly  and  slapped  his 
bulging  sides. 

The  girl  had  already  bowed  her  head  again  in  her  hands.  A 
long  pause  ensued.  Diego's  beady  eyes  devoured  the  beautiful 
creature  before  him.  Then  he  waxed  impatient.  "Bien,  little 
Passion  flower,"  he  interrupted,  "if  you  have  conveyed  to  Him 
my  infinite  gratitude,  perhaps  He  will  now  let  you  come  to 
me,  eh?" 

Carmen  looked  up.  A  faint  smile  hovered  upon  her  lips. 
"I  have  thanked  Him,  Padre — for  you  and  for  me,"  she  said; 
"for  you,  that  you  really  are  His  child,  even  if  you  don't  know 
it;  and  for  me  that  I  know  He  always  hears  me.  That  was 
what  the  good  man  Jesus  said,  you  know,  when  he  waked 
Lazarus  out  of  the  death-sleep.  Don't  you  remember?  And  so 
I  kept  thanking  Him  all  the  way  down  the  river." 

242 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Diego's  eyes  bulged  as  if  they  would  pop  from  his  head, 
and  his  mouth  fell  open  wide,  hut  no  sound  issued  therefrom. 
The  girl  went  on  quietly: 

"I  was  not  afraid  on  the  river,  Padre.  And  I  was  not  afraid 
to  come  in  here  with  you.  I  knew,  just  as  the  good  man  Jesus 
did  at  the  tomb  of  Lazarus,  that  God  had  heard  me — He  just 
couldn't  be  God  if  He  hadn't,  you  know.  And  then  I  remem 
bered  what  the  good  man  said  about  not  resisting  evil;  for,  you 
know,  if  we  resist  evil  we  make  it  real — and  we  never,  never 
can  overcome  anything  real,  can  we?  So  I  resisted  evil  with 
good,  just  as  Jesus  told  us  to  do.  I  just  knew  that  God  was 
everywhere,  and  that  evil  was  unreal,  and  had  no  power  at  all. 
And  so  the  boyas  didn't  hurt  me  coming  down  the  river.  And 
you — you  will  not  either,  Padre." 

She  stopped  and  smiled  sweetly  at  him.  Then,  very  seri 
ously: 

"Padre,  one  reason  why  I  was  not  afraid  to  come  in  here 
with  you  was  that  I  thought  God  might  want  to  talk  to  you 
through  me,  and  I  could  help  you.  You  need  help,  you  know." 

The  man  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  stupidly  at 
her.  His  face  expressed  utter  consternation,  confusion,  and 
total  lack  of  comprehension.  Once  he  muttered  under  his 
breath,  "Caramba!  she  is  surely  an  hada!"  But  Carmen  did 
not  hear  him.  Absorbed  in  her  mission,  she  went  on  earnestly: 

"You  know,  Padre,  we  are  all  channels  through  which  God 
talks  to  people — just  like  the  ascquia  out  there  in  the  street 
through  which  the  water  flows.  We  are  all  channels  for  divine 
love — so  Padre  Jose  says." 

The  priest  sat  before  her  like  a  huge  pig,  his  little  eyes 
blinking  dully,  and  his  great  mouth  still  agape. 

"We  are  never  afraid  of  real  things,  Padre,  you  know;  and 
so  I  couldn't  be  afraid  of  the  real  'you,'  for  that  is  a  child  of 
God.  And  the  other  'you'  isn't  real.  We  are  only  afraid  of  our 
wrong  thoughts.  But  such  thoughts  are  not  really  ours,  you 
know,  for  they  don't  come  from  God.  But,"  she  laughed  softly, 
"w7hen  I  saw  you  coming  up  the  steps  after  me  this  morning- 
well,  lots  of  fear-thoughts  came  to  me — why,  they  just  seemed 
to  come  pelting  down  on  me  like  the  rain.  But  I  wouldn't  listen 
to  them.  I  turned  right  on  them,  just  as  I've  seen  Cucumbra 
turn  on  a  puppy  that  was  nagging  him,  and  I  said,  'Here,  now, 
I  know  what  you  are;  I  know  you  don't  come  from  God;  and 
anything  that  doesn't  come  from  God  isn't  really  anything  at 
all!'  And  so  they  stopped  pelting  me.  The  good  man  Jesus 
knew,  didn't  he?  That's  why  he  said  so  often,  'Be  not  afraid.' ' 

She  paused  again  and  beamed  at  him.  Her  big  eyes  sparkled, 
and  her  face  glowed  with  celestial  light.  Diego  raised  a  heavy 

243 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


arm  and,  groping  for  the  bottle,  eagerly  drained  another  glass 
of  wine. 

"You  think  that  wine  makes  you  happy,  don't  you,  Padre?" 
she  observed,  watching  him  gulp  down  the  heavy  liquor.  "But 
it  doesn't.  It  just  gives  you  what  Padre  Jose  calls  a  false 
sense  of  happiness.  And  when  that  false  sense  passes  away — 
for  everything  unreal  has  just  got  to  pass  away — why,  then 
you  are  more  unhappy  than  you  were  before.  Isn't  it  so?" 

The  astonished  Diego  now  regained  his  voice.  "Caramba, 
girl!"  he  ejaculated,  "will  you  rein  that  runaway  tongue!" 

"No,  Padre,"  she  replied  evenly,  "for  it  is  God  who  is  talking 
to  you.  Don't  you  hear  Him?  You  ought  to,  for  you  are  a 
priest.  You  ought  to  know  Him  as  well  as  the  good  man  Jesus 
did.  Padre,  can  you  lay  your  hands  on  the  sick  babies  and 
cure  them?" 

The  man  squirmed  uncomfortably  for  a  moment,  and  then 
broke  into  another  brutal  laugh.  "Sick  babies!  Caramba!  but 
we  find  it  easier  to  raise  new  babies  than  to  cure  sick  ones! 
But — little  hada!  Hombre!  do  hadas  have  such  voluptuous 
bodies,  such  plump  legs!  Madre  de  Dios,  girl,  enough  of  your 
preaching!  Come  to  me  quick!  I  hunger  for  you!  Come!" 

"No,  Padre,"  she  answered  quietly,  "I  do  not  want  to  come 
to  you.  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you — 

"Dios  y  diablo!  enough  of  your  gab!  Caramba!  with  a 
Venus  before  me  do  you  think  I  yearn  for  a  sermon?  Hombre! 
delay  it,  delay  it— 

"Padre,"  she  interrupted,  "you  do  not  see  me.  You  are 
looking  only  at  your  bad  thoughts  of  me." 

"Ha!  my  thoughts,  eh?"  His  laugh  resembled  the  snort  of 
an  animal. 

"Yes,  Padre — and  they  are  very  bad  thoughts,  too — they 
don't  come  from  God,  and  you  are  so  foolish  to  let  them  use 
you  the  way  you  do.  Why  do  you,  Padre?  for  you  don't  have 
to.  And  you  know  you  see  around  you  only  the  thoughts  that 
you  have  been  thinking.  Why  don't  you  think  good  thoughts, 
and  so  see  only  good  things?" 

"Now  Mary  bless  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed  in  mock  surprise. 
"Can  it  be  that  I  don't  see  a  plump  little  witch  before  me,  but 
only  my  bad  thoughts,  eh?  Ha!  ha!  Caramba!  that  is  good! 
Bien,  then,"  he  coaxed,  "come  to  your  poor,  deluded  padre  and 
let  him  learn  that  you  are  only  a  thing  of  thought,  and  not  the 
most  enchanting  little  piece  of  flesh  that  ever  caused  a  Saint 
to  fall!" 

The  girl  sat  silent  before  him.  Her  smile  had  fled,  and  in 
its  place  sadness  and  pity  were  written  large  upon  her  wistful 
face. 

244 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Come,  my  little  bundle  of  thought,"  lie  coaxed,  holding  out 
his  fat,  hairy  arms. 

"No,  Padre,"  the  girl  answered  firmly. 

"Na,  then,  still  afraid,  eh?"  he  taunted,  with  rising  anger. 

"No,  Padre;  to  be  afraid  would  mean  that  I  didn't  under 
stand  God." 

"Ha!  Then  come  to  me  and  prove  that  you  do  understand 
Him,  eh?"  he  suggested  eagerly.  "Caramba!  why  do  you  sit 
there  like  a  mummy?  Are  you  invoking  curses  on  the  bald 
pate  of  your  desolate  father?" 

"No,  Padre;  I  am  thanking  God  all  the  time  that  He  is  here, 
and  that  He  will  not  let  you  hurt  me." 

The  man's  lust-inflamed  eyes  narrowed  and  the  expression 
on  his  evil  face  became  more  sinister.  "Maldita!"  he  growled, 
"will  you  come  hither,  or  must  I — 

"No."  She  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  her  heavy  curls 
glistened  in  the  sunlight.  "No,  Padre,  God  will  not  let  me 
come  to  you." 

Panting  and  cursing  softly,  the  man  got  slowly  to  his  feet. 
"Madre  de  Dios!"  he  muttered;  "then  we  will  see  if  your  God 
will  let  me  come  to  you!" 

Carmen  rose  and  stood  hesitant.  Her  lips  moved  rapidly, 
though  no  sound  came  from  them.  They  were  forming  the 
words  of  the  psalmist,  "In  God  have  I  put  my  trust:  I  will  not 
be  afraid  \vhat  man  can  do  unto  me."  It  was  a  verse  Jose  had 
taught  her  long  since,  when  his  own  heart  was  bursting  with 
apprehension. 

Diego  stumbled  heavily  toward  the  child.  She  turned  quick 
ly  as  if  to  flee.  He  thrust  out  his  hand  and  clutched  her  dress. 
The  flimsy  calico,  frayed  and  worn,  tore  its  full  length,  and 
the  gown  fell  to  the  floor.  She  stopped  and  turned  to  face  the 
man.  Her  white  body  glistened  in  the  clear  sunlight  like  a 
marble  statue. 

"For  el  amor  de  Dios!"  ejaculated  the  priest,  straightening 
up  and  regarding  her  with  dull,  blinking  eyes.  Then,  like  a 
tiger  pouncing  upon  a  fawn,  he  seized  the  unresisting  girl  in 
his  arms  and  staggered  back  to  his  chair. 

"Caramba!  Caramba!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  her  with  one 
arm  about  her  waist,  and  with  his  free  hand  clumsily  pouring 
another  glass  of  wine.  "Only  a  thing  of  thought,  eh?  Madre 
de  Dios!  Bien,  pretty  thought,  drink  with  me  this  thought  of 
wine!"  He  laughed  boisterously  at  his  crude  wit,  and  forced 
the  glass  between  her  lips. 

"I — am  not  afraid — I  am  not  afraid,"  she  whispered,  drink 
ing.  "It  cannot  hurt  me — nor  can  you.  God  is  here!" 

"Hurt  you!"  he  panted,  setting  down  the  glass  and  mopping 

245 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


his  hot  brow,  as  he  settled  back  into  the  chair  again.  "Ca- 
ramba!  who  hurts  when  he  loves?" 

"You — do — not — love — me,  Padre!"  she  gasped  under  his 
tight  clutch.  "You  have — only  a  wrong  thought — of  me — of 
love — of  everything!" 

"Bicn — but  you  love  me,  pretty  creature,  is  it  not  so?"  he 
mocked,  holding  up  her  head  and  kissing  her  full  on  the 
mouth. 

"I — I  love  the  real  'you' — for  that  is  God's  image,"  she 
murmured,  struggling  to  hold  her  face  away  from  his  fetid 
breath.  "But — I  do  not — love  the  way  that  image  is — is  trans 
lated — in  your  human  mind!" 

"Caramba!"  he  threw  himself  back  and  gave  noisy  vent  to 
his  risibility.  "Chiquita  mm!  What  grand  language!  Where 
did  you  learn  it?" 

For  the  moment  the  girl  seemed  to  forget  that  she  was  in 
the  fell  clutches  of  a  demon  incarnate.  Her  thought  strayed 
back  to  little  Simiti,  to  Cucumbra,  to  Cantar-las-horas,  to — 
ah,  was  he  searching  for  her  now?  And  would  he  come? — 

"It  was  Padre  Jose;  he  taught  me,"  she  whispered  sadly. 

"Padre  Jose!  Maldito!  The  curse  of  God  blast  him,  the 
monkey-faced  mozo!  Caramba!  but  he  will  teach  you  no  more! 
You  have  a  new  master  now  to  give  you  a  few  needed  lessons, 
sefwrita  mia,  and— 

"Padre  Diego!"  her  tense  voice  checked  further  expression 
of  his  low  thought.  "You  have  no  power  to  curse  anything! 
You  have  no  power  to  harm  me,  or  to  teach  me  anything!  God 
is  here!  He  will  protect  me!  He  keeps  all  them  that  love 
Him!"  She  gasped  again  as  his  clutch  tightened  about  her. 

"Doubtless,  my  lily.  Caramba!  your  skin  is  like  the  vel 
vet!"  He  roughly  drew  the  girl  up  on  his  knees.  "To  be  sure 
He  will  protect  you,  my  mariposa.  And  He  is  using  me  as  the 
channel,  you  see — just  as  you  said  a  few  moments  ago,  eh?" 
His  rude  laugh  again  echoed  through  the  room. 

"He  is  not — using  you — at  all!"  she  panted.  "Evil  thoughts 
are — are  using  you.  And  all — they  can  do — is  to  kill  them 
selves — and  you!" 

"Madre  Maria!  Is  such  a  sad  fate  in  store  for  me,  my 
beautiful  hada?"  He  chuckled  and  reached  out  again  for  the 
bottle.  "Another  little  thought  of  wine,  my  love.  It's  only  a 
thought,  you  know.  Ha!  ha!  I  must  remember  to  tell  Don 
Antonio  of  ihisl—Maldital" 

His  clumsy  movement  had  upset  the  bottle.  Struggling  to 
save  its  contents,  he  relaxed  his  hold  on  Carmen.  Like  a  flash 
she  wormed  her  supple  body  out  under  his  arm,  slid  to  the 
floor,  and  gained  the  window. 

246 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Dios  y  diablo!  Maldita!  Maldita!"  shrilled  Diego,  aflame 
with  wrath.  "Cursed  wench!  when  I  lay  these  hands  again 
on  you — !" 

Struggling  to  his  feet,  he  made  for  the  girl.  But  at  the 
first  step  the  light  rug  slid  along  the  smooth  tiles  beneath  his 
uncertain  tread.  He  threw  out  an  arm  and  sought  to  grasp 
the  table.  But  as  he  did  so,  his  foot  turned  under  him.  There 
was  a  sharp,  snapping  sound.  With  a  groan  the  heavy  man 
sank  to  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  Carmen  stood  as  if  dazed.  Diego  lay  very 
still.  Then  the  girl  picked  up  her  torn  dress  and  approached 
him  carefully.  "It  was  his  bad  thoughts,"  she  whispered;  "he 
slipped  on  them;  they  threw  him!  I  knew  it — I  just  knew  it!" 

Passing  to  one  side,  she  gained  the  door,  threw  back  the 
bolt,  and  hurried  out  into  the  rotunda.  Crouched  on  the  floor, 
the  stiletto  clasped  in  her  hand,  sat  Ana,  her  face  drenched 
with  tears,  and  her  chest  heaving.  When  she  saw  the  girl 
she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Carmen!  Ah,  Dios!  your  dress! —  Madre  Maria!  I 
could  not  save  you;  I  could  not  break  through  the  heavy  door; 
but  I  can  punish  him!"  She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and 
started  into  the  room. 

"No,  Anita!"  cried  the  girl,  throwing  herself  into  the  wom 
an's  arms.  "He  is  punished !  He  did  not  hurt  me — God  would 
not  let  him!  Look!  Anita,  look!"  pointing  to  the  body  on  the 
floor. 

The  woman  stopped  abruptly.  "Carmen!"  she  whispered 
in  awed  tones,  "did  God  strike  him  dead?" 

"I  don't  know,  Anita — but  come!  No!"  clinging  to  the 
woman's  skirt;  "Anita  dear,  do  not  go  in  there!  Leave  him! 
Come  away  with  me!" 

The  woman's  eyes  were  wild,  her  hair  loose  and  disheveled. 
"Caramba!"  she  cried,  "but  wre  will  make  sure  that  the  beast 
is  dead  before  we  go!  And  if  we  leave  this  blade  in  his  heart, 
it  may  be  a  warning  to  others  of  his  kind!" 

"No,  Anita — no !  God  will  not  let  you  kill  him !  You  must 
not!  Your  murder-thoughts  will  kill  you  if  you  do!  Come! 
Listen — it  is  a  steamboat  whistle!  Oh,  Anita — if  it  is  going 
up  the  river — we  can  take  it — " 

Ana  hesitated.     "But — leave  him?     He  may — 

"Yes,  Anita,  yes;  leave  him  with  God!"  pleaded  the  girl 
excitedly.  "Come  away,  Anita— 

"But  where,  child?"  asked  the  bewildered  woman. 

"To  Simiti!" 

"Simiti !     Never!     Why — why,  my  father  would  kill  me!" 

"No,  Anita  dear;  he  loves  you;  he  prays  for  you;  he  wants 

247 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


you!  Oh,  Anita,  come!  It  is  right — it  is  just  what  God  has 
planned,  I  know!  Pin  my  dress  together,  and  then  hurry!" 

The  woman  moved  as  if  in  a  cloud.  Mechanically  she  de 
scended  the  stairs  and  left  the  house,  her  hand  tightly  clasped 
by  Carmen.  Dully  she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  hurriedly  to 
the  river.  A  boat,  up-bound,  wras  just  docking.  The  captain 
stood  leaning  over  the  rail  and  shouting  his  commands.  Ana 
recognized  him.  It  was  Captain  Julio. 

"Loado  sea  Dios!"  murmured  the  \veeping  woman,  hurry 
ing  up  the  gang  plank  with  the  child.  She  hastened  past  the 
astonished  passengers  to  the  captain  and  drew  him  to  one 
side. 

"The  child —  '  she  gasped,  "Rosendo  Ariza's — of  Simiti — 
leave  her  at  Badillo — they  will  take  her  over — 

"Wait,  senora,"  interrupted  the  captain  tenderly.  "Is  it 
not  time  for  you  to  go  home,  too?"  He  laid  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder  and  looked  down  into  her  streaming  eyes.  "Come," 
he  said  quietly.  And,  leading  them  down  the  deck,  he  opened 
the  door  of  a  vacant  cabin  and  bade  them  enter.  "You  can 
tell  me  your  story  when  we  are  under  way,"  he  said,  smiling 
as  he  closed  the  door.  "Bien,"  he  muttered,  his  brow  clouding 
as  he  strode  off.  "I  have  been  looking  for  this  for  some  time. 
But — the  child — Ariza's — ah,  the  priest  Diego!  I  think  I  see 
— Caramba!  But  we  will  not  tarry  long  here!" 

A  few  minutes  later  the  big  boat,  her  two  long  funnels 
vomiting  torrents  of  smoke  and  sparks,  thrust  her  huge  wheel 
into  the  thick  waters  and,  swinging  slowly  out  into  mid-stream, 
turned  her  flat  nose  toward  the  distant  falls  of  Tequendama. 
In  one  of  her  aft  cabins  a  woman  lay  on  a  cot,  weeping  hyster 
ically.  Over  her  bent  a  girl,  with  a  face  such  as  the  masters 
have  sought  in  vain.  The  tenderly  whispered  words  might 
have  been  the  lingering  echo  of  those  voiced  in  the  little  moon 
lit  death-chamber  of  Cartagena  long  agone. 

"Anita  dear,  He  is  with  us,  right  here.  And  His  arms  are 
wide  open.  And  He  says,  'Anita,  come!'" 


CHAPTER  26 

"TT^UT,  Padre  dear,  why    are  you  so    surprised  that  Padre 

j    Diego  did  not  hurt  me?    I  would  have  been  much  more 

surprised  if  he  had.    You  are  always  so  astonished  when 

evil  doesn't  happen — don't  you  ever  look  for  good?     Why,  I 

don't  ever  look  for  anything  else!     How  could  I  when  I  know 

that  God  is  everywhere?" 

248 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Jose  strained  her  closer  to  himself.  "The  sense  of  evil — 
it  overwhelms  me  at  times,  carita — 

"But,  Padre  dear,  why  don't  you  know  right  then  that  it  is 
nothing?  If  you  did,  it  would  fade  away,  and  only  good  would 
overwhelm  you."  She  nestled  closer  to  the  man  and  clasped 
her  arms  more  tightly  about  his  neck.  "Why,  Padre,"  she 
resumed,  "I  was  not  a  bit  surprised  when  Captain  Julio  came 
and  told  us  we  were  near  Bodega  Central,  and  that  he  could 
see  you  and  Juan  and  Lazaro  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  inn." 

"Yes,  chiquita,  we  were  resting  for  a  moment.  If  a  down 
river  boat  came  by  we  were  going  to  take  it.  If  not,  we  ex 
pected  to  go  in  the  canoe." 

"Padre  dear,  what  did  you  intend  to  do  in  Banco?" 

The  man  hesitated.     "Don't  speak  of  it,  child — we — 

"Juan  and  Lazaro  have  knives.  I  saw  them.  Padre — have 
you  one,  too?" 

"I?— chiquita— 

"Padre  dear,  God  never  fights  with  knives.  Anita  had  a 
knife;  but  God  wouldn't  let  her  use  it.  He  always  has  better 
ways  than  that.  I  don't  know  what  happened  to  Padre  Diego, 
except  that  he  fell  over  his  wicked  thoughts.  You  know, 
Padre  dear,  somewhere  in  the  Bible  you  read  to  me  that  'With 
him  is  an  arm  of  flesh;  but  with  us  is  the  Lord  our  God  to 
help  us,  and  to  fight  our  battles.'  I  thought  of  that  when 
Padre  Diego  had  his  arm  around  me  and  held  me  so  tight  that 
I  could  hardly  breathe.  It  was  only  an  arm  of  flesh,  after  all, 
and  it  couldn't  hold  me." 

"Bien,  Padre,"  interrupted  Juan,  coming  up  from  the  boat, 
"if  we  are  to  reach  Simiti  to-night  we  must  start  at  once." 

"Bucno,  then  let  us  set  out,"  returned  Jose,  rising.  A 
muffled  sob  reached  his  ears.  He  turned  to  the  woman  huddled 
in  the  shadow  of  the  door. 

"Come,  Ana,"  he  said  cheerily;  "to-night  you  will  again  be 
home." 

"No,  Padre — I  do  not  go  with  you.     I—" 

"Anita!"  In  an  instant  Carmen's  arms  were  around  her. 
"When  padre  Rosendo  sees  us,  you  and  me,  why — 

"Carisima!"  The  woman's  tears  flowed  fast  while  she 
hugged  the  girl  to  her  bosom.  "No — no — he  would  drive  me 
from  his  house!  No — let  me  stay  here.  I  will  get  work  in  the 
posada,  perhaps.  Or  Captain  Julio  will  take  me  to  Honda  on 
his  next  trip,  and  get  me  a  place — •" 

"Then  we  must  ask  him  to  get  a  place  for  us  both,"  in 
terrupted  Carmen,  sitting  calmly  down  beside  her.  "And 
think,  Anita,  how  sad  padre  Rosendo  will  be  when  he  sees  the 
men  come  back  without  us!" 

249 

26 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Carmen!  I  shall  throw  myself  into  the  river!"  cried  the 
sorrowing  woman,  rising.  "You  don't  know  what  it  is—" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Anita,"  returned  the  girl  quickly;  "it  is  nothing 
— just  zero — and  you  can't  drown  it!  If  it  would  do  any  good 
we  would  both  jump  into  the  river — that  is,  if  God  told  us  to — 
wouldn't  we?  But  it  doesn't  help  any  to  die,  you  know,  for 
then  we  would  have  it  all  to  do  over  again." 

"Ana,"  said  Jose,  laying  a  hand  on  the  woman's  shoulder, 
"you  do  not  understand  her — neither  do  I,  wholly.  But  if  she 
tells  you  to  go  with  us  to  Simiti,  why,  I  think  I  would  go.  I 
wTould  leave  it  all  with  her.  You  may  trust  her  influence  with 
Rosendo.  Come." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her,  weeping,  hut  no  longer  re 
sisting,  down  to  the  canoe.  Carmen  followed,  dancing  like  an 
animated  sunbeam.  "What  fun,  oh,  what  fun!"  she  chirped, 
clapping  her  hands.  "And  just  as  soon  as  we  get  home  we 
will  go  right  up  to  the  carcel  and  let  padre  Rosendo  out!" 

"ATa,  chiquita,"  said  Jose,  shaking  his  head  mournfully; 
"we  have  no  power  to  do  that." 

"Well,  then,  God  has,"  returned  the  girl,  nothing  daunted. 

Juan  pushed  the  heavily  laden  canoe  from  its  mooring, 
and  set  its  direction  toward  Simiti.  Silence  drew  over  the  little 
group,  and  the  hours  dragged  while  the  boat  crept  slowly  along 
the  margin  of  the  great  river.  The  sun  had  passed  its  meridian 
when  the  little  craft  turned  into  the  cano.  To  Jose  the  change 
brought  a  most  grateful  relief.  For,  though  his  long  residence 
in  Simiti  had  somewhat  inured  him  to  the  intense  heat  of 
this  low  region,  he  had  not  yet  learned  to  endure  it  with  the 
careless  indifference  of  the  natives.  Besides,  his  mind  was 
filled  with  vivid  memories  of  the  horrors  of  his  first  river  trip. 
And  he  knew  that  every  future  experience  on  the  water  would 
be  tinged  by  them. 

In  the  shaded  cano  the  sunlight,  sifting  through  the  inter 
locking  branches  of  ancient  palms  and  caobas,  mellowed  and 
softened  into  a  veil  of  yellow  radiance  that  flecked  the  little 
stream  with  splashes  of  gold.  Juan  in  the  prow  with  the  pole 
labored  in  silence.  At  times  he  stopped  just  long  enough  to 
roll  a  huge  cigar,  and  to  feast  his  bright  eyes  upon  the  fair 
girl  whom  he  silently  adored.  Lazaro,  as  patron,  sat  in  the 
stern,  saturnine  and  unimpassioned.  The  woman,  exhausted 
by  the  recent  mental  strain,  dozed  throughout  the  journey. 
Carmen  alone  seemed  alive  to  her  environment.  Every  foot  of 
advance  unfolded  to  her  new  delights.  She  sang;  she  chirped; 
she  mimicked  the  parrots;  she  chattered  at  the  excited  mon 
keys.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Jose  could  restrain  her  when 
her  sharp  eyes  caught  the  glint  of  brilliant  Passion  flowers  and 
orchids  of  gorgeous  hue  clinging  to  the  dripping  trees. 

250 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Padre!"  she  exclaimed,  "they  are  in  us,  you  know.  They 
are  not  out  there  at  all!  We  see  our  thoughts  of  them — and 
lots  of  people  wouldn't  see  anything  beautiful  about  them  at 
all,  just  because  their  thoughts  are  not  beautiful.  Padre,  we 
see — what  you  said  to  me  once — we  see  our  interpretations  of 
God's  ideas,  don't  we?  That  is  what  I  told  Padre  Diego.  But 
— well,  he  will  just  have  to  see  some  day,  won't  he,  Padre  dear? 
But  now  let  us  talk  in  English;  you  know,  I  haven't  spoken  it 
for  such  a  long  time." 

Jose  gazed  at  her  in  rapt  silence.  What  a  rare  interpreta 
tion  of  the  mind  divine  was  this  child!  But  he  wondered  why 
one  so  pure  and  beautiful  should  attract  a  mind  so  carnal  as 
that  of  Diego.  And  yet— 

"Ah!"  he  mused,  "it  is  again  that  law.  Good  always  stirs 
up  its  suppositional  opposite.  And  the  most  abundant  good 
and  the  greatest  purity  stir  up  the  most  carnal  elements  of  the 
human  mind.  All  history  shows  it.  The  greater  the  degree 
of  good,  the  greater  the  seeming  degree  of  evil  aroused.  The 
perfect  Christ  stirred  the  hatred  of  a  world.  Carmen  arouses 
Diego  simply  because  of  her  purity.  Yet  she  knows  that  he 
can  not  harm  her." 

His  eyes  met  the  girl's,  and  she  answered  his  unspoken 
thought  in  the  tongue  which  she  was  fast  adopting.  "We  have 
to  love  him,  you  know,  Padre  dear." 

"Love  whom?     Diego?" 

''Why,  yes,  of  course.  We  can't  help  loving  him.  Oh,  not 
the  'him'  that  the  human  mind  looks  at,  but  the  real  'him,'  you 
know — the  'him'  that  is  God's  image.  And  you  know  there 
just  isn't  any  other  'him,'  now  is  there?" 

"God  above!"  murmured  Jose,  "if  I  could  but  keep  my 
thought  as  straight  as  she  does!" 

"But,  Padre  dear,  your  thought  is  straight.  You  know, 
God's  thought  is  the  only  thought  there  really  is.  Any  other 
thought  has  the  minus  sign,  and  so  it  is  zero.  If  we  will  always 
think  of  the  real  Padre  Diego,  and  love  that,  why,  the  unreal 
one  will  fade  away  from  our  thought." 

"Do  you  suppose,  chiquita,  that  if  we  love  him  we  will 
make  him  repent?" 

The  child  pondered  the  question  for  a  moment.     Then: 

"Padre,  what  did  you  tell  me  once  about  the  word  'repent'?" 

"It  comes  from  the  Greek  word  'mctanoia.' ' 

"Yes,"  she  reflected;  "but  what  did  you  say  that — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  told  you  it  meant  a  complete  and  radical  change 
of  thought." 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  brightening. 

Jose  waited  expectantly.     It  was  heaven  to  have  this  girl 

251 


before  him  and  to  drink  in  the  na'ive  expressions  of  her  active 
mind. 

"Padre  dear,  when  John  the  haptiser  said,  'Repent,  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand,'  did  he  mean  to  tell  the  people 
that  they  must  have  a  complete  change  of  thought?" 

Jose  laughed.  And  then  he  grew  serious.  "Chiquita,"  he 
answered,  "I  have  no  doubt  he  meant  just  that.  For  you  have 
taught  me  that  there  can  be  no  salvation  without  such  a  com 
plete  and  radical  change." 

"No,"  she  said  with  quick  emphasis;  "for  God  is  mind,  you 
know.  And  His  thought  is  the  only  real  thought  there  is  or 
can  be.  The  thoughts  of  mortals  are  the  opposites  of  His 
thoughts,  and  so  they  are  illusions,  and,  like  all  lies,  must 
pass  away.  If  people  want  to  be  immortal,  they  must  think 
as  God  thinks,  for  He  is  immortal.  They  must  stop  thinking 
that  there  is  any  power  but  God.  They  must  stop  letting  in 
thoughts  of  sickness,  of  sin,  of  wickedness,  and  all  those  things 
that  in  English  you  call  'discord.'  God  says  in  the  Bible,  'As 
the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are  my  thoughts 
higher  than  your  thoughts.'  Well,  God  is  immortal  and  per 
fect.  And  if  we  want  to  be  like  Him  we  must  think  His 
thoughts.  For  our  thoughts  become — things.  Don't  you  see?" 

Jose's  face  clouded.  "I  see,  chiquita — sometimes  very 
clearly — and  then  again  I  don't  see,"  he  said  slowly. 

"You  do  see!"  she  insisted,  getting  up  on  her  knees  and 
facing  him.  "And  you  see  as  God  sees!  And  if  you  hold' this 
thought  always,  why,  it  will — it  will  be — 

"Externalized;  is  that  what  you  are  trying  to  say?"  he 
suggested. 

"Yes,  just  that.  Jesus  said,  'As  a  man  thinketh  in  his 
heart,  so  is  he.'  ' 

"But,  Carmen — I—  What  you  say  is  doubtless  true  in 
essence— but  I  think  you  have  not  grasped  it  all — there  are  so 
many  gaps  that  your  simple  little  system  of  religion  does  not 
fill  in — so  many  great  questions  that  you  do  not  answer.  I 
see,  in  part— and  then,  again,  I  don't  see  at  all.  And  when 
you  were  stolen  away  from  Simiti  I  saw  nothing  but  the  evil 
— and  it  nearly  killed  me!" 

The  girl  studied  him  for  a  few  moments.  The  man  had 
always  been  an  enigma  to  her.  She  could  not  understand  a 
nature  that  soared  into  the  spiritual  empyrean  one  moment, 
and  in  the  next  fell  floundering  into  the  bottomless  pit  of 
materialism.  The  undulating  curve  which  marked  the  de 
velopment  of  the  Rincon  mind  was  to  her  a  thing  incompre 
hensible. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  said  at  length,  a  little  sadly.    "When  you 

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look  at  the  first  chapter  in  the  Bible  and  read  there  how  God 
made  everything,  and  man  in  His  image,  in  the  image  of  Mind, 
you  see,  and  are  very  happy.  But  when  you  go  on  to  the 
second  chapter  and  read  how  the  Lord  God — not  God,  but  the 
Lord  God — made  a  man  of  dirt,  and  how  this  dirt  man  listened 
to  his  false  thoughts  and  fell,  why,  then  you  are  unhappy. 
Don't  you  see  any  difference  between  them?  Can't  you  see 
that  one  is  a  story  of  the  real  creation;  and  the  other  is  the 
human  mind's  interpretation  of  the  creation — an  interpreta 
tion  made  according  to  the  way  the  human  mind  thinks  the 
creating  ought  to  have  been  in  matter?  You  told  me  this 
yourself.  And  the  second  chapter  shows  how  far  the  human 
mind  can  go — it  shows  how  limited  it  is.  The  human  mind 
couldn't  get  any  farther  than  that — couldn't  make  a  man  out 
of  anything  but  dirt.  It  couldn't  understand  the  spiritual 
creation.  And  so  it  made  a  creation  of  its  own.  It  couldn't 
understand  God;  and  so  it  made  a  Lord  God,  just  like  itself. 
Can't  you  see?  Padre  dear,  can't  you?  And  if  you  see,  can't 
you  stick  to  it  and  live  it,  until  all  the  unreal  passes  away?" 
Jose  smiled  into  her  earnest  little  face.  "I  will  never  cease 
to  try,  chiquita,"  he  said.  "But  we  were  talking  about  loving 
Diego,  weren't  we?  Yes,  you  are  right,  we  must  try  to  love 
him,  for  the  good  Jesus  said  we  must  love  our  enemies." 

"But,  if  we  love  everybody,  then  we  haven't  any  enemies. 
You  can't  love  a  real  enemy — and  so  there  aren't  any  real  ones. 
We  see  in  other  people  only  \vhat  is  in  our  own  thought.  If 
we  see  evil  as  real,  why,  then  we  will  see  bad  men  and  women 
all  around  us,  for  we  only  look  at  our  thoughts.  But,  if  we 
look  only  at  God's  thoughts — Padre  dear,  I  didn't  see  anything 
but  God's  thought  when  Padre  Diego  had  me  in  his  arms.  I 
knew  it  wasn't  real,  but  was  just  the  human  way  of  looking 
at  things.  And  I  knew  that  love  was  the  great  principle  of 
everything,  and  that  it  just  couldn't  fail,  any  more  than  the 
principle  of  algebra  could  fail  to  solve  my  problems.  Well," 
she  concluded  with  a  little  sigh,  "it  didn't." 

"Dear  little  girl,  you  must  be  patient,  very  patient,  with 
your  blundering  old  Padre  Jose.  He  is  groping  for  the  light- 
In  an  instant,  throwing  the  canoe  into  imminent  danger  of 
upsetting,  the  impulsive  girl  had  hurled  herself  into  his  lap 
and  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck.  Juan  and  Lazaro  by 
a  quick  and  skillful  effort  kept  the  craft  upright. 

"Oh,  Padre  dear!"  she  cried,  "I  didn't  mean  to  say  a  word 
that  would  make  you  unhappy — Padre  dear,  I  love  you  so! 
Padre,  look  at  your  little  girl,  and  tell  her  that  you  love  her!" 
He  clasped  her  fiercely.  "No — no!"  he  murmured,  "I — ri 
must  not — and — yet — chiquita — I  adore  you!"  He  buried  hi*, 
face  in  her  shoulder. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Juan  made  a  wry  mouth  as  he  looked  at  the  girl  in  the 
priest's  arms.  Then  he  suggested  that  a  separation  would  more 
evenly  balance  the  boat.  Carmen  laughed  up  at  him,  but 
slipped  down  into  the  keel  and  sat  with  her  head  propped 
against  Jose's  knees. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  twinkling 
eyes,  "I  heard  Lazaro  say  a  little  while  before  we  started  that 
he  had  lived  many  years  in  Simiti,  and  that  it  had  always 
been  very  quiet  until  you  came." 

"Ay  de  mi!"  sighed  Jose.  "I  can  readily  believe  that  the 
whole  world  was  quiet  until  I  entered  it." 

"But,  Padre,  perhaps  you  had  to  come  into  it  to  shake  it  up." 

He  laughed.  "Chiquita,"  he  said,  "if  ever  you  go  out  into 
it,  with  your  radical  views  regarding  God  and  man;  and  if  the 
stupid  old  world  will  give  ear  to  you,  there  will  be  such  a 
shaking  up  as  it  has  never  experienced  since — 

"Padre  dear,"  she  interrupted,  "I  am  not  going  out  into 
the  world.  I  shall  stay  in  Simiti — with  you." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  tenderly,  wistfully.  And  then, 
while  her  words  still  echoed  through  his  mind,  a  great  sigh 
escaped  him. 

Dusk  had  closed  in  upon  them  when  the  canoe  emerged 
into  the  quiet  lake.  Huge  vampire  bats,  like  demons  incarnate, 
flouted  their  faces  as  they  paddled  swiftly  toward  the  distant 
town.  Soft  evening  calls  drifted  across  the  placid  waters  from 
the  slumbering  jungle.  Carmen's  rich  voice  mingled  with 
them;  and  Juan  and  Lazaro,  catching  the  inspiration,  broke 
into  a  weird,  uncanny  boating  song,  such  as  is  heard  only 
among  these  simple  folk.  As  they  neared  the  town  the  song 
of  the  bogas  changed  into  a  series  of  loud,  yodelling  halloos; 
and  when  the  canoe  grated  upon  the  shaly  beach,  Dona  Maria 
and  a  score  of  others  were  there  to  welcome  the  returned 
travelers. 

At  the  sight  of  Ana,  a  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd. 
Dona  Maria  turned  to  the  \voman. 

"It  is  Anita,  madre  dear,"  Carmen  quickly  announced,  as 
she  struggled  out  of  Dona  Maria's  arms  and  took  the  confused 
Ana  by  the  hand. 

The  light  of  recognition  came  into  Dona  Maria's  eyes. 
Quietly,  and  without  demonstration,  she  went  to  the  shrinking 
woman  and,  taking  the  tear-stained  face  in  her  hands,  im 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  each  cheek.  "Bien,"  she  said  in  a  low, 
tender  voice,  "we  have  waited  long  for  you,  daughter.  And 
now  let  us  go  home." 

****** 

The  glow  of  dawn  had  scarce  begun  to  creep  timidly  across 

254 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  arch  of  heaven  when  Fernando  knocked  at  the  portal  of 
Rosendo's  house  and  demanded  the  custody  of  Carmen.  Jose 
was  already  abroad. 

"And  now,  Fernando,"  demanded  the  priest,  "what  new 
outrage  is  this?" 

The  constable  flushed  with  embarrassment.  "Na,  Padre,  a 
thousand  pardons — but  it  is  the  order  of  the  Alcalde,  and  I 
only  obey.  But — you  may  knock  me  down,"  he  added  eagerly, 
"and  then  I  can  return  to  him  and  say  that  I  could  not  take  the 
girl,  even  by  force!"  The  honest  fellow,  ashamed  of  his  mis 
sion,  hung  his  head.  Jose  seized  his  hand. 

"Fernando!"  he  cried,  "what  say  the  people  of  Simiti?" 

"They  are  with  you,  Padre.  They  would  demand  Rosendo's 
release,  if  there  were  proof  that  the  girl — 

"Good,  then!  we  have  the  proof,"  broke  in  Jose.  "Rosendo 
knows  of  our  return?" 

"Yes,  the  guard  informed  him  this  morning.  The  Alcalde, 
you  know,  permits  no  one  to  approach  the  prisoner." 

"And  does  he  know  that  Ana  is  here?" 

"The  guard  did  not  tell  him,  for  fear  of  exciting  the  old 
man.  Hombre!  I  think  there  is  no  one  in  town  who  would 
venture  to  tell  Rosendo  that." 

"Bien  pues,  Fernando,  I  think  the  time  has  come!  Go 
quietly  back  and  summon  every  one  to  a  meeting  in  the  town 
hall  at  once.  Tell  them—" 

"Bien,  Padre,  f  shall  know  what  to  tell  them.  But,"  anx 
iously,  "Don  Mario  has  the  power  to — 

"And  we  have  a  greater  power,"  quickly  replied  the  priest, 
his  thought  dwelling  on  Carmen. 

An  hour  later  the  town  hall  was  a  babel  of  clacking  tongues. 
Men,  women  and  children  hurried,  chattering,  to  and  fro,  ex 
changing  diverse  views  and  speculating  eagerly  on  the  probable 
outcome  of  the  meeting.  Jose  stood  before  them,  with  Car 
men's  hand  clasped  tightly  in  his.  Don  Mario,  purple  and 
trembling  with  rage,  was  perched  upon  a  chair,  vainly  trying 
to  get  the  ear  of  the  people. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hubbub  a  hush  fell  suddenly  over  the 
concourse.  All  heads  turned,  and  all  eyes  fastened  upon  Ana, 
as  she  entered  the  room  and  moved  timidly  toward  Jose.  The 
people  fell  back  to  make  a  passage  for  her.  Her  shoulders 
were  bent,  and  her  face  was  covered  with  a  black  mantilla. 

Don  Mario,  as  his  glance  fell  upon  her,  again  attempted  to 
address  the  multitude.  A  dozen  voices  bade  him  cease.  A 
strong  arm  from  behind  pushed  him  from  the  chair.  His 
craven  heart  began  to  quake,  and  he  cast  anxious  glances  to 
ward  the  single  exit. 

255 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Gently  removing  the  mantilla  from  the  face  of  the  woman, 
Jose  turned  her  toward  the  people.  "Friends!"  he  said  in  a 
loud,  penetrating  voice,  "behold  the  work  of  Diego!" 

He  paused  for  the  effect  which  he  knew  would  be  made 
upon  this  impressionable  people.  Then,  when  the  loud  mur 
mur  had  passed,  he  drew  Carmen  out  before  him  and,  pointing 
to  her,  said  dramatically,  "And  shall  we  also  throw  this  inno 
cent  child  to  the  wrolf?" 

The  assembly  broke  into  a  roar.  Fists  were  shaken  under 
the  Alcalde's  nose,  and  imprecations  were  hurled  at  him  from 
all  sides.  Don  Mario  drew  his  soiled  handkerchief  and  mopped 
his  steaming  brow.  Then  his  voice  broke  out  in  a  shriek: 
"The  soldiers — this  day  I  shall  summon  them — it  is  a  riot!" 

"Caramba!  He  speaks  truth!"  cried  a  voice  from  the 
crowd.  The  babel  commenced  anew. 

"The  soldiers!     Caramba!     Let  Diego  have  his  child!" 

"Maldita!" 

"Who  says  it  is  not  his?" 

"I  do!" 

It  was  Ana.  Clasping  Jose's  arm  to  steady  herself,  she  had 
turned  to  confront  the  excited  assembly. 

Silence  descended  upon  them  all.  Jose  held  up  his  hand. 
A  sob  escaped  the  woman.  Then: 

"The  priest  Diego  had  a  child — a  girl.  Her  name — it  was 
— Carmen.  The  child  is — dead." 

"Caramba!  girl,  how  know  you  that?"  shrilled  a  woman's 
excited  voice. 

"I  know,  because  I — was — its — mother!" 

Pandemonium  burst  upon  the  room  at  the  woman's  words. 
Don  Mario  started  for  the  door,  but  found  his  way  blocked. 
"Diego  had  other  children!"  he  shouted;  "and  this  girl  is  one 
of  them!" 

"It  is  false!"  cried  Ana  in  a  loud  voice.  "I  have  lived  with 
him  eight  years!  I  know  from  his  own  lips  that  I  speak  the 
truth!  See  what  he  has  done  to  me!  Would  I  lie?" 

"To  the  carcel!     Release  Rosendo!" 

"We  will  write  to  the  President  at  Bogota!  Don  Mario 
must  be  removed!" 

"Caramba!     Such  an  Alcalde!" 

"Let  him  send  for  the  soldiers,  if  he  wishes  to  die!" 

"To  the  carcel!" 

As  a  unit  the  fickle  people  streamed  from  the  room  and 
started  for  the  jail.  Don  Mario  was  borne  along  on  the  heav 
ing  tide.  Jose  and  Carmen  followed;  but  Ana  fell  back  and 
returned  to  the  house  of  Rosendo. 

The  guard  at  the  jail,   seeing  the  concourse  approaching, 

256 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


threw  down  his  machete  and  fled.  Rosendo's  eyes  were  big 
with  speculation,  though  his  heart  beat  apprehensively.  The 
people  jammed  into  the  small  hut  until  it  swayed  and  threat 
ened  to  collapse. 

"The  key  to  the  lock — Caramba!  the  guard  has  it!" 

"Catch  him!" 

"No!  bring  a  barra!" 

Juan  quickly  produced  a  long  iron  bar,  and  with  a  few 
lusty  efforts  sprung  the  stocks.  A  dozen  hands  lifted  the 
cramped  Rosendo  out  and  stood  him  upon  his  feet.  Carmen 
squirmed  through  the  crowd  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

Then,  with  shouts  and  gesticulations,  a  triumphal  proces 
sion  quickly  formed,  and  the  bewildered  and  limping  Rosendo 
was  escorted  down  the  main  street  of  the  town  and  across  the 
plaza  to  his  home.  At  the  door  of  the  house  Jose  turned  and, 
holding  up  a  hand,  bade  the  people  quietly  disperse  and  leave 
the  liberated  man  to  enjoy  undisturbed  the  sacred  reunion  with 
his  family.  With  a  parting  shout,  the  people  melted  quickly 
away,  and  quiet  soon  reigned  again  over  the  ancient  town. 

"Bien,  Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  pausing  before  his  door  to 
clasp  anew  the  priest's  hand,  "you  have  not  told  me  what  has 
caused  this.  Was  it  the  little  Carmen — 

He  stopped  short.  Glancing  in  at  the  door,  his  eyes  had 
fallen  upon  Ana.  To  Jose,  hours  seemed  suddenly  compressed 
into  that  tense  moment. 

Slowly  Rosendo  entered  the  house  and  advanced  to  the 
shrinking  woman.  Terror  spread  over  her  face,  and  she 
clutched  her  throat  as  the  big  man  stalked  toward  her.  Then, 
like  a  flash,  Carmen  darted  in  front  of  her  and  faced  Rosendo. 

"It  is  Anita,  padre  dear,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  his  set 
face,  and  clasping  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "She  has  come 
home  again.  Aren't  we  glad!" 

Rosendo  seemed  not  to  see  the  child.  His  voice  came  cold 
and  harsh.  "Bien,  outcast,  is  your  lover  with  you,  that  I  may 
strangle  him,  too?"  He  choked  and  swallowed  hard. 

"Padre!"  cried  Carmen,  putting  both  her  hands  against 
him.  "See!  Those  bad  thoughts  nearly  strangled  you!  Don't 
let  them  get  in!  Don't!" 

"Bien,  girl!"  snarled  the  angry  man,  still  addressing  the 
cowering  woman.  "Did  you  tire  of  him,  that  you  now  sneak 
home?  Or — Caramba!"  as  Ana  rose  and  stood  before  him, 
"you  come  here  that  your  illegal  brat  may  be  born!  Not  under 
my  roof!  Santa  Maria!  Never!  Take  it  back  to  him!  Take 
it  back,  I  say!"  he  shouted,  raising  his  clenched  fist  as  if  to 
strike  her. 

Carmen  turned  swiftly  and  threw  herself  upon  the  woman. 
Looking  over  her  shoulder,  she  addressed  the  raging  man: 

257 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Padre  Rosendo!  this  is  not  your  house!  It  is  God's!  He 
only  lets  you  have  it,  because  He  is  good  to  you!  Shame  on 
you,  for  daring  to  drive  Anita  away — your  own  little  girl!" 
Her  voice  rose  shrill,  and  her  words  cut  deep  into  the  old  man's 
embittered  heart. 

"Shame  on  you,  padre  Rosendo!"  quickly  flowed  the  scorch 
ing  words.  "If  God  were  like  you  He  would  drive  you  from 
the  house,  too!  Are  you  so  much  better  than  the  good  Jesus 
that  you  can  drive  away  a  woman  who  sins?  Shame  on  you, 
padre!  Are  you  better  than  the  good  father  who  was  so  glad 
to  see  his  prodigal  son?  If  God  were  to  punish  you  for  your 
sins,  would  He  even  let  you  live?  Did  He  not  set  you  free  this 
very  morning?  And  do  you  now  thank  Him  by  driving  your 
little  girl  from  her  own  home?  Do  you  know  that  it  was  Anita 
who  made  you  free,  and  who  brought  me  here?  God  used  her 
to  do  that.  And  is  this  the  way  you  thank  Him?  Then  you 
will  lose  us  both,  for  we  will  not  stay  with  you!" 

Jose  stepped  up  and  took  Rosendo's  arm.  Carmen  turned 
about  and  continued  her  scoriation: 

"Padre  Rosendo,  if  the  good,  pure  God  wras  willing  to  use 
Anita  to  save  me  from  Padre  Diego  and  bring  me  back  to  you, 
are  you  so  wicked  and  so  ungrateful  that  you  throw  His  love 
back  in  His  face?  Shame  on  you,  padre!  Shame!  Shame!" 

"Caramba!"  cried  Rosendo,  tears  bursting  from  his  eyes. 
"She  has  fouled  my  name— it  was  a  good  name,  though  my 
parents  were  slaves — it  was  a  good  name — and  she  blackened 
it_she—" 

"Padre  Rosendo,  there  are  only  two  names  that  have  never 
been  blackened!  Your  human  name  is  nothing — it  is  zero — 
it  counts  for  foolishness  with  God!  You  yourself  are  making 
your  name  blacker  now  than  Anita  ever  did!  She  repents,  and 
comes  to  her  father;,  and  he  is  so  much  more  wicked  than  she 
that  he  drives  her  out!— 

"Enough,  Carmen,  child!"  interrupted  Jose.  "Come,  Ro 
sendo;  go  into  the  parish  house!  Carmen,  go  with  him!" 

Carmen  hesitated.  Then  a  smile  lighted  up  her  face,  and 
she  reached  up  and  took  Rosendo's  hand.  Together  they 
passed  silently  out  and  into  the  priest's  house. 

Ana  sank  to  the  floor,  where  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  wept  violently. 

"Wait,  Ana,"  said  Jose,  tenderly  stroking  the  unhappy 
woman's  hair.  "Wait.  They  will  soon  return.  And  you  shall 
remain  here,  where  you  belong." 

A  half  hour  passed.  Then  Jose,  wondering,  went  quietly 
to  the  door  of  his  house  and  looked  in.  Rosendo  sat  at  the 
table,  with  Carmen  on  his  knees. 

258 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"And,  padre,"  the  child  was  saying,  "the  good  Jesus  told 
the  woman  not  to  sin  any  more;  and  she  went  away  happy. 
Padre,  God  has  told  Anita  not  to  sin  any  more — and  she  has 
come  to  us  to  be  happy.  We  are  going  to  make  her  so,  aren't 
we?  Padre  Diego  couldn't  hurt  me,  you  know,  for  God 
wouldn't  let  him.  And  he  hasn't  hurt  Anita — God  wouldn't 
let  him  keep  her — wouldn't  let  her  stay  with  him.  Don't  you 
see,  padre?  And  we  have  got  to  be  like  Him — we  are  like  Him, 
really.  But  now  we  have  got  to  show  it,  to  prove  it,  you  know." 

Rosendo's  head  was  bent  over  the  girl.  Neither  of  them 
saw  Jose.  The  child  went  on  with  increased  animation: 

"And,  padre  dear,  God  sends  us  Anita's  little  baby  for  us  to 
love  and  protect.  Oh,  padre,  if  the  little  one  is  a  boy,  can't  we 
call  it  Jose?" 

"Yes,  chiquita,"  Jose  heard  the  old  man  murmur  brokenly. 

"And — padre,  if  it  is  a  girl — what  shall  we  call  it?" 

The  man's  arm  tightened  about  her.  "We — we  will  call  it 
— Carmencita,"  he  whispered. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands.  "Can't  you  see,  padre,  that 
God  sends  us  Anita's  baby  so  that  Padre  Diego  shall  not  have 
it?  And  now  let's  go  and  tell  her  so,  right  away!"  she  cried, 
jumping  down. 

Jose  slipped  quickly  back  and  stood  beside  the  woman  when 
Carmen  and  Rosendo  entered  the  room.  The  old  man  went 
directly  to  his  daughter,  and,  taking  her  in  his  brawny  arms, 
raised  her  from  the  floor  and  strained  her  to  his  breast.  Tears 
streamed  down  his  swart  cheeks,  and  the  words  he  would  utter 
choked  and  hung  in  his  throat. 

"Padre,"  whispered  the  delighted  child,  "shall  I  tell  her 
our  names  for  the  baby?" 

Jose  turned  and  stole  softly  from  the  room.  Divine  Love 
was  there,  and  its  dazzling  effulgence  blinded  him.  In  the 
quiet  of  his  own  chamber  he  sought  to  understand  the  marvel 
ous  goodness  of  God  to  them  that  serve  Him. 


CHAPTER  27 

THE  reversal  of  a  life-current  is  not  always  effected  sud 
denly,  nor  amid  the  din  of  stirring  events,  nor  yet  in  an 
environment  that  we  ourselves  might  choose  as  an  appro 
priate  setting.     It  comes  in  the  fullness  of  time,  and  amid  such 
scenes  as  the  human  mind  which  undergoes  the  transforma 
tion  may  see  externalized  within  its  own  consciousness  by  the 
working  of  the  as  yet  dimly  perceived  laws  of  thought. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Perhaps  some  one,  skilled  in  the  discernment  of  mental 
laws  and  their  subtle,  irresistible  working,  might  have  pre 
dicted  the  fate  which  overtook  the  man  Jose,  the  fulsome  de 
tails  of  which  are  herein  being  recounted.  Perhaps  such  a 
one  might  say  in  retrospect  that  the  culmination  of  years  of 
wrong  thinking,  of  false  beliefs  closely  cherished,  of  attach 
ment  to  fear,  to  doubt,  and  to  wrong  concepts  of  God,  had  been 
externalized  at  length  in  eddying  the  man  upon  this  far  verge 
of  civilization,  still  clinging  feebly  to  the  tattered  fragments  of 
a  blasted  life.  But  it  would  have  been  a  skilled  prognostician, 
indeed,  who  could  have  foreseen  the  renewal  of  this  wasted 
life  in  that  of  the  young  girl,  to  whom  during  the  past  four 
years  Jose  de  Rincon  had  been  transferring  his  own  unreal 
ized  hopes  and  his  vast  learning,  but  without  the  dross  of  in 
herited  or  attached  beliefs,  and  without  taint  of  his  native 
vacillation  and  indecision  of  mind. 

For  what  he  had  been  striving  to  fit  her,  he  knew  not.  But 
in  a  vaguely  outlined  way  he  knew  that  he  was  being  used  as 
a  tool  to  shape  in  some  degree  the  mental  development  of  this 
strange  girl.  Nor,  indeed,  as  the  years  passed,  did  she  con 
tinue  to  seem  so  strange  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  now 
thought  it  more  marvelous  by  far  that  the  world,  after  nine 
teen  centuries  of  Christianity,  did  not  think  and  act  more  as 
did  this  girl,  whose  religious  instruction  he  knew  to  have  been 
garnered  at  the  invisible  hand  of  God.  That  she  must  some 
day  leave  him,  despite  her  present  earnest  protestations,  he 
felt  to  be  inevitable.  And  the  thought  pierced  his  soul  like  a 
lance.  But  he  could  not  be  certain  that  with  maturity  she 
would  wish  to  remain  always  in  the  primitive  environment  in 
which  she  had  been  nurtured.  Nor  could  he,  even  if  she  were 
willing,  immolate  her  upon  the  barb  of  his  own  selfishness. 

As  for  himself,  the  years  had  but  seemed  to  increase  the 
conviction  that  he  could  never  leave  the  Church,  despite  his 
anomalous  position  and  despite  his  renewed  life — unless,  in 
deed,  she  herself  cast  him  forth.  Each  tenderly  hopeful  letter 
from  his  proud,  doting  mother  only  added  to  this  conviction 
by  emphasizing  the  obstacles  opposing  such  a  course.  Her 
declining  years  were  now  spent  among  the  mental  pictures 
which  she  hourly  drew  upon  the  canvas  of  her  imagination, 
pictures  in  which  her  beloved  son,  chastened  and  purified,  had 
at  length  come  into  the  preferment  which  had  always  awaited 
loyal  scions  of  the  house  of  Rincon.  Hourly  she  saw  the  day 
draw  nearer  when  he  should  be  restored  to  her  yearning  arms. 
Each  dawn  threw  its  first  rays  upon  his  portrait,  which  hung 
where  her  waking  eyes  might  open  upon  it.  Each  night  the 
shadow  cast  by  the  candle  which  always  burned  beneath  it 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


seemed  to  her  eager  sight  to  crown  that  fair  head  with  a 
bishop's  mitre — a  cardinal's  hat — aye,  at  times  she  even  saw 
the  triple  crown  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  resting  upon  those  raven 
locks.  Jose  knew  this.  If  her  own  pen  did  not  always  correct 
ly  delineate  her  towering  hopes,  his  astute  uncle  did  not  fail 
to  fill  in  whatever  hiatus  remained.  And  the  pressure  of  filial 
devotion  and  pride  of  race  at  times  completely  smothered  within 
him  the  voice  of  Truth  which  Carmen  continually  sounded, 
and  made  him  resolve  often  that  on  the  day  when  she  should 
leave  him  he  would  bury  his  head  in  the  lap  of  Mother  Church 
and  submit  without  further  resistance  to  the  sable  veil  of  as 
sumed  authority  which  he  knew  she  would  draw  across  his 
mind.  Convincing  as  were  the  proofs  which  had  come  to  him 
of  the  existence  of  a  great  demonstrable  principle  which  the 
Christ  had  sought  to  make  a  dull  world  recognize,  nevertheless 
he  had  as  yet  failed  to  rise  permanently  above  the  mesmerism 
of  human  belief,  which  whispered  into  his  straining  ears  that 
he  must  not  strive  to  progress  beyond  his  understanding,  lest, 
in  the  attempt  to  gain  too  rapidly,  he  lose  all.  To  sink  into 
the  arms  of  Mother  Church  and  await  the  orderly  revelation  of 
Truth  were  less  dangerous  now  than  a  precipitate  severance 
of  all  ties  and  a  launching  forth  into  strange  seas  with  an 
untried  compass. 

The  arguments  to  which  he  listened  were  insidious.  True, 
they  reasoned,  he  had  seemed  to  see  the  working  of  mental 
law  in  his  own  restoration  to  health  when  he  had  first  come  to 
Simiti.  He  had  seemed  to  see  Rosendo  likewise  restored.  But 
these  instances,  after  all,  might  have  been  casual.  That  Car 
men  had  had  aught  to  do  with  them,  no  one  could  positively 
affirm.  True,  he  had  seen  her  protected  in  certain  unmistak 
able  ways.  But — others  were  likewise  protected,  even  where 
there  had  been  no  thought  of  an  immanent,  sheltering  God. 
True,  the  incident  of  the  epidemic  in  Simiti  two  years  before 
had  impressed  upon  him  the  serious  consequences  of  fear, 
and  the  blighting  results  of  false  belief.  He  had  profited  by 
that  lesson.  But  he  could  not  hope  suddenly  to  empty  his 
mentality  of  its  content  of  human  thought;  nor  did  wisdom 
advise  the  attempt.  He  had  at  first  tried  to  rise  too  rapidly. 
His  frequent  backsliding  frightened  and  warned  him. 

Thus,  while  the  days  sped  by,  did  the  priest's  thought  ebb 
and  flow.  As  morn  broke,  and  the  gallant  sun  drove  the  cow 
ardly  shadows  of  night  across  the  hills,  his  own  courage  rose, 
and  he  saw  in  Carmen  the  pure  reflection  of  the  Mind  which 
was  in  Christ  Jesus.  As  night  fell,  and  darkness  slunk  back 
again  and  held  the  field,  so  returned  the  legion  of  fears  and 
doubts  that  battled  for  his  soul.  Back  and  forth  in  the  arena 

261 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  his  consciousness  strove  the  combatants,  while  he  rushed 
irresolutely  to  and  fro,  now  bearing  the  banner  of  the  powers 
of  light,  now  waving  aloft,  though  with  sinking  heart,  the 
black  flag  of  the  carnal  host.  For  a  while  after  his  arrival  in 
Simiti  he  had  seemed  to  rise  rapidly  into  the  consciousness 
of  good  as  all-in-all.  But  the  strain  which  had  been  constantly 
upon  him  had  prevented  the  full  recognition  of  all  that  Carmen 
saw,  and  each  rise  was  followed  by  a  fall  that  left  him  for  long 
periods  immersed  in  despair. 

Following  the  return  of  Carmen  and  the  ripple  of  excite 
ment  which  her  abduction  had  spread  over  the  wonted  calm 
of  Simiti,  the  old  town  settled  back  again  into  its  accustomed 
lethargy,  and  Jose  and  the  girl  resumed  their  interrupted 
work.  From  Ana  it  was  learned  that  Diego  had  not  voiced 
the  command  of  Wenceslas  in  demanding  the  girl;  and  when 
this  became  known  the  people  rose  in  a  body  to  her  support. 
Don  Mario,  though  he  threatened  loudly,  knew  in  his  heart 
he  was  beaten.  He  knew,  likewise,  that  any  further  hostile 
move  on  his  part  would  result  in  a  demand  by  the  people  for 
his  removal  from  office.  He  therefore  retired  sulking  to  the 
seclusion  of  his  patio,  where  he  sat  down  patiently  to  await 
the  turn  of  events. 

Rosendo,  his  great  heart  softened  toward  his  erring  daugh 
ter,  again  rejoiced  in  the  reunion  of  his  broken  family  circle. 
But  his  soul  burned  within  him  as,  day  after  day,  he  saw  Ana 
move  silently  about  like  a  sorrow  incarnate.  At  times,  when 
perchance  he  would  come  upon  her  huddled  in  a  corner  and 
weeping  quietly,  he  would  turn  away,  cursing  deeply  and 
swearing  fulsome  vengeance  upon  the  lecherous  beast  who 
had  wrought  her  ruin. 

"Padre,"  he  one  day  said  to  Jose,  "I  shall  kill  him — I  know 
it.  The  girl's  suffering  is  breaking  my  heart.  He  is  like  an  evil 
cloud  hanging  always  over  my  family.  I  hate  him!  I  hate 
him,  as  the  devil  hates  the  light!  And  I  shall  kill  him.  Be 
prepared."  And  Jose  offered  no  remonstrance,  for  the  case 
lay  not  in  his  hands. 

Carmen  again  entered  upon  her  interrupted  studies  with 
ardent  enthusiasm.  And  her  first  demand  was  that  she  be 
allowed  to  plunge  into  a  searching  study  of  the  Bible.  "Padre," 
she  exclaimed,  "it  is  a  wonderful  book!  Why — do  the  people 
in  the  world  know  what  a  book  this  is?  For  if  they  did,  they 
would  never  be  sick  or  unhappy  again!" 

He  knew  not  how  to  answer  her.  And  there  was  no  need 
that  he  should. 

"Padre!"  Her  eyes  were  aflame  with  holy  light.  "See! 
Here  it  is — the  whole  thing!  'Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way, 

262 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts.'  But — don't  the  people 
know  what  that  means?" 

"Well,  chiqnita,  and  what  does  it  mean?"  he  asked  in 
dulgently. 

"Why — the  unrighteous  man  is  the  man  who  thinks  wrong 
thoughts — thoughts  of  power  opposed  to  God — thoughts  of  sin, 
of  sickness,  of  accidents,  and  all  sorts  of  evil  things — beliefs 
that  these  things  are  real,  and  that  God  made  or  caused  them!" 

"Bien,  and  you  think  the  Bible  speaks  truth?" 

"Padre!  how  can  you  ask  that?  Why,  it  says  right  here 
that  it  is  given  by  inspiration!  That  means  that  the  men  or 
women  who  wrote  it  thought  God's  thoughts!" 

"That  He  wrote  it,  you  mean?" 

"No,  but  that  those  who  wrote  it  were — well,  were  cleaner 
window-panes  than  other  people — that  they  were  so  clean  that 
the  light  shone  through  them  better  than  it  did  through 
others." 

"And  what  do  you  think  now  about  Jesus?"  he  inquired. 

"Why,  as  you  once  said,  that  he  was  the  very  cleanest 
window-pane  of  all!"  she  quickly  replied. 

From  that  hour  the  Bible  was  the  girl's  constant  companion. 
Daily  she  pored  over  it,  delighted,  enraptured.  Jose  marveled 
at  her  immediate  spiritual  grasp.  Instead  of  the  world's  man 
ner  of  looking  upon  it  as  only  a  collection  of  beautiful  promises 
and  admonitions,  she  saw  within  it  the  statement  of  a  prin 
ciple  that  offered  itself  as  a  mighty  tool  with  \vhich  to  work 
out  humanity's  every-day  problems  here  and  now.  From  the 
first  she  began  to  make  out  little  lists  of  collated  scriptural 
verses,  so  arranging  them  that  she  could  read  in  them  a  com 
plete  expression  of  an  idea  of  God.  These  she  would  bring  to 
Jose  and,  perching  herself  upon  his  lap,  would  expound  them, 
to  her  own  great  delight  and  the  wonder  of  the  man  who 
listened. 

"See,  Padre,"  she  said,  holding  up  one  of  these  lists,  "it  says 
that  'in  that  day'  whatever  we  ask  of  him  will  be  given  to  us. 
Well,  'that  day'  means  when  we  have  washed  our  window- 
panes  clean,  and  the  light  shines  through  so  clear  that  we  can 
ask  in  His  name.  It  means  when  we  have  stopped  saying 
that  two  and  two  are  seven." 

"Which  means,"  Jose  interpolated,  "asking  in  his  char 
acter." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "for  then  we  will  be  just  like  him.  And 
then  whatever  we  ask  'believing'  will  be  given  to  us,  for  'be 
lieving'  will  then  be  'understanding,'  will  it  not?  When  we 
know — really  know — that  we  have  things,  why — why,  we  have 
them,  that's  all!" 

263 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


She  did  not  wait  for  his  reply,  but  went  on  enthusiastic 
ally: 

"You  know,  Padre,  in  order  to  be  like  him  we  have  got  to 
'seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteousness' — His 
right-thinking.  Well,  Jesus  said  the  kingdom  of  God  was 
within  us.  Of  course  it  is,  for  it  is  all  a  question  of  right- 
thinking.  When  we  think  right,  then  our  right  thoughts  will 
be — what  you  said — 

"Externalized,"  he  supplied. 

"Yes.  We  wjll  see  them  all  around  us,  instead  of  seeing, 
as  we  do  now,  a  lot  of  jumbled-up  thoughts  of  good  and  evil 
which  we  call  people  and  things.  They  will  all  be  good  then. 
And  then  will  be  the  time  when  'God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears.' 
It  is,  as  you  say  in  English,  'up  to  us'  to  bring  this  about.  It 
is  not  for  God  to  do  it  at  all.  Don't  you  see  that  He  has  already 
done  His  part?  He  has  made  everything,  and  'behold  it  was 
very  good.'  Well,  He  doesn't  have  to  do  it  all  over  again,  does 
He?  No.  But  we  have  got  to  wash  our  windows  clean  and  let 
in  the  light  that  comes  from  Him.  That  light  comes  from  Him 
all  the  time,  just  as  the  beams  come  from  the  sun,  without 
ever  stopping.  We  never  have  to  ask  the  sun  to  shine,  do  we? 
And  neither  do  we  have  to  ask  God  to  be  good  to  us,  nor  tell 
Him  what  we  think  He  ought  to  do  for  us.  We  only  have  to 
know  that  He  is  good,  to  us  and  to  everything,  all  the  time." 

"Yes,  chiquita,  we  must  be  truly  baptised." 

"That  is  what  it  means  to  be  baptised,  Padre — just  wash 
ing  our  window-panes  so  clean  that  the  light  \vill  come  in." 

"And  that  light,  little  one,  is  truth.  It  certainly  is  a  new 
way  of  looking  at  it,  at  least,  chiquita." 

"But,  Padre,  it  is  the  only  way,"  she  persisted. 

"Bien,  I  would  not  say  that  you  were  mistaken,  Carmen." 

"No,  Padre,  for  we  can  prove  it.  And,  look  here,"  she  con 
tinued,  referring  to  her  list.  "If  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is 
within  us,  then  everything  that  comes  to  us  in  life  comes  from 
within,  and  not  from  without.  And  so,  things  never  happen, 
do  they?  Don't  you  see?" 

"I  see,"  he  replied  seriously,  "that  from  the  mouths  of  babes 
and  sucklings  comes  infinite  wisdom." 

"Well,  Padre  dear,  wisdom  is  God's  light,  and  it  comes 
through  any  one  who  is  clean.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference 
how  old  or  young  that  person  is.  Years  mean  nothing  but — 
but  zero." 

"How  can  you  say  that,  chiquita?" 

"Why,  Padre,  is  God  old?" 

"No.     He  is  always  the  same." 

"And  we  are  really  like  Him?" 

264 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"The  real  'we' — yes." 

"Well,  the  unreal  'we'  is  already  zero.  Didn't  you  yourself 
say  that  the  human,  mortal  man  was  a  product  of  false  thought, 
thought  that  was  the  opposite  of  God's  thought,  and  so  no 
thought  at  all?  Didn't  you  say  that  such  thought  was  illusion 
— the  lie  ahout  God  and  what  He  has  made?  Then  isn't  the 
human  'we'  zero?" 

"Well — but — chiquita,  it  is  often  hard  for  me  to  see  any 
thing  but  this  sort  of  'we,'  "  returned  the  man  dejectedly. 

"Oh,  Padre!"  she  entreated,  "why  will  you  not  try  to  look 
at  something  else  than  the  human  man?  Look  at  God's  man, 
the  image  of  infinite  mind.  You  have  got  to  do  it,  you  know, 
some  time.  Jesus  said  so.  He  said  that  every  man  would  have 
to  overcome.  That  means  turning  away  from  the  thoughts 
that  are  externalized  as  sin  and  sickness  and  evil,  and  looking 
only  at  God's  thoughts — and,  what  is  more,  sticking  to  them!" 

"Yes,"  dubiously,  "I  suppose  we  must  some  time  overcome 
every  belief  in  anything  opposed  to  God." 

"Well,  but  need  that  make  you  unhappy?  It  is  just  because 
you  still  cling  to  the  belief  that  there  is  other  power  than  God 
that  you  get  so  discouraged  and  mixed  up.  Can't  you  let  go? 
Try  it !  Why,  I  would  try  it  even  if  a  whole  mountain  fell  on 
me!" 

And  Jose  could  but  clasp  the  earnest  girl  in  his  arms  and 
vow  that  he  would  try  again  as  never  before. 

****** 

Meantime,  while  Jose  and  his  little  student-teacher  were 
delving  into  the  inexhaustible  treasury  of  the  Word;  while  the 
peaceful  days  came  into  their  lives  and  went  out  again  almost 
unperceived,  the  priest  Diego  left  the  bed  upon  which  he  had 
been  stretched  for  many  weeks,  and  hobbled  painfully  about 
upon  his  scarcely  mended  ankle.  While  a  prisoner  upon  his 
couch  his  days  had  been  filled  with  torture.  Try  as  he  might, 
he  could  not  beat  down  the  vision  which  constantly  rose  before 
him,  that  of  the  beautiful  girl  who  had  been  all  but  his.  He 
cursed;  he  raved;  he  vowed  the  foulest  vengeance.  And  then 
he  cried  piteously,  as  he  lay  chained  to  his  bed — cried  for  some 
thing  that  seemed  to  take  human  shape  in  her.  He  protested 
that  he  loved  her;  that  he  adored  her;  that  without  her  he  was 
but  a  blasted  cedar.  His  nurses  fled  his  bedside.  His  physician 
stopped  his  ears.  Only  Don  Antonio  was  found  low  enough  in 
thought  to  withstand  the  flow  of  foul  language  which  issued 
from  the  baffled  Diego's  thick  lips  while  he  moved  about  in 
attendance  upon  the  unhappy  priest's  needs. 

Then  came  from  the  acting-Bishop,  Wenceslas,  a  mandate 
commissioning  Diego  upon  a  religio-political  mission  to  the 

265 

27 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


interior  city  of  Medellin.  The  now  recovered  priest  smiled 
grimly  when  he  read  it.  Then  he  summoned  Ricardo. 

"Prepare  yourself,  amigo,"  he  said,  "for  a  work  of  the  Lord. 
I  go  into  the  interior.  You  accompany  me  as  far  as  Badillo, 
where  we  disembark  for  stinking  Simiti.  And,  amigo,  do  you 
secure  a  trustworthy  companion.  The  work  may  be  heavy. 
Meantime,  my  blessing  and  absolution." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  despatched  a  long  letter  to  Don 
Mario. 


CHAPTER  28 

OSENDO,"  said  Jose  one  morning  .shortly  thereafter,  as 
the  old  man  entered  the  parish  house  for  a  little  chat, 
"a  Decree  has  been  issued  recently  by  the  Sacred  Con 
gregation  of  the  Holy  Office  whereby,  instead  of  the  cloth 
scapulary  which  you  are  wearing,  a  medal  may  be  substituted. 
I  have  received  several  from  Cartagena.  Will  you  exchange 
yours?" 

"Cierto,  Padre — but,"  he  hesitated,  "is  the  new  one  just 
as— 

"To  be  sure,  amigo.  It  carries  the  same  indulgences.  See," 
exhibiting  the  medal.  "The  Sacred  Heart  and  the  blessed  Vir 
gin.  But  I  have  arranged  it  to  wear  about  the  neck." 

Rosendo  knelt  reverently  and  crossed  himself  while  Jose 
hung  the  new  scapulary  over  his  head.  The  old  man  beamed 
his  joy.  "Caramba!"  he  exclaimed,  rising,  "but  I  believe  this 
one  will  keep  off  more  devils  than  that  old  cloth  thing  you  made 
for  me!" 

"Why,  Rosendo!"  admonished  Jose,  repressing  a  smile,  "did 
I  not  bless  that  one  before  the  altar?" 

"CiVr/o,  Padre,  and  1  beg  a  thousand  pardons.  It  was  the 
blessing,  wasn't  it?  Not  the  cloth.  But  this  one,"  regarding 
it  reverently,  "this  one — " 

"Oh,  yes,  this  one,"  put  in  Jose,  "carries  the  blessing  of 
His  Grace,  acting-Bishop  Wenceslas." 

"And  a  Bishop  is  always  very  holy,  is  he  not,  Padre?" 
queried  Rosendo.  "It  makes  no  difference  who  he  is,  for  the 
office  makes  him  holy,  is  it  not  so,  Padre?" 

"Oh,  without  doubt,"  returned  Jose,  his  thought  reverting 
to  the  little  Maria  and  the  babe  which  for  four  years  he  had 
been  supporting  in  distant  Cartagena. 

"Na,  Padre,"  remonstrated  Rosendo,  catching  the  insinua 
tion,  "we  must  not  speak  ill  of  the  Bishop,  lest  he  be  a  Saint  to 
morrow!  But,  Padre,"  he  went  on,  changing  the  topic,  "I 

266 


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came  to  tell  you  that  Don  Luis  has  given  me  a  contract  to  cut 
wood  for  him  on  the  island.  A  quantity,  too.  Hombre!  I  shall 
earn  much  money  by  its  terms.  1  set  out  to-morrow  morning 
before  daybreak." 

Jose  reflected.  The  man's  words  aroused  within  him  a 
faint  suspicion.  Don  Luis  and  the  Alcalde  were  boon  com 
panions.  Jose  wondered  if  in  this  commission  he  could  see  the 
gloved  hand  of  Don  Mario.  But  he  gave  no  hint  of  his  thought 
to  Rosendo. 

The  next  morning,  long  before  sun-up,  a  mist  lay  thick  over 
the  valley,  so  thick  that  Rosendo,  as  he  made  his  way  down  to 
the  lake,  scarce  could  distinguish  the  road  ahead  of  him.  The 
dry  season  had  passed,  and  the  rains  were  now  setting  in.  As 
he  hurried  along,  the  old  man  mused  dubiously  on  the  contract 
which  Don  Luis  had  made  with  him.  To  cut  wood  in  the  rainy 
season! — but,  after  all,  that  was  no  concern  of  his.  And  yet — 
wrhy  had  Padre  Jose  grown  suddenly  quiet  when  he  learned  of 
the  contract  yesterday?  His  bare  feet  fell  softly  upon  the 
shales,  and  he  proceeded  more  cautiously  as  he  neared  the 
water's  edge. 

"Hombre!"  he  muttered,  striving  to  penetrate  the  mist; 
"only  a  loco  ventures  out  on  the  lake  in  such  weather!" 

He  reached  the  boat,  and  placed  in  it  the  rope  and  axe 
which  he  had  brought.  Then,  still  troubled  in  thought,  he  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  canoe  and  dropped  into  a  puzzled 
meditation. 

Suddenly  through  the  fog  he  heard  a  sound.  Somebody  was 
approaching.  A  fisherman,  perhaps.  But  fishermen  do  not  go 
out  on  the  lake  in  dense  fogs,  he  remembered.  The  tread 
sounded  nearer.  He  waited,  speculating.  Then  through  the 
mist  loomed  the  thick  body  of  a  man.  Straining  his  eyes,  Ro 
sendo  recognized  Padre  Diego. 

With  a  bound  the  old  man  was  upon  his  feet.  His  thick 
arm  shot  out  like  a  catapult;  and  his  great  fist,  meeting  Diego 
squarely  upon  the  temple,  felled  him  like  an  ox. 

For  a  moment  Rosendo  stood  over  the  prostrate  priest,  like 
a  lion  above  its  prey.  Then  he  reached  into  the  canoe  and  drew 
out  the  axe.  Holding  it  aloft,  he  stood  an  instant  poised  above 
the  senseless  man;  then  with  a  mighty  swing  he  whirled  about 
and  hurled  it  far  out  into  the  lake.  He  seemed  suddenly  bereft 
of  his  senses.  Incoherent  muttering  issued  from  his  trembling 
lips.  He  looked  about  in  bewilderment.  A  thought  seemed 
to  impress  him.  He  took  the  rope  from  the  boat  and  quickly 
bound  Diego  hand  and  foot.  This  done,  he  picked  up  the  un 
conscious  priest  and  tossed  him  into  the  canoe  as  if  he  had 
been  a  billet  of  wood.  Jumping  in  after  him,  he  hastily  pushed 

2  267 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


off  from  the  shore  and  paddled  vigorously  in  the  direction  of 
the  island.  Why  he  was  doing  this  he  had  not  the  faintest 
idea. 

It  was  all  the  work  of  a  few  seconds;  yet  when  his  reason 
came  again  Rosendo  found  himself  far  out  in  the  thick  fog, 
and  his  prisoner  moaning  softly  as  consciousness  slowly  re 
turned.  The  sense  of  direction  which  these  sons  of  the  jungle 
possess  is  almost  infallible,  and  despite  the  watery  cloud  which 
enveloped  him,  the  old  man  held  his  course  undeviatingly  to 
ward  the  distant  isle,  into  the  low,  muddy  shore  of  which  his 
boat  at  length  forced  its  way  under  the  impulse  of  his  great 
arms. 

The  island,  a  low  patch  a  few  acres  in  extent,  lay  far  out 
in  the  lake  like  a  splotch  of  green  paint  on  a  plate  of  glass.  Its 
densely  wooded  surface,  rising  soft  and  oozy  only  a  few  feet 
above  the  water,  was  destitute  of  human  habitation,  but  af 
forded  a  paradise  for  swarms  of  crawling  and  flying  creatures, 
which  now  scattered  in  alarm  at  the  approach  of  these  early 
visitors  coming  so  unexpectedly  out  of  the  heavy  fog. 

When  the  canoe  grounded,  Rosendo  sprang  out  and  pulled 
it  well  up  into  the  mud.  Then  he  lifted  the  priest  out  and  stag 
gered  into  the  thick  brush,  where  he  threw  his  burden  heavily 
upon  the  ground.  Leaving  his  prisoner  for  a  moment,  he 
seized  his  machete  and  began  to  cut  back  into  the  brush.  A 
grunt  of  satisfaction  came  from  his  lips.  Returning  to  the  now 
conscious  Diego,  he  grasped  the  rope  which  bound  him  and 
dragged  him  along  the  newly  opened  trail  into  a  little  clearing 
which  lay  beyond.  There  he  propped  him  up  against  a  huge 
cedar.  As  he  did  this,  Diego's  mouth  opened  wide  and  a  pierc 
ing  scream  issued.  "Ricardo — help!"  he  called. 

The  cry  echoed  dismally  across  the  desolate  island.  In  an 
instant  Rosendo  was  upon  him,  \vith  his  knife  clutched  in  his 
fist.  "Repeat  that,  cayman,"  he  cried  furiously,  "and  this  finds 
your  wicked  heart!" 

The  craven  Diego  shook  with  fear;  but  he  fell  silent  before 
the  threat  of  the  desperate  man  into  whose  hands  he  had  so 
unwittingly  fallen. 

Rosendo  stepped  back  and  stood  before  his  captive,  regard 
ing  him  uncertainly.  Diego's  quick  intuition  did  not  fail  to 
read  the  old  man's  perplexity;  and  his  own  hope  revived  ac 
cordingly.  It  was  a  pretty  trick,  this  of  Rosendo's — but,  after 
all,  he  would  not  dare  too  much.  Diego  gradually  became  easier 
in  mind.  He  even  smiled  unctuously  at  his  captor. 

"Bien,  amigo,"  he  said  at  length,  "is  this  your  customary 
reception  to  visitors  in  your  village?  Caramba!  but  what  will 
the  good  Bishop  say  when  he  learns  that  you  have  thus  mis 
treated  his  trusted  agent?" 

268 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rosendo  stood  before  him  like  a  statue.  His  thought  was 
confused,  and  it  moved  slowly.  In  the  cries  of  the  disturbed 
birds  he  seemed  now  to  hear  the  warning  voice  of  Carmen.  In 
the  watery  vapor  that  rolled  over  him  he  seemed  to  feel  the 
touch  of  her  soft,  restraining  hand. 

"Bicn,  compadre,"  purred  Diego,  "would  it  not  be  well  for 
you  to  loosen  this  bit  of  thread,  that  we  may  make  our  way 
back  to  the  village?  Caramba!  but  it  cuts  sore — and  I  am  soft, 
my  friend,  for  I  have  been  ill." 

Rosendo's  wrath  flared  up  anew.  "What  made  you  ill, 
cayman?"  he  shouted,  drawing  nearer  to  the  shrinking  Diego 
and  shaking  a  great  fist  in  his  face.  "What  made  you  ill,  buz 
zard?  Caramba!  I  would  that  your  illness  had  carried  you 
off  and  saved  me  the  task  of  sending  you  down  to  purgatory!" 

Diego  became  thoroughly  alarmed  again.  "But — Rosendo 
— caro  amigo,  let  us  reason  together!  Ah,  compadre — loosen 
but  a  little  this  rope  which  cuts  into  my  tender  skin  as  your 
bitter  words  do  into  my  soul!" 

•t'Na,  vulture,  but  you  will  drown  more  quickly  thus!"  re 
torted  Rosendo,  his  huge  frame  trembling  with  agitation. 

Diego's  heart  stopped.  Then  he  sought  to  collect  himself. 
He  was  in  a  desperate  plight.  But  the  man  before  him  was  an 
ignorant  peon.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  set  his 
own  wit  against  another's  brute  strength.  The  ever-present 
memory  of  the  girl  became  more  vivid.  It  glowed  before  him. 
What  was  it  she  had  said?  "You  see  only  your  thoughts  of 
me — and  they  are  very  bad!"  Was  he  seeing  now  only  his 
own  bad  thoughts?  But  she  had  said  they  were  unreal.  And 
this  episode — Hombre!  he  \vould  not  be  afraid.  His  thought 
was  vastly  more  powerful  than  that  of  a  simple  peon!  He 
smiled  again  at  his  fear. 

"But,  amigo,"  he  resumed  gently,  "if  you  had  wished  to 
drown  me,  why  did  you  bring  me  here?  But— ah,  well,  I  have 
long  been  prepared  to  go.  I  have  been  sadly  misunderstood — 
disbelieved — persecuted!  Ah,  friend  Rosendo,  if  you  could 
know  what  I  do — but— Bien,  it  is  of  no  consequence  now. 
Come,  then,  good  fellow,  despatch  me  quickly!  I  have  made 
my  peace  with  God."  Diego  ceased  talking  and  began  to  mur 
mur  prayers. 

Rosendo  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  The  wind  was  being 
taken  from  his  sails.  Diego  noted  the  effect,  and  resumed  his 
speech.  His  voice  was  low  and  soft,  and  at  times  great  tears 
rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"Rosendo,  friend,  I  wash  to  go.  I  weary  of  life.  There  is 
no  stain  upon  my  soul.  And  yet,  I  grieve  that  you  must  tar 
nish  yours  with  my  blood.  But,"  his  eyes  brightening  and  his 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


tone  becoming  more  animated,  "Rosendo,  I  will  pray  the  blessed 
Virgin  for  you.  When  I  am  with  her  in  paradise  I  will  ask  her 
to  beg  the  gentle  Saviour  to  forgive  you.  Bien,  good  friend,  we 
shall  all  be  together  in  heaven  some  day."  He  started  his 
orisons  again,  and  soon  was  praying  like  a  locomotive:  "Ora 
pro  nobis!  Santa  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis!" 

He  stopped  and  sighed  gently.  Rosendo  stood  stupidly  be 
fore  him. 

"Rosendo — I  must  say  this  before  I  die — I  came  to  Simiti  to 
see  you.  I  was  approaching  the  boat  to  hold  converse  with 
you.  But,  you  struck  me — there,  que  importa!  And  yet — it 
was  about  the  gentle  Ana,  your  beautiful  daughter —  But, 
wait,  Rosendo — God  above!  hear  me  through — " 

Rosendo  had  started  again  toward  him. 

"Good  friend,  hear  me  first,  then  kill  me  quickly,  for  I 
much  desire  to  go  to  my  home  above!"  Diego  spoke  rapidly. 
The  impression  must  be  made  upon  Rosendo  at  once,  or  all  was 
lost.  The  wily  priest  knew  the  peon  mind. 

"Bien,  good  friend,  you  have  misunderstood  me.  But  I  -for 
give  you.  I — Rosendo — I — you  will  keep  my  secret,  will  you 
not?  Bien,  I  have  left  the  Church.  I  am  no  longer  a  priest. 
It  was  for  good  reasons  that  God  took  me  from  the  priesthood 
for  other  work  in  His  field.  Bien,  the  bonds  of  celibacy  re 
moved,  behold!  my  first  thought  is  for  my  beautiful  Ana.  I 
came  to  ask  you  for  her  hand.  I  would  render  legitimate  her 
unborn  child.  I  would  return  to  her  the  peace  which  she  lost 
when  we  became  so  deeply  enamored  of  each  other.  Rosendo, 
I  have  come  to  Simiti  to  lay  my  life  before  you — to  yield  it  to 
the  mother  of  my  child — to  offer  it  in  future  service  as  a  recom 
pense  for  the  unhappiness  which,  the  Virgin  knows,  I  did  not 
willingly  bring  upon  her,  or  you!" 

Rosendo's  head  was  now  in  a  whirl.  His  eyes  protruded, 
and  his  mouth  was  agape.  "But — the  little  Carmen — "  he  mut 
tered. 

"Alas!  friend,"  said  Diego  sadly,  shaking  his  head,  while  he 
quickly  grasped  the  cue,  "I  have  ceased  my  endeavors  to  make 
you  believe  that  she  is  my  child.  Caramba!  I  can  only  leave 
it  to  the  blessed  Virgin  to  restore  her  to  me  when  we  have 
both  passed  the  portals  of  death." 

"You  still  claim  to  be  her  father?     You — !" 

"Caro  amigo,"  returned  Diego  gently,  "in  these  last  moments 
I  see  in  her  the  beautiful  image  of  her  blessed  mother,  who  was 
taken  from  me  long  before  I  met  and  loved  your  Ana.  But  I 
despair  of  enforcing  my  claim.  I  await  now  the  reunion  which 
death  alone  can  effect.  And  so,  friend,  be  quick!  But  do  not 
make  me  suffer.  Drown  me  not,  I  pray  you,  but  rather  open 

270 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


an  artery  and  let  me  fall  gently  asleep  here  beneath  this  noble 
tree." 

A  light  came  into  Rosendo's  troubled  eyes.  A  cunning  smile 
lurked  about  his  mouth. 

"Bien  pu.cs,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish, -vulture,"  he  replied  in 
a  tone  which  again  struck  terror  to  Diego's  heart.  He  drew  his 
knife  and  approached  the  horrified  priest. 

"Caramba!"  shrieked  Diego,  shrinking  back  against  the 
tree.  "Hombre!  you  do  not  intend — 

"Why  not,  vampire?"  returned  Rosendo,  the  sardonic  smile 
spreading  across  his  grim  features.  "Did  you  not  ask  it?" 

"But — Hombre!  Back! — Caramba!  Back! — Rosendo — God 
above!  But  would  you  go  down  to  hell  with  murder  on  your 
soul?" 

"Cierto,  carrion!  I  kill  the  body.  But  you  go  down  with  a 
load  of  murdered  souls!" 

"Rosendo — God! — it  means  hell  for  eternity  to  you!" 

"To  be  sure,  dog-meat,"  calmly  replied  Rosendo.  "But  hell 
will  be  heaven  to  me  as  I  sit  forever  and  hourly  remind  you  of 
the  suffering  Ana  and  the  beautiful  Carmen,  whom  you  tried 
to  ruin!  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Ah,  God!"  Diego  saw  that  he  had  lost.  Wild  thoughts 
Hashed  through  his  mind  with  lightning  speed.  Desperation 
lent  them  wings.  A  last  expedient  came  to  him.  He  fixed  his 
beady  eyes  upon  Rosendo  and  muttered:  "Coward!  coward! 
you  bind  a  sick  man  and  stick  him  like  a  pig!" 

Rosendo  hesitated.  Diego  quickly  followed  up  his  slight 
advantage. 

"We  give  a  deer,  a  tapir,  a  jaguar,  a  chance  for  its  life.  We 
fear  them  not.  But  you — coward,  you  are  afraid  of  a  sick  man! 
And  a  priest!" 

Rosendo  could  bear  the  taunt  no  longer.  "Caramba!"  he 
cried,  "what  would  you?"  He  leaped  to  the  sitting  man  and  at 
a  stroke  severed  his  bonds.  Diego  got  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"Bien,  spew  of  the  vampire!  you  have  now  a  chance!" 

Diego  extended  his  empty  hands,  palms  up.  He  smiled 
significantly.  Rosendo  caught  the  insinuation. 

"Caramba!  take  the  knife!  Hombre!  but  I  will  kill  you 
with  my  bare  hands!"  He  threw  the  long  knife  to  Diego,  who 
stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

Stepping  quickly  back,  holding  the  weapon  firmly  clenched 
before  him,  the  priest  slowly  circled  Rosendo,  as  if  looking  for 
an  opening.  An  evil  smile  played  constantly  over  his  heavy 
face,  and  his  little  eyes  glittered  like  diamonds.  Rosendo  stood 
like  a  rock,  his  long  arms  hanging  at  his  side. 

Then,  with  a  shrill,  taunting  laugh,  Diego  turned  suddenly 

271 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


and  plunged  into  the  newly-cut  trail  toward  the  lake.     In  an 
instant  he  was  lost  in  the  fog. 

For  a  moment  Rosendo  stood  dumb  with  amazement.  Then 
he  sprang  after  the  priest.  But  it  was  too  late.  Diego  had 
reached  the  canoe,  leaped  quickly  in,  and  pushed  off.  Rosendo 
saw  the  mist  swallow  him.  He  was  left  a  prisoner,  without  a 
boat,  and  with  two  miles  of  shrouded  water  stretching  between 
him  and  the  town! 

A  low  moan  burst  from  him.  He  had  been  tricked,  out 
witted;  and  the  evil  genius  which  for  years  had  menaced  his 
happiness  was  heading  straight  toward  the  town,  where  his 
accomplice,  Ricardo,  awraited.  What  would  they  do,  now  that 
he  was  out  of  the  way?  The  thought  seared  his  brain.  Great 
beads  of  water,  distilled  from  his  agony,  burst  through  his 
pores.  The  Juncal  river  lay  off  to  the  west,  and  at  a  much  less 
distance  than  Simiti.  He  might  swim  to  it  and  secure  a  canoe 
at  the  village.  But — the  lake  was  alive  with  crocodiles! 

Chagrin  and  apprehension  overwhelmed  him,  and  he  burst 
into  a  flood  of  bitter  tears.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  ground, 
and  tossed  and  moaned  in  despair.  The  fog  thickened.  A 
twilight  darkness  settled  over  the  waters.  Nature — God  him 
self — seemed  to  conspire  with  Diego. 

Rosendo  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet.  He  drew  the  new  medal 
scapulary  around  in  front  of  him  and  kissed  it,  reverently  cross 
ing  himself.  "Santa  Virgen,"  he  prayed,  "help  me — it  is  for 
the  child!"  Then,  taking  between  his  teeth  the  knife  which 
Diego  had  dropped,  he  rushed  into  the  water  and  struck  out 
for  the  distant  village  of  Juncal. 

*  *       .         *  *  »  * 

Late  that  afternoon,  wrhile  the  tropical  rain  was  descending 
in  torrents,  Rosendo  staggered  into  the  parish  house,  where 
Carmen  and  Jose  were  absorbed  in  their  work.  "Padre!"  he 
gasped,  "Loado  sea  Dios!"  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  girl.  Then 
he  sank  to  the  floor  in  utter  exhaustion. 

"Rosendo!  what  is  it?"  cried  Jose,  bending  over  him  in  ap 
prehension,  while  Carmen  stood  lost  in  wonder. 

"Padre  Diego — !"  cried  Rosendo,  raising  himself  up  on  his 
elbow.  "Has  he  been  here?" 

"Padre  Diego!"  cried  both  Jose  and  the  girl  in  astonish 
ment.  Instinctively  Jose's  arm  went  about  the  child.  Rosendo 
dragged  himself  to  a  chair  and  sank  limply  into  it. 

"Then,  Padre,  he  will  come.  He  is  in  Simiti.  He  is  no 
longer  a  priest!" 

Slowly  the  story  came  out,  bit  by  bit.  Jose  listened  in  hor 
ror.  Carmen's  face  was  deeply  serious. 

"Bien,  Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  concluding  his  dramatic  and 

272 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


disconnected  recital,  "I  plowed  through  the  water — Caramba! 
I  knew  not  at  what  moment  I  should  feel  the  jaws  of  a  cayman 
seize  upon  me!  But  the  Virgin  had  heard  my  prayer.  I  must 
offer  a  candle  this  night.  But  I  did  not  land  at  Juncal.  It  was 
some  half  league  farther  west.  Bien,  I  was  then  glad,  for  had 
I  appeared  in  the  village,  all  would  have  said  that  I  had  mur 
dered  Diego!  And  so  I  struck  out  along  the  trail  that  skirts 
the  lake,  and  followed  it  around  until  I  came  here.  Caramba! 
but  see  how  my  feet  are  cut!  And  the  rain — Hombre!  it  beat 
me  down — I  fell  again  and  again!  And  then,  the  fear  that  I 
was  too  late — Ah,  Dios!  But  she  is  safe — Caramba!  the  Virgin 
be  praised!" 

"But,  Rosendo,"  said  Jose  anxiously,  "where  can  Diego — 

"He  is  here,  Caramba!  in  Simiti!  Hombre!  but  I  shall  set 
out  at  once  and  search  every  house!  And  he  shall  do  well  if 
he  escape  this  time!" 

But  dusk  was  falling;  and  the  old  man,  his  strength  sapped, 
listened  not  unwillingly  to  Jose's  better  counsel.  With  the 
coming  of  night  the  rain  ceased,  and  the  clouds  rolled  up  and 
slipped  down  behind  the  mountains,  leaving  the  moon  riding 
in  splendor  across  the  infinite  blue.  Then  Jose,  leaving  Car 
men  with  Rosendo,  walked  to  and  fro  through  the  streets  of 
the  old  town,  listening  and  watching.  He  wandered  down  to 
the  lake.  He  climbed  the  hill  where  stood  the  second  church. 
He  thought  he  caught  the  gleam  of  a  light  within  the  old  edi 
fice.  He  crept  nearer.  There  were  men  inside.  Their  voices 
sounded  ghostly  to  his  straining  ears. 

"But,  friend  Ricardo,  he  set  out  before  dawn,  and  is  not 
yet  returned.  I  fear  he  has  either  abandoned  us,  or  has  walked 
into  our  good  Rosendo's  jaws." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  bleating  calf!"  cried  the  other  petu 
lantly.  "It  is  more  likely  that  he  and  Don  Mario  lie  pickled  in 
rum  under  the  palms  of  the  Alcalde's  patio!" 

Jose  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  hurried  down  through  the 
main  street  and  past  the  house  of  Don  Mario.  The  door  stood 
open,  and  he  could  see  the  portly  figure  of  the  official  outlined 
against  the  back  wall.  It  was  evident  that  Diego  was  not  there. 
He  returned  in  perplexity  to  his  house  and  sat  far  into  the 
night,  musing  on  the  strange  incident. 

With  the  coming  of  the  new  day  Rosendo  appeared  with 
fresh  suggestions.  "Bien,  Padre,"  he  said,  "there  is  nothing  to 
do  now  but  take  the  girl  and  flee  to  the  Boque  river  and  to  the 
hacienda  of  Don  Nicolas." 

Jose  related  his  experience  of  the  previous  night.  Rosendo 
whistled  softly.  <(Caramba!"  he  muttered,  "but  this  is  a  mys 
tery!  And — but  here  comes  Juan." 

273 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  lad  entered  excitedly.  "Your  canoe,  Don  Rosendo — as 
I  started  out  on  the  lake  to  fish  I  saw  it,  far  in  the  distance.  I 
brought  it  in.  There  was  neither  pole  nor  paddle  in  it.  And 
it  was  half  full  of  water.  It  must  have  drifted  all  night.  Did 
it  break  away  from  its  mooring,  think  you?" 

Rosendo  looked  at  Jose.  The  latter  replied  quickly:  "That 
is  the  most  reasonable  supposition,  Juan.  But  Rosendo  is  very 
grateful  to  you  for  securing  it  again." 

When  the  lad  had  gone,  Rosendo  sat  with  bowed  head, 
deeply  perplexed. 

"The  pole  and  paddle,  Padre,  were  left  on  the  island.  I 
took  them  out  when  we  landed.  Diego  pushed  off  without 
them.  He — the  boat — it  must  have  drifted  long.  But — did  he 
land?  Or— 

He  stopped  and  scratched  his  head.  "Padre,"  he  said,  look 
ing  up  suddenly  with  an  expression  of  a\ve  upon  his  face,  "do 
you  suppose — do  you  think  that  the  Virgin — -that  she — made 
him  fall  from  the  canoe  into  the  lake — and  that  a  cayman  ate 
him?  Ca-ram-ba!" 

Jose  did  not  vouchsafe  a  reply.  But  his  heart  leaped  with 
a  great  hope.  Rosendo,  wrapped  in  profound  meditation,  wan 
dered  back  to  his  house,  his  head  bent,  and  his  hands  clasped 
tightly  behind  his  back. 


CHAPTER  29 

THE  rainy  season  dragged  its  reeking  length  through  the 
Simiti  valley  with  fearful  deliberation.  Jose  thought  that 
he  should  never  again  see  the  sun.  The  lake  steamed  like 
a  cauldron.  Great  clouds  of  heavy  vapor  rolled  incessantly  up 
ward  from  the  dripping  jungle.  The  rain  fell  in  cloud-bursts, 
and  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  town  ran  like  streams  in  a 
freshet. 

Then,  one  day,  Rosendo  abruptly  announced,  "Padre,  the 
rains  are  breaking.  The  dry  season  is  at  hand.  And  the  little 
Carmen  is  fourteen  years  old  to-day." 

It  gave  the  priest  a  shock.  He  had  been  six  years  in  Simiti ! 
And  Carmen  was  no  longer  a  child.  Youth  ripens  quickly  into 
maturity  in  these  tropic  lands.  The  past  year  had  sped  like  a 
meteor  across  an  evening  sky,  leaving  a  train  of  mingled  light 
and  darkness.  Of  Diego's  fate  Jose  had  learned  nothing.  Ri- 
cardo  and  his  companion  had  disappeared  without  causing  even 
a  ripple  of  comment  in  Simiti.  Don  Mario  remained  quiet  for 
many  weeks.  But  he  often  eyed  Jose  and  Rosendo  malignantly 

274 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


through  the  wooden  grill  at  his  window,  and  once  he  ordered 
Fernando  to  stop  Rosendo  and  ply  him  with  many  and  pointed 
questions.  The  old  man  was  noncommittal,  but  he  left  a  dark 
suspicion,  which  was  transmitted  to  the  receptive  mind  of  the 
Alcalde.  Acting-Bishop  Wenceslas  likewise  was  growing  appre 
hensive  as  the  weeks  went  by,  and  both  Jose  and  Don  Mario 
were  the  recipients  of  letters  of  inquiry  from  him  regarding  the 
whereabouts  of  the  priest  Diego.  In  the  course  of  time  came 
other  letters  from  Cartagena,  and  at  length  an  order  for  a  most 
scrutinizing  search  to  be  made  for  the  Bishop's  confidential 
agent. 

It  was  of  no  avail.  Rosendo's  oft-repeated  testimony  re 
vealed  nothing.  The  citizens  of  Simiti  had  not  seen  the  man. 
The  Alcalde  had  nothing  but  his  suspicions  to  offer.  And  these 
might  have  fallen  harmlessly  upon  the  acting-Bishop's  well 
occupied  thought,  had  it  not  been  for  the  complicating  influ 
ence  of  certain  other  events.  The  first  of  these  was  the  exhaus 
tion  of  the  gold  which  Jose  and  Carmen  had  discovered  in  the 
old  church.  The  other  was  the  outbreak  of  the  religio-political 
revolution  which  Diego  had  predicted  some  six  years  before, 
and  which,  in  these  latter  days,  Don  Jorge,  on  his  infrequent 
journeys  through  Simiti  had  repeatedly  announced  as  inevitable 
and  imminent.  Their  combined  effect  was  such  as  to  wrest 
Carmen  away  from  Jose,  and  to  set  in  a  new  direction  the  cur 
rents  of  their  lives. 

For  some  time  past  Jose  had  watched  with  growing  anxiety 
the  shrinking  of  his  gold  supply,  and  had  striven  to  lessen  the 
monthly  contributions  to  Cartagena,  meanwhile  trying  to 
know  that  the  need  now  looming  daily  larger  before  him  would 
be  met.  He  had  not  voiced  his  apprehension  to  Carmen.  But 
he  and  Rosendo  had  discussed  the  situation  long  and  earnestly, 
and  had  at  length  resolved  that  the  latter  should  again  return 
to  Guamoco  to  wash  the  Tigui  sands. 

The  old  man  sighed,  but  he  uttered  no  protest.  Yet  each 
day  Jose  thought  he  grew  quieter.  And  each  day,  too,  he 
seemed  to  become  more  tender  of  his  sad-faced  daughter,  Ana, 
and  of  the  little  grandson  who  had  come  into  his  humble  home 
only  a  few  weeks  before.  He  delayed  his  preparations  for 
specious  reasons  which  Jose  knew  cost  him  much  effort  to 
invent.  He  clung  to  Carmen.  He  told  his  rosary  often  before 
the  church  altar,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  And  at  night  he 
would  come  to  Jose  and  beg  him  to  read  from  the  Bible  and 
explain  what  he  thought  the  Saviour  had  really  meant  to  convey 
to  the  humble  fishermen  of  Galilee. 

Jose's  heart  was  wrung.  But  at  last  the  day  arrived  when 
he  had  nothing  to  send  to  Cartagena  beyond  the  mere  pittance 

275 


which  the  poor  members  of  his  little  parish  contributed.  But 
this  he  sent  as  usual.  The  next  month  he  did  the  same.  Then 
came  a  letter  from  Wenceslas,  requesting  an  explanation.  And 
then  it  was  that  Jose  realized  that  in  his  excess  of  zeal  he  had 
fallen  into  his  own  trap.  For,  having  established  the  custom  of 
remitting  a  certain  amount  to  the  Bishop  each  month,  he  must 
not  resent  now  the  implication  of  dishonesty  when  the  remit 
tances  fell  off,  or  ceased  altogether.  He  took  the  letter  to  Ro- 
sendo.  "Bien,  Padre,"  said  the  latter  slowly,  "the  time  has 
come.  I  set  out  for  Guamoco  at  dawn." 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Jose  could  frame  no  satisfactory 
reply  to  Wenceslas,  and  so  the  latter  wrote  to  the  Alcalde.  Don 
Mario  eagerly  seized  the  proffered  opportunity  to  ingratiate 
himself  into  ecclesiastical  favor.  Rosendo  was  again  in  the 
hills,  he  wrote,  and  with  supplies  not  purchased  from  him. 
Nor  had  he  been  given  even  a  hint  of  Rosendo's  mission, 
whether  it  be  to  search  again  for  La  Libertad,  or  not.  There 
could  be  no  doubt,  he  explained  in  great  detail,  of  Jose's  con 
nivance  with  Rosendo,  and  of  his  unauthorized  conduct  in  the 
matter  of  educating  the  girl,  Carmen,  who,  he  made  no  doubt, 
was  the  daughter  of  Padre  Diego — now,  alas!  probably  cold  in 
death  at  the  violent  hands  of  the  girl's  foster-father,  and  with 
the  priest  Jose's  full  approbation.  The  letter  cost  the  portly 
Don  Mario  many  a  day  of  arduous  labor;  but  it  brought  its 
reward  in  another  inquiry  from  Cartagena,  and  this  time  a  re 
quest  for  specific  details  regarding  Carmen. 

Don  Mario  bestrode  the  clouds.  He  dropped  his  customary 
well-oiled  manner,  and  carried  his  head  with  the  air  of  a  con 
queror.  His  thick  lips  became  regnant,  imperious.  He  treated 
his  compatriots  with  supercilious  disdain.  And  to  Jose  he 
would  scarce  vouchsafe  even  a  cold  nod  as  they  passed  in  the 
street.  Again  he  penned  a  long  missive  to  Cartagena,  in  which 
he  dilated  at  wearisome  length  upon  the  extraordinary  beauty  of 
the  girl,  as  well  as  her  unusual  mental  qualities.  He  urged  im 
mediate  action,  and  suggested  that  Carmen  be  sent  to  the  con 
vent  in  Mompox. 

****** 

Wenceslas  mused  long  over  the  Alcalde's  letters.  Many 
times  he  smiled  as  he  read.  Then  he  sent  for  a  young  clerical 
agent  of  the  See,  who  was  starting  on  a  mission  to  Bogota,  and 
requested  that  he  stop  off  a  day  at  Badillo  and  go  to  Simiti  to 
report  on  conditions  in  that  parish.  Incidentally,  also,  to  gather 
what  data  he  might  as  to  the  family  of  one  Rosendo  Ariza. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  agent  made  his  report.  The  parish 
of  Simiti  stood  in  need  of  a  new  Cura,  he  said.  And  the  girl — he 
found  no  words  to  describe  or  explain  her.  She  must  be  seen. 

276 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  Church  had  need  of  prompt  action,  however,  to  secure  her. 
To  that  end,  he  advised  her  immediate  removal  to  Cartagena. 

Again  Wenceslas  deliberated.  Aside  from  the  girl,  to  whom 
he  found  his  thought  reverting  oftener  than  he  could  wish  in 
that  particular  hour  of  stress,  his  interest  in  Simiti  did  not  ex 
tend  beyond  its  possibilities  as  a  further  contributor  to  the 
funds  he  was  so  greatly  needing  for  the  furtherance  of  his 
complex  political  plans.  As  to  the  Alcalde- — here  was  a  possi 
bility  of  another  sort.  That  fellow  might  become  useful.  He 
should  be  cultivated.  And  at  the  same  time  warned  against 
precipitate  action,  lest  he  scatter  Rosendo's  family  into  flight, 
and  the  graceful  bird  now  dwelling  in  the  rude  nest  escape  the 
sharp  talons  awaiting  her. 

He  called  for  his  secretary.  "Send  a  message  to  Francisco, 
our  Legate,  who  is  now  in  Bogota.  Bid  him  on  his  return  jour 
ney  stop  again  at  Simiti.  We  require  a  full  report  on  the 
character  of  the  Alcalde  of  that  town." 

****** 

Meantime,  Jose  did  not  permit  his  mental  torture  to  inter 
fere  with  Carmen's  education.  For  six  years  now  that  had 
progressed  steadily.  And  the  results?  Wonderful,  he  thought 
— and  yet  not  wholly  attributable  to  his  peculiar  mode  of  tute 
lage.  For,  after  all,  his  work  had  been  little  more  than  the 
holding  of  her  mind  unwarped,  that  her  instinctive  sense  of 
logic  might  reach  those  truthful  conclusions  which  it  was  bound 
to  attain  if  guided  safely  past  the  tortuous  shifts  of  human 
speculation  and  undemonstrable  theory.  To  his  great  joy,  these 
six  years  had  confirmed  a  belief  which  he  had  held  ever  since 
the  troublous  days  of  his  youth,  namely,  that,  as  a  recent  writer 
has  said,  "adolescent  understanding  is  along  straight  lines,  and 
leaps  where  the  adult  can  only  laboriously  creep."  There  had 
been  no  awful  hold  of  early  teaching  to  loosen  and  throw  off; 
there  were  no  old  landmarks  in  her  mind  to  remove;  no  te 
nacious,  clinging  effect  of  early  associations  to  neutralize.  And, 
perhaps  most  important  of  all,  the  child  had  seemed  to  enter 
the  world  utterly  devoid  of  fear,  and  with  a  congenital  faith, 
amounting  to  absolute  knowledge,  in  the  immanence  of  an 
omnipotent  God  of  love.  This,  added  to  her  eagerness  and 
mental  receptivity,  had  made  his  task  one  of  constant  rejoicing 
in  the  realization  of  his  most  extravagant  dreams  for  her. 

As  a  linguist,  Carmen  had  become  accomplished.  She  spoke 
English  fluently.  And  it  was  only  a  matter  of  practice  to  give 
her  a  similar  grasp  of  French,  Italian,  and  German.  As  for 
other  instruction,  such  knowledge  of  the  outside  world  as  he 
had  deemed  wise  to  give  her  in  these  six  years  had  been  seized 
upon  with  avidity  and  as  quickly  assimilated.  But  he  often 

277 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


speculated  curiously — sometimes  dubiously — upon  the  great 
surprises  in  store  for  her  should  she  ever  leave  her  native 
village.  And  yet,  as  often  as  such  thought  recurred  to  him  he 
would  try  to  choke  it  back,  to  bar  his  mind  against  it,  lest  the 
pull  at  his  heartstrings  snap  them  asunder. 

Often  as  he  watched  her  expanding  so  rapidly  into  woman 
hood  and  exhibiting  such  graces  of  manner,  such  amiability  of 
disposition,  such  selfless  regard  for  others,  combined  with  a 
physical  beauty  such  as  he  thought  he  had  never  before  gazed 
upon,  a  great  yearning  would  clutch  his  soul,  and  a  lump  would 
rise  in  his  throat.  And  when,  as  was  so  often  the  case,  her 
arms  flew  impulsively  about  his  neck  and  she  whispered  words 
of  tender  endearment  in  his  ear,  a  fierce  determination  would 
seize  him,  and  he  would  clutch  her  to  himself  with  such  vehe 
mence  as  to  make  her  gasp  for  breath.  That  she  might  marry 
he  knew  to  be  a  possibility.  But  the  idea  pierced  his  soul  as 
with  a  sword,  and  he  thought  that  to  see  her  in  the  arms  of 
another,  even  the  man  of  her  choice,  must  excite  him  to  murder. 
One  day,  shortly  after  her  fourteenth  birthday,  she  came  to  him 
and,  perching  herself  as  was  her  wont  upon  his  knees,  and 
twining  her  arms  about  his  neck,  said,  with  traces  of  embarrass 
ment,  "Padre  dear,  Juan — he  asked  me  to-day  to  marry  him." 

Jose  caught  his  breath.  His  ears  rang.  She — marry  a  peon 
of  Simiti !  To  be  sure,  Juan  had  often  reminded  him  of  the 
request  he  had  made  for  her  hand  long  ago.  But  Jose  had  not 
considered  the  likelihood  of  the  lad's  taking  his  question  directly 
to  her.  And  the  girl — 

"And  what  did  you  reply?"  he  asked  thickly. 

"Padre  dear — I  told  him  that—       She  stopped  abruptly. 

"Well,  chiquita;  you  told  him — what?"    His  voice  trembled. 

She  flushed,  still  hesitating.  He  held  her  back  from  him  and 
looked  squarely  into  her  wide  eyes. 

"You  told  him,  chiquita — " 

"That — well,  Padre  dear,  1  told  him  that — that  I  might  never 
marry." 

Jose  sighed.  "And  do  you  think,  little  girl,  that  you  will 
always  hold  to  that  resolution?" 

"Yes,  Padre,  unless — " 

"Well,  chiquita,  unless — 

"Unless  you  marry,  too,  Padre,"  she  said,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"Unless  1  marry!  I — a  priest!  But — what  has  that  to  do 
with  it,  girl?" 

"Well — oh,  Padre  dear — can't  you  see?  For  then  I  would 
marry — "  She  buried  her  face  in  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  chiquita,"  he  said,  dully  wondering. 

Her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck.    "You,"  she  murmured. 

278 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


It  was  the  first  expression  of  the  kind  that  had  ever  come 
from  her  lips.  Jose's  heart  thumped  violently.  The  Goddess  of 
Fortune  had  suddenly  thrown  her  most  precious  jewel  into  his 
lap.  Joy  welled  up  in  flood  tides  from  unknown  depths  within. 
His  eyes  swam.  Then — he  remembered.  And  thick  night  fell 
upon  his  soul. 

Minutes  passed,  and  the  two  sat  very  quiet.  Then  Carmen 
raised  her  head.  "Padre,"  she  whispered,  "you  don't  say  any 
thing.  I  know  you  love  me.  And  you  will  not  always  be  a 
priest — not  always,"  shaking  her  beautiful  curls  with  suggestive 
emphasis. 

Why  did  she  say  that?  He  wondered  vaguely.  The  people 
called  her  an  hada.  He  sometimes  thought  they  had  reason  to. 
And  then  he  knew  that  she  never  moved  except  in  response  to 
a  beckoning  hand  that  still,  after  all  these  years,  remained  in 
visible  to  him. 

"Chiquita,"  he  said  in  low  response,  "I  fear — I  fear  that  can 
never  be.  And  even  if — ah,  chiquita,  I  am  so  much  older  than 
you,  little  girl — almost  seventeen  years!" 

"You  do  not  want  to  marry  me,  even  if  you  could,  Padre?" 
she  queried,  looking  wistfully  into  his  eyes,  while  her  own  grew 
moist. 

He  clutched  her  to  him  again.  "Carmen!"  he  cried  wildly, 
"you  little  know — you  little  know!  But — child,  we  must  not 
talk  of  these  things!  Wait — wait!" 

"But,  Padre  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "just  say  that  you  do  love 
me  that  way — just  say  it — your  little  girl  wants  to  hear  it." 

God  above!  She,  pleading  that  he  would  say  he  loved  her! 
His  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  He  silently  prayed  that  his 
tortured  soul  might  burst  and  let  his  wasted  life  ebb  into 
oblivion  while  his  pent-up  misery  poured  out. 

"Carmen!"  he  cried  with  the  despair  of  the  lost.  "I  love 
you — love  you — love  you!  Nay,  child,  I  adore  you!  God! 
That  I  might  hold  you  thus  forever!" 

She  reached  up  quickly  and  kissed  him.  "Some  day,  Padre 
dear,"  she  murmured  softly,  "you  will  stop  thinking  that  two 
and  two  are  seven.  Then  everything  good  will  come  to  you." 

She  sank  back  in  his  arms  and  nestled  close  to  him,  as  if  she 
longed  to  enter  his  empty  heart  and  fill  the  great  void  with  her 
measureless  love. 

"And,  Padre  dear,"  she  whispered,  "your  little  girl  will  wait 
for  you — yes,  she  will  wait." 

****** 

It  was  some  days  later  that  Rosendo,  after  returning  almost 
empty  handed  from  the  hills,  came  to  Jose  and  said,  "Padre, 
I  have  sold  my  hacienda  to  Don  Luis.  I  need  the  money  to  pur- 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


chase  supplies  and  to  get  the  papers  through  for  some  denounce 
ments  which  I  have  made  in  Guamoco.  I  knew  that  Don  Mario 
would  put  through  no  papers  for  me,  and  so  I  have  asked 
Lazaro  to  make  the  transaction  and  to  deliver  the  titles  to  me 
when  the  final  papers  arrive.  I  have  a  blank  here  to  be  filled 
out  with  the  name  and  description  of  a  mineral  property.  I — 
what  would  be  a  good  name  for  a  mine,  Padre?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  that,  Rosendo?"  queried  Jose  in  surprise. 

"Because,  Padre,  I  want  a  foreign  name — one  not  known 
here.  Give  me  an  American  one.  Think  hard." 

Jose  reflected.  "There  is  a  city,  a  great  city,  that  I  have 
often  heard  about,  up  in  the  States,"  he  said  finally. 

He  took  up  the  little  atlas  which  he  had  received  long  since 
with  other  books  from  abroad.  "Look,"  he  said,  "it  is  called 
Chicago.  Call  your  property  the  Chicago  mine,  Rosendo.  It  is 
a  name  unknown  down  here,  and  there  can  no  confusion  arise 
because  of  it." 

"Caramba!"  Rosendo  muttered,  trying  to  twist  his  tongue 
around  the  word,  "it  is  certain  that  no  one  else  will  use  that 
name  in  Guamoco!  But  that  makes  my  title  still  more  secure, 
no?" 

"But,  Rosendo,"  said  Jose,  when  the  full  significance  of  the 
old  man's  announcement  had  finally  penetrated,  "you  have  sold 
your  finca!  And  to  acquire  title  to  property  that  you  can  never 
sell  or  \vork!  Why,  man!  do  you  realize  what  you  have  done? 
You  are  impoverished!  What  will  you  do  now?  And  what 
about  Carmen?  for  we  have  nothing.  And  the  sword  that  hangs 
above  us  may  fall  any  day!" 

"Bien,  Padre,  it  is  for  her  sake  that  I  have  done  it.  Say  no 
more.  It  will  work  out  in  some  way.  I  go  back  to-morrow. 
But,  if  the  titles  should  come  from  Cartagena  during  my 
absence — and,  Padre,  if  anything  should  happen  to  me — for  the 
love  of  the  Virgin  do  not  let  them  out  of  your  hands!  They 
are  for  her." 

Yet  Rosendo  departed  not  on  the  morrow.  He  remained  to 
mingle  his  tears  with  those  of  the  sorrowing  Ana.  For  the 
woman,  whose  heart  had  been  lighter  since  the  arrival  of  her 
babe,  had  come  to  the  priest  that  day  to  have  the  child 
christened.  And  so,  before  the  sun  might  fill  the  plaza  with 
its  ardent  midday  heat,  Rosendo  and  his  family  repaired  to  the 
church.  There  before  the  altar  Jose  baptised  the  little  one  and 
gave  it  his  own  name,  thus  triumphantly  ushering  the  pagan 
babe  into  the  Christian  Catholic  world.  The  child  cried  at  the 
touch  of  the  baptismal  water. 

"Now,"  commented  Rosendo,  "the  devil  has  gone  out  of  him, 
driven  out  by  the  holy  water." 

280 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


But,  as  Jose  leaned  over  the  babe  and  looked  into  its  dark 
eyes,  his  hand  stopped,  and  his  heart  stood  still.  He  raised  his 
head  and  bent  a  look  of  inquiry  upon  the  mother.  She  returned 
the  look  with  one  that  mutely  voiced  a  stifled  fear  and  confirmed 
his  own.  "Padre!"  she  whispered  hoarsely.  "What  is  it? 
Quick!" 

He  took  a  candle  from  the  altar  and  passed  it  before  the 
child's  eyes. 

"Padre!  He  sees!  Santa  Virgen!  Do  not  tell  me — Dios 
mio!"  The  mother's  voice  rose  to  a  wail,  as  she  snatched  her 
babe  away. 

A  loud  exclamation  escaped  Rosendo.  Dona  Maria  stood 
mute;  but  Jose  as  he  looked  at  her  divined  her  thought  and  read 
therein  a  full  knowledge  of  the  awful  fact  that  she  had  never 
voiced  to  the  heart-broken  mother. 

"Padre!"  cried  the  perplexed  Rosendo.  "Maria!"  turning 
in  appeal  to  his  wife.  "Speak,  some  one!  Santa  Virgen,  speak! 
Ana,  what  ails  the  child?" 

Jose  turned  his  head  aside.  Carmen  crowded  close  to  the 
weeping  Ana.  Dona  Maria  took  Rosendo's  arm. 

"The  babe,  Rosendo,"  she  said  quietly,  "was  born — blind." 


CHAPTER  30 

THE  "revolutionist"  of  Latin  America  is  generally  only  the 
disgruntled  politician.  His  revolution  is  seldom  more 
than  a  violent  squabble  among  greedy  spoilsmen  for 
control  of  the  loose-jointed  administration.  But  the  great 
Mosquera  Revolution  which  burst  into  flame  in  New  Granada 
in  1861  was  fed  with  fuel  of  a  different  nature.  It  demonstrated, 
if  demonstration  were  necessary,  that  the  Treaty  of  Westphalia 
did  not  write  finis  to  the  history  of  bloodshed  in  the  name  of 
Christ;  that  it  had  but  banked  -the  fires  of  religious  animosity, 
until  the  furnace  should  be  transferred  from  the  Old  World  to 
the  New,  where  the  breath  of  liberty  would  again  fan  them  into 
vigorous  activity. 

The  Mosquera  War  tore  asunder  Church  and  State;  but  left 
unhappy  Colombia  prone  and  bleeding.  It  externalized  a 
mighty  protest  of  enlightenment  against  Rome's  dictates  in 
temporal  affairs.  And,  as  has  before  happened  when  that 
irresistible  potentiality,  the  people,  has  been  stirred  into  action, 
the  Church  was  disestablished,  its  property  confiscated,  and  its 
meddling,  parasitical  clergy  disenfranchised. 

But  then,  too,  as  almost  invariably  occurs  when  the  masses 

281 

28 


find  that  they  have  parted  with  cherished  prejudices  and  effete 
customs,  and  have  adopted  ideas  so  radical  as  to  lift  them  a 
degree  higher  in  the  scale  of  progress,  they  wavered.  The 
Church  was  being  humiliated.  Their  religion  was  under 
contempt.  The  holy  sacrament  of  marriage  was  debased  to  a 
civil  ceremony.  Education  was  endangered  by  taking  it  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  pious  clergy.  Texts  unauthorized  by  Holy 
Church  were  being  adopted.  Where  would  this  radical  mod 
ernism  end?  The  alarm  spread,  fanned  by  the  watchful  agents 
of  Rome.  Revolt  after  revolt  occurred.  And  twenty  years  of 
incessant  internecine  warfare  followed. 

Fear  and  prejudice  triumphed.  A  new  Constitution  was 
framed.  And  when  it  was  seen  that  Roman  Catholicism  was 
therein  again  declared  to  be  the  national  religion  of  the 
Republic  of  Colombia;  when  it  was  noted  that  the  clergy, 
obedient  to  a  foreign  master,  were  to  be  readmitted  to  partici 
pation  in  government  affairs;  when  it  was  understood  that  a 
national  press-censorship  was  to  be  established,  dominated  by 
Holy  Church;  and  when,  in  view  of  this,  the  great  religio- 
political  opponent  was  seen  laying  down  her  weapons  and 
extending  her  arms  in  dubious  benediction  over  the  exhausted 
people,  the  masses  yielded — and  there  was  great  rejoicing  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tiber  over  the  prodigal's  return. 

When  Wenceslas  Ortiz  was  placed  in  temporary  control  of 
the  See  of  Cartagena  he  shrewdly  urged  the  Church  party  to 
make  at  least  a  pretense  of  disbanding  as  a  political  organiza 
tion.  The  provinces  of  Cundinamarca  and  Panama  were  again 
in  a  slate  of  ferment.  Congress,  sitting  in  Bogota,  had  before  it 
for  consideration  a  measure  vesting  in  the  President  the  power 
to  interfere  in  certain  states  or  provinces  whenever,  in  his 
opinion,  the  conservation  of  public  order  necessitated  such 
action.  That  this  measure  \vould  be  passed,  Wenceslas  could 
not  be  sure.  But  that,  once  adopted,  it  would  precipitate  the 
unhappy  country  again  into  a  sanguinary  war,  he  thought  he 
knew  to  a  certainty.  He  had  faced  this  same  question  six 
years  before,  when  a  similar  measure  was  before  Congress. 
But  then,  with  a  strong  Church  party,  and  believing  the  pas 
sage  of  the  law  to  be  certain,  he  had  yielded  to  the  counsel  of 
hot-headed  leaders  in  Cartagena,  and  approved  the  inaugura 
tion  of  hostilities. 

The  result  had  been  a  fiasco.  Congress  dropped  the  meas 
ure  like  a  hot  plate.  The  demands  of  the  "revolutionists"  were 
quickly  met  by  the  federal  government.  The  causae  belli 
evaporated.  And  Wenceslas  retired  in  chagrin  to  the  solitude 
of  his  study,  to  bite  his  nails  and  wonder  dubiously  if  his  party 
were  strong  enough  to  insure  his  appointment  to  the  See  of 
Cartagena  in  the  event  of  the  then  aged  occupant's  demise. 

282 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


It  was  this  hasty  judgment  of  Wenceslas  and  his  political 
associates  which  had  delayed  further  consideration  of  the 
objectionable  measure  for  six  years.  But  the  interim  had  seen 
his  party  enormously  strengthened,  himself  in  control  of  the 
See,  and  his  preparations  completed  for  turning  the  revolt, 
whenever  it  should  come,  to  his  own  great  advantage.  He  had 
succeeded  in  holding  the  Church  party  aloof  from  actual  partici 
pation  in  politics  during  the  present  crisis.  And  he  was  now 
keeping  it  in  constant  readiness  to  throw  its  tremendous  in 
fluence  to  whichever  side  should  offer  the  greatest  inducements. 

Time  passed.  The  measure  dragged.  Congress  dallied;  and 
then  prepared  to  adjourn.  Wenceslas  received  a  code  message 
from  his  agent  in  Bogota  that  the  measure  would  be  laid  on 
the  table.  At  the  same  time  came  a  sharp  prod  from  New 
York.  The  funds  had  been  provided  to  finance  the  impending 
revolution.  The  concessions  to  be  granted  were  satisfactory. 
Why  the  delay?  Had  the  Church  party  exaggerated  its  in 
fluence  upon  Congress? 

Wenceslas  stormed  aloud.  "Santa  Virgen!"  he  muttered, 
as  he  paced  angrily  back  and  forth  in  his  study.  "A  curse  upon 
Congress!  A  curse — 

He  stopped  still.  In  the  midst  of  his  imprecations  an  idea 
occurred  to  him.  He  went  to  his  escritorio  and  drew  out  the 
Legate's  recent  report.  "Ah,"  he  mused,  "that  pig-h,eaded 
Alcalde.  And  the  good  little  Jose.  They  may  serve.  Bien, 
we  shall  see." 

Then  he  summoned  his  secretary  and  dictated  telegrams  to 
Bogota  and  New  York,  and  a  long  letter  to  the  Alcalde  of 
Simiti.  These  finished,  he  called  a  young  acolyte  in  waiting. 

"Take  a  message  to  the  Governor,"  he  commanded.  "Say  to 
His  Excellency  that  I  shall  call  upon  him  at  three  this  after 
noon,  to  discuss  matters  of  gravest  import."  Dismissing  his 
secretary,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  dropped  into  a 
profound  revery. 

Shortly  before  the  hour  which  he  had  set  for  conference 
with  the  Departmental  Governor,  Wenceslas  rose  and  went  to 
his  escritorio,  from  which  he  took  a  paper-bound  book. 

"H'm,"  he  commented  aloud.  "  'Confessions  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  Priest.'  Bien,  I  was  correct  in  my  surmise  that  I 
should  some  day  have  use  for  this  little  volume.  Poor,  mis 
guided  Rincon!  But — Bien,  I  think  it  will  do — I  think  it  will 
do." 

A  smile  played  over  his  handsome,  imperious  face.  Then 
he  snapped  the  book  shut  and  took  up  his  hat.  At  the  door 
he  hesitated  a  moment,  with  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"If  the  Alcalde  were  not  such  a  fool,  it  would  be  impossi- 

283 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


ble,"  he  mused.  "But — the  combination — the  isolation  of  Simiti 
— the  imbecility  of  Don  Mario — the  predicament  of  our  little 
Jose — Hombre!  it  is  a  rare  situation,  and  it  will  work.  It  must 
work — cielo!  With  the  pig-headed  Alcalde  seizing  government 
arms  to  suppress  the  Church  party  as  represented  by  the 
foolish  Jose,  and  with  the  President  sending  federal  troops  to 
quell  the  disturbance,  the  anticlericals  will  rise  in  a  body 
throughout  the  country.  Then  Congress  will  hastily  pass  the 
measure  to  support  the  President,  the  Church  party  will  swing 
into  line  with  the  Government — and  the  revolution  will  be  on. 
Simiti  provides  the  setting  and  the  fuel;  I,  the  torch.  I  will 
cable  again  to  Ames  when  I  leave  the  Governor."  He  swung 
the  door  open  and  went  briskly  out. 

****** 

"Padre,  I  am  crushed." 

It  was  Rosendo  who  spoke.  He  and  Jose  were  sitting  out 
in  the  gathering  dusk  before  the  parish  house  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  that  Ana's  babe  had  been  christened.  The  old  man's 
head  was  sunk  upon  his  breast,  and  he  rocked  back  and  forth 
groaning  aloud. 

"We  must  be  brave,  Rosendo,"  returned  Jose  tenderly.  "We 
have  gone  through  much,  you  and  I,  since  I  came  to  Simiti. 
But — we  have  believed  it  to  be  in  a  good  cause.  Shall  we 
surrender  now?" 

"But,  Padre,  after  it  all,  to  have  her  babe  come  into  the 
world  blind!  God  above!  The  poor  child — the  poor  child! 
Padre,  it  is  the  last  thing  that  I  can  endure.  My  ambition  is 
gone.  I  cannot  return  now  to  Guamoco.  Let  come  what 
may,  I  am  done." 

"Rosendo,"  said  Jose,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the  old 
man,  and  laying  a  hand  on  his,  "we  have  fought  long  and  hard. 
But,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  greatest  struggle  is  yet  to  come.  The 
greatest  demand  upon  your  strength  and  mine  is  still  to  be 
made." 

Rosendo  raised  his  head.     "What  mean  you,  Padre?" 

Jose  spoke  low  and  earnestly.  "This:  Juan  returned  from 
Bodega  Central  this  evening.  He  reports  that  several  large 
boxes  are  there,  consigned  to  Don  Mario,  and  bearing  the 
government  stamp.  He  found  one  of  them  slightly  broken,  and 
he  peered  within.  What  think  you  it  contained?  Rifles!" 

Rosendo  stared  at  the  priest  dumbly.    Jose  went  on: 

"I  did  not  intend  to  tell  you  this  until  morning.  But  it  is 
right  that  you  should  hear  it  now,  that  your  courage  may  rise 
in  the  face  of  danger.  What  think  you?  The  federal  govern 
ment  is  sending  arms  to  Simiti  to  establish  a  base  here  at  the 
outlet  of  the  Guamoco  region,  and  well  hidden  from  the  Mag- 

284 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


dalena  river.  This  town  is  to  become  a  military  depot,  unless 
I  mistake  the  signs.  And  danger  no  longer  threatens,  but  is  at 
our  door." 

"Ca-ram-ba!"  Rosendo  rose  slowly  and  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height.  "War!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"There  is  no  question  about  it,  Rosendo,"  replied  Jose 
gravely.  "And  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  Diego's 
prophecy,  that  this  time  it  will  be  one  to  be  reckoned  with." 

"Hombre!     And  Carmen?" 

"Take  her  into  the  hills,  Rosendo.     Start  to-morrow." 

"But  youf 

Jose's  thought  was  dwelling  on  his  last  talk  with  the  girl. 
Again  he  felt  her  soft  arms  about  his  neck,  and  her  warm 
breath  against  his  cheek.  He  felt  her  kiss,  and  heard  again  her 
words,  the  sweetest,  he  thought,  that  had  ever  echoed  in 
mortal  ears.  And  then  he  thought  of  his  mother,  of  his  office, 
of  the  thousand  obstacles  that  loomed  huge  and  insurmountable 
between  him  and  Carmen.  He  passed  a  hand  across  his  brow 
and  sighed  heavily. 

"I  remain  here,  Rosendo.  I  am  weary,  unutterably  weary. 
I  welcome,  not  only  the  opportunity  for  service  which  this 
war  may  bring,  but  likewise  the  hope  of — death.  If  I  could 
but  know  that  she  were  safe — 

"Caramba!  Think  you  she  would  leave  you  here,  Padre? 
No!"  Did  Rosendo's  words  convey  aught  to  the  priest  that  he 
did  not  already  know? 

"But — Rosendo,  I  shall  not  go,"  he  returned  bitterly. 

"Then  neither  do  we,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo,  sitting  again. 
"The  child,  Carmen — she — Padre,  she  loves  you  with  a  love 
that  is  not  of  the  earth." 

****** 

Morning  found  the  old  man's  conviction  still  unshaken. 
Jose  sought  the  quiet  of  his  cottage  to  reflect.  But  his  medita 
tions  were  interrupted  by  Carmen. 

"Padre,"  she  began,  sparkling  like  a  mountain  rill  in  the 
sunlight  as  she  seated  herself  before  him.  "Pepito— Anita's 
babe — he  is  not  blind,  you  know."  Her  head  bobbed  vigorously, 
as  was  her  wont  when  she  sought  to  give  emphasis  to  her 
dramatic  statements. 

Jose  smiled,  and  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable.  He 
had  been  expecting  this. 

"And,  Padre,  have  you  been  thankful  that  he  isn't?" 

"Isn't  what,  child?" 

"Blind.  You  know,  Padre  Diego  thought  he  couldn't  see 
the  reality.  He  looked  always  at  his  bad  thoughts.  And  so 
the  not  seeing,  and  the  seeing  of  only  bad  things,  were  both — 

285 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


externalized,  and  the  babe  came  to  us  without  sight.  That  is, 
without  what  the  human  mind  calls  sight.  And  now,"  she  went 
on  excitedly,  "you  and  I  have  just  got  to  know  that  it  isn't  so! 
The  babe  sees.  God's  children  all  see.  And  I  have  thanked  Him 
all  morning  that  this  is  so,  and  that  you  and  I  see  it.  Don't 
we,  Padre  dear?  Yes,  we  do." 

"Well — I  suppose  so,"  replied  Jose  abstractedly,  his  thought 
still  occupied  with  the  danger  that  hung  over  the  little  town. 

"Suppose  so!  You  know  so,  Padre!  There  isn't  any  'sup 
pose'  about  it!  Now  look:  what  makes  sight?  The  eye?  No. 
The  eye  is  made  by  the  sight.  The  human  mind  just  gets  it 
twisted  about.  It  thinks  that  sight  depends  upon  the  optic 
nerve,  and  upon  the  fleshly  eye.  But  it  isn't  so.  It  is  the  sight 
that  externalizes  the  'meaty'  eye.  You  see,  the  sight  is  within, 
not  without.  It  is  mental.  God  is  all-seeing;  and  so,  sight  is 
eternal.  Don't  you  see?  Of  course  you  do!" 

Jose  did  not  reply.  Yes,  he  did  see.  But  what  he  saw  was 
the  beautiful,  animated  girl  before  him.  And  the  thought  that 
he  must  some  day  be  separated  from  her  was  eating  his  heart 
like  a  canker. 

"Well,  then,"  went  on  the  girl,  without  waiting  for  his 
reply,  "if  a  mortal's  mental  concept  of  sight  is  poor,  why,  he 
will  manifest  poor  eyes.  If  the  thought-concept  were  right, 
the  manifestation  wrould  be  right.  Wouldn't  it?" 

Jose  suddenly  returned  to  the  subject  under  discussion. 
"By  that  I  suppose  you  mean,  chiquita,  that  the  babe's  thought, 
or  concept,  of  sight  was  all  wrong,  and  so  he  came  into  the 
world  blind." 

"Not  at  all,  Padre,"  she  quickly  replied.  "The  babe  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  except  to  seem  to  manifest  the  wrong 
thoughts  of  its  father,  or  mother,  or  both.  Or  perhaps  it  man 
ifests  just  simply  bad  thoughts,  without  the  bad  thoughts  be 
longing  to  anybody.  For,  you  know,  we  none  of  us  really  have 
such  thoughts.  And  such  thoughts  don't  really  exist.  They 
&re  just  a  part  of  the  one  big  lie  about  God." 

"Then  the  babe  sees?" 

"Surely;  the  real  babe  is  a  child  of  God,  and  sees." 

"But  the  human  babe  doesn't  see,"  he  retorted. 

"But,"  she  replied,  "what  you  call  the  human  babe  is  only 
your  mental  concept  of  the  babe.  And  you  see  that  mental 
concept  as  a  blind  one.  Now  un-see  it.  Look  at  it  in  the  right 
way.  See  only  God's  child,  with  perfect  sight.  And,  Padre, 
after  a  while  yon  will  see  that  babe  seeing  things,  just  as  we  do! 

"Don't  you  understand?"  she  exclaimed,  as  he  sat  looking 
fixedly  at  her.  "Don't  you  see  that  if  you  have  the  right  thought 
about  the  babe,  and  hold  to  it,  and  put  out  every  thought  that 

286 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


says  it  is  blind,  why,  your  right  thought  will  be  externalized  in 
a  mental  concept  of  a  babe  that  sees?  Don't  you  know  that 
that  is  exactly  what  Jesus  did?  He  didn't  affect  the  real  man 
at  all.  But  he  did  change  the  mental  concepts  which  we  call 
human  beings.  And  we  can  do  the  same,  if  we  only  know  it, 
and  follow  him,  and  spiritualize  our  thought,  as  he  did,  by 
putting  out  and  keeping  out  every  thought  that  we  know  does 
not  come  from  God,  and  that  is,  therefore,  only  a  part  of  the 
lie  about  Him.  Here  is  a  case  where  we  have  got  to  quit  think 
ing  that  two  and  two  are  seven.  And  I  have  done  it.  It  is 
God's  business  to  make  our  concepts  right.  And  He  has  done 
so — long  since.  And  we  will  see  these  right  concepts  if  we 
will  put  out  the  wrong  ones!" 

"Well?"  he  queried  lamely,  wholly  at  a  loss  for  any  other 
answer. 

"Well,  Padre,  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid.  I  don't  see  a  blind  babe 
at  all,  because  there  just  can't  be  any.  And  neither  do  you. 
The  babe  sees  because  God  sees." 

"In  other  words,  you  don't  intend  to  allow  yourself  to  be 
deceived  by  appearances?"  he  suggested. 

"That  is  just  it,  Padre!"  she  exclaimed.  "Blindness  is  only 
an  appearance.  But  it  doesn't  appear  to  God.  It  appears  only 
to  the  human  mind — which  isn't  any  mind  at  all!  And  the  ap 
pearance  can  be  made  to  disappear,  if  we  know  the  truth  and 
stick  to  it.  For  any  appearance  of  a  human  body  is  a  mental 
concept,  that's  all." 

"A  thing  of  thought,  then?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  a  thing  of  wrong  thought.  But  all  wrong  thought  is 
subject  to  God's  right  thought.  We've  proved  that,  haven't  we, 
lots  of  times?  Well,  this  wrong  thought  about  a  babe  that  is 
blind  can  be  changed — made  to  disappear — just  as  any  lie  can 
be  made  to  disappear  when  we  know  the  truth.  And  so  you  and 
I  are  not  going  to  be  afraid,  are  we?  I  told  Anita  this  morning 
not  to  worry,  but  to  just  know  all  the  time  that  her  babe  did  see, 
no  matter  what  the  appearance  was.  And  she  smiled  at  me, 
Padre,  she  smiled.  And  I  know  that  she  trusts,  and  is  going 
to  work  with  you  and  me." 

Work  with  her!  Heavens!  had  he  done  aught  of  late  but 
work  against  her  by  his  constant  harboring  of  fears,  of  doubts, 
and  his  distrust  of  spiritual  power? 

"Padre,"  she  resumed,  "I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  every 
day  you  will  thank  God  that  the  babe  really  sees.  And  that  you 
will  turn  right  on  every  thought  of  blindness  and  know  that 
it  is  a  part  of  the  lie  about  God,  and  put  it  right  out  of  your 
mind.  Will  you?" 

"But — child — if  my  mind  tells  me  that  the  babe  is  blind, 
how  can  I— 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  don't  care  what  your  mind  tells  you  about  the  babe! 
You  are  to  listen  to  what  God  tells  you,  not  your  human  mind! 
Does  God  tell  you  that  the  babe  is  blind?  Does  He?"  she  re 
peated,  as  the  man  hesitated. 

"Why,  no,  chiquita,  He — " 

"Listen,  Padre,"  she  interrupted  again,  drawing  closer  to 
him.  "Is  God  good,  or  bad,  or  both?" 

"He  is  good,  chiquita,  all  good." 

"Infinite  good,  then,  no?" 

"Yes." 

"And  we  have  long  since  proved  by  actual  reasoning  and 
demonstration  that  He  is  mind,  and  so  infinite  mind,  no?" 

"It  must  be  conceded,  Carmen." 

"Well,  an  infinite  mind  has  all  power.  And  an  infinite,  all- 
powerful  mind  that  is  all  good  could  not  possibly  create  any 
thing  bad,  or  sick,  or  discordant — now  could  He?" 

"Utterly  impossible,  little  girl." 

"The  Bible  says  so.  Our  reasoning  tells  us  so.  But — the 
five  physical  senses  tell  us  differently.  Don't  they?" 

"Yes." 

"And  yet,  we  know  that  the  five  physical  senses  do  not  tell 
us  truth!  We  know  that  w7hen  the  human  mind  thinks  it  is 
receiving  reports  about  things  through  the  five  physical  senses 
it  is  doing  nothing  more  than  looking  at  its  own  thoughts. 
Now  isn't  that  so?" 

"It  certainly  seems  so,  little  one." 

"The  thoughts  of  an  infinite  and  good  mind  must  be  like 
that  mind,  all  good,  no?  Well,  then,  thoughts  of  discord,  dis 
ease,  blindness,  and  death — do  they  come  from  the  infinite, 
good  mind?  No!" 

"Well,  chiquita  niia,  that  is  just  the  sticking  point.  I  can 
see  all  the  rest.  But  the  mighty  question  is,  where  do  those 
thoughts  come  from?  I  am  quite  as  ready  as  you  to  admit 
that  discord,  sin,  evil,  death,  and  all  the  whole  list  of  human 
ills  and  woes  come  from  these  bad  thoughts  held  in  the  human 
mind  and  so  externalized.  I  believe  that  the  human  man  really 
sees,  feels,  hears,  smells,  and  tastes  these  thoughts — that  the 
functioning  of  the  physical  senses  is  wholly  mental — takes 
place  in  mind,  in  thought  only.  That  is,  that  the  human  mind 
thinks  it  sees,  feels,  hears;  but  that  the  whole  process  is  mental, 
and  that  it  is  but  regarding  its  thoughts,  instead  of  actually 
regarding  and  cognizing  objects  outside  of  itself.  Do  you  follow 
me?" 

"Of  course,"  she  replied  with  animation.  "Isn't  that  just 
what  I  am  trying  to  tell  you?" 

"But — and  here  is  the  great  obstacle — we  differentiate  be- 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


tween  good  and  bad  thoughts.  We  agree  that  a  fountain  can 
not  send  forth  sweet  and  bitter  waters  at  the  same  time.  And 
so,  good  and  bad  thoughts  do  not  come  from  the  infinite  mind 
that  we  call  God.  But  where  do  the  others  originate?  Answer 
that,  chiquita,  and  my  problems  will  all  be  solved." 

She  looked  at  him  in  perplexity  for  some  time.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  never  would  understand  him.  But,  with  a  little 
sigh  of  resignation,  she  replied: 

"Padre,  you  answered  that  question  yourself,  long  ago. 
You  worked  it  all  out  three  or  four  years  ago.  But — you 
haven't  stuck  to  it.  You  let  the  false  testimony  of  the  physical 
senses  mesmerize  you  again.  Instead  of  sticking  to  the  thoughts 
that  you  knew  to  be  good,  and  holding  to  them,  in  spite  of  the 
pelting  you  got  from  the  others,  you  have  looked  first  at  the 
good,  and  then  at  the  bad,  and  then  believed  them  all  to  be 
real,  and  all  to  be  powerful.  And  so  you  got  miserably  mixed 
up.  And  the  result  is  that  you  don't  know  where  you  stand. 
Do  you?  Or,  you  think  you  don't;  for  that  thought,  too,  is  a 
bad  one,  and  has  no  power  at  all,  excepting  the  power  that  you 
seem  willing — and  glad — to  give  it." 

He  winced  under  the  poignant  rebuke.  He  knew  in  his 
heart  that  she  was  right.  He  had  not  clung  to  the  good,  de 
spite  the  roars  of  Satan.  He  had  not  "resisted  unto  blood." 
Far  from  it;  he  had  fallen,  almost  invariably,  at  the  first  shower 
of  the  adversary's  darts.  And  now,  was  he  not  trying,  desper 
ately,  to  show  her  that  Ana's  babe  was  blind,  hopelessly  so? 
Was  he  not  fighting  on  evil's  side,  and  vigorously,  though  with 
shame  suffusing  his  face,  waving  aloft  the  banner  of  error? 

"The  trouble  with  you,  Padre,"  the  girl  resumed,  after  some 
moments  of  reflection,  "is  that  you — you  see  everything — well, 
you  see  everything  as  a  person,  or  a  thing." 

"You  mean  that  I  always  associate  thought  with  person 
ality?"  he  suggested. 

"That's  it !  But  you  have  got  to  learn  to  deal  with  thoughts 
and  ideas  by  themselves,  apart  from  any  person  or  thing.  You 
have  got  to  learn  to  deal  with  facts  and  their  opposites  entirely 
apart  from  places,  or  things,  or  people.  Now  if  I  say  that  Life 
is  eternal,  I  have  stated  a  mental  thing.  That  is  the  fact.  Its 
opposite,  that  is,  the  opposite  of  Life,  is  death.  One  opposes 
the  other.  But  God  is  Life.  Is  God  also  death?  He  can't  be. 
Life  is  the  fact.  Then  death  must  be  the  illusion.  That  being 
so,  Life  is  the  reality,  and  death  is  the  unreality.  Very  well, 
what  makes  death  seem  real?  It  is  just  because  the  false 
thought  of  death  comes  into  the  human  mind,  and  is  held  there 
as  a  reality,  as  something  that  has  got  to  happen.  And  that 
strong  belief  becomes  externalized  in  what  mortals  call  death. 

289 


CARMEN     ARIZA 

Don't  you  see?  Is  there  a  person  in  the  whole  world  who 
doesn't  think  that  some  time  he  has  got  to  die?  No,  not  one! 
But  now  suppose  every  person  held  the  belief  that  death  was  an 
illusion,  a  part  of  the  big  lie  about  God,  just  as  Jesus  said  it 
was.  Well,  wouldn't  wre  get  rid  of  death  in  a  hurry?  I  should 
think  so!  And  is  there  a  person  in  the  whole  world  \vho 
wouldn't  say  that  Anita's  babe  was  blind?  No,  not  one!  They 
would  look  at  the  human  thought  of  blindness,  instead  of 
God's  real  idea  of  sight,  and  so  they  would  make  and  keep  the 
babe  blind.  Don't  you  understand  me,  Padre  dear?  Don't 
you?  I  know  you  do,  for  you  really  see  as  God  sees!" 

She  stopped  for  breath.  Her  eyes  glistened,  and  her  whole 
body  seemed  to  radiate  the  light  of  knowledge  divine.  Then 
she  went  hurriedly  on : 

"Padre,  everything  is  mental.  You  know  that,  for  you  told 
me  so,  long  since.  Well,  that  being  so,  we  have  got  to  face 
the  truth  that  every  mental  fact  seems  to  have  an  opposite,  or 
a  lot  of  opposites,  also  seemingly  mental.  The  opposite  of  a 
fact  is  an  illusion.  The  opposite  of  truth  is  a  lie.  Well,  God  is 
the  great  fact.  Infinite  mind  is  the  infinite  fact.  The  so-called 
opposite  of  this  infinite  fact  is  the  human  mind,  the  many  so- 
called  minds  of  mankind — a  kind  of  man.  But  everything  is 
still  mental.  Now,  an  illusion,  or  a  lie,  does  not  really  exist. 
If  I  tell  you  that  two  and  two  are  seven,  that  lie  does  not  exist. 
Is  it  in  what  we  call  my  mind,  or  yours?  No.  Even  if  you  say 
you  believe  it,  that  doesn't  make  it  real.  Nor  does  it  show  that 
it  has  real  existence  in  your  mind.  Not  a  bit  of  it!  But — if 
you  hold  it,  and  cling  to  it — allow  it  to  stay  with  you  and  in 
fluence  you — why,  Padre  dear,  everything  in  your  whole  life  will 
be  changed! 

"Let  me  take  your  pencil — and  a  piece  of  paper.  Look 
now,''  drawing  a  line  down  through  the  paper.  "On  one  side, 
Padre,  is  the  infinite  mind,  God,  and  all  His  thoughts  and  ideas, 
all  good,  perfect  and  eternal.  On  the  other  side  is  the  lie  about 
it  all.  That  is  still  mental;  but  it  is  illusion,  falsity.  It  in 
cludes  all  sin,  all  sickness,  all  murder,  all  evil,  accidents,  loss, 
failure,  bad  ambitions,  and  death.  These  are  all  parts  of  the 
big  lie  about  God — His  unreal  opposite.  These  are  the  so-called 
thoughts  that  come  to  the  human  mind.  Where  do  they  come 
from?  From  nowhere.  The  human  mind  looks  at  them,  tastes 
them,  feels  them,  holds  them;  and  then  they  become  its  beliefs. 
After  a  while  the  human  mind  looks  at  nothing  but  these  be 
liefs.  It  believes  them  to  be  real.  And,  finally,  it  comes  to 
believe  that  God  made  them  and  sent  them  to  His  children.  . 
Isn't  it  awful,  Padre!  And  aren't  you  glad  that  you  know 
about  it?  And  aren't  you  going  to  learn  how  to  keep  the  good 
on  one  side  of  that  line  and  the  illusion  on  the  other?" 

290 


It  seemed  lo  Jose  a  thing  incredible  that  these  words  were 
coming  from  a  girl  of  fifteen.  And  yet  he  knew  that  at  the 
same  tender  age  he  was  as  deeply  serious  as  she — but  with 
this  difference:  he  was  then  tenaciously  clinging  to  the  thoughts 
that  she  was  now  utterly  repudiating  as  unreal  and  non 
existent. 

"Padre  dear,"  the  girl  resumed,  "everything  is  mental.  The 
whole  universe  is  mental." 

"Well,"  he  replied  reflectively,  "at  least  our  comprehension 
of  it  is  wholly  mental." 

"Why — it  is  all  inside — it  is  all  in  our  thought!  Padre, 
when  Hernando  plays  on  that  old  pipe  of  his,  where  is  the 
music?  Is  it  in  the  pipe?  Or  is  it  in  our  thoughts?" 

"But,  chiquita,  \ve  don't  seem  to  have  it  in  our  thought 
until  we  seem  to  see  him  playing  on  the  pipe,  do  we?" 

"No,  we  don't,"  she  replied.  "And  do  you  know  why?  It  is 
just  because  the  human  mind  believes  that  everything,  even 
music,  must  come  from  matter — must  have  a — 

"Must  have  a  material  origin?     Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  And  men  even  believe  that  life  itself  has  a  material 
origin;  and  so  they  have  wasted  centuries  trying  to  find  it  in 
the  body.  They  don't  seem  to  want  to  know  that  God  is  life." 

"Then,  chiquita,  you  do  not  believe  that  matter  is  real?" 

"There  is  no  matter  outside  of  us,  or  around  us,  Padre," 
she  said  in  reply.  "The  human  mind  looks  at  its  thoughts  and 
seems  to  see  them  out  around  it  as  things  made  of  matter.  But, 
after  all,  it  only  sees  its  thoughts." 

"Then  I  suppose  that  the  externalization  of  our  thought  in 
our  consciousness  constitutes  what  we  call  space,  does  it  not?" 

"It  must,  Padre,"  she  answered. 

He  studied  a  moment.    Then: 

''Chiquita,  how  do  you  know  me?  What  do  you  see  that 
you  call  'me'?" 

"Why,  Padre,  I  see  you  as  God  does — at  least,  I  try  always 
to  see  you  that  way?"  she  answered  earnestly.  "And  that  is 
the  way  Jesus  always  saw  people." 

"God  sees  me,  of  course.  But,  does  He  see  me  as  I  see  my 
self?"  he  mused  aloud. 

"You  do  not  see  yourself,  Padre,"  was  her  reply.  "You  see 
only  the  thoughts  that  you  call  yourself.  Thoughts  of  mind 
and  body  and  all  those  things  that  go  lo  form  a  human  being." 

"Well — yes,  I  must  agree  with  you  there;  for,  though  God 
certainly  knows  me,  He  cannot  know  me  as  I  think  I  know 
myself,  sinful  and  discordant." 

"He  knows  the  real  'y°u>'  Padre  dear.  And  that  is  just  as 
He  is.  He  knows  that  the  unreal  *y°u»'  the  'you'  that  you  think 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


you  know,  is  illusion.  If  He  knew  the  human,  mortal  'you'  as 
real,  He  would  have  to  know  evil.  And  that  can  not  be." 
"No,  for  the  Bible  says  He  is  of  eyes  too  pure  to  behold  evil." 
"Well,  Padre,  why  don't  you  try  to  be  like  Him?" 
But  the  girl  needed  not  that  he  should  answer  her  question. 
She  knew  why  he  had  failed,  for  "without  faith  it  is  impossible 
to  please  him:  for  he  that  cometh  to  God  must  believe  that  he 
is,  and  that  he  is  a  rewarder  of  them  that  diligently  seek  him." 
She  knew  that  Jose's  struggle  to  overcome  evil  had  been  futile, 
because  he  had  first  made  evil  real.  She  knew  that  the  difficulty 
he  had  experienced  in  keeping  his  thought  straight  was  because 
he  persisted  in  looking  at  both  the  good  and  the  evil.  Lot's 
wife,  in  the  Bible  allegory,  had  turned  back  to  look  at  things 
material  and  had  been  transformed  into  a  pillar  of  salt.  Jose 
had  turned  again  and  again  to  his  materialistic  thoughts;  and 
had  been  turned  each  time  to  salt  tears.  She  knew  that  he 
gave  up  readily,  that  he  yielded  easily  to  evil's  strongest  tool, 
discouragement,  and  fell  back  into  self-condemnation,  whereby 
he  only  rendered  still  more  real  to  himself  the  evil  which  he 
was  striving  to  overcome.  She  knew  that  the  only  obstacle  that 
he  was  wrestling  with  in  his  upward  progress  was  the  universal 
belief  in  a  power  other  than  God,  good,  which  is  so  firmly  fixed 
in  the  human  consciousness.  But  she  likewise  knew  that  this 
hindrance  was  but  a  false  conviction,  and  that  it  could  and 
would  be  overcome. 

"Padre,"  she  reflected,  looking  up  at  him  in  great  serious 
ness,  "if  a  lie  had  an  origin,  it  would  be  true,  wouldn't  it?" 
He  regarded  her  attentively,  but  without  replying. 
"But  Jesus  said  that  Satan  was  the  father  of  lies.  And 
Satan,  since  he  is  the  father  of  lies,  must  himself  be  a  lie.  You 
see,  Padre,  we  can  go  right  back  to  the  very  first  chapter  in 
the  Bible.  First  comes  the  account  of  the  real  creation.  Then 
comes  the  account  as  the  human  mind  looks  at  it.  But  that 
conies  after  the  'mist'  had  gone  up  from  the  ground,  from 
dirt,  from  matter.  Don't  you  see?  That  mist  was  error,  the 
opposite  of  Good.  It  was  evil,  the  opposite  of  God.  It  was  the 
human  mind  and  all  human  thought,  the  opposite  of  the  infinite 
Mind,  God,  and  His  thought.  The  mist  went  up  from  matter. 
So  every  bit  of  evil  that  you  can  possibly  think  of  comes  from 
the  material,  physical  senses.  Evil  is  always  a  mist,  hiding  the 
good.  Isn't  it  so?  The  physical  universe,  the  universe  of  mat 
ter,  is  the  way  the  human  mind  sees  its  thoughts  of  the  spiritual 
universe  that  was  created  by  God.  The  human  mind  is  just 
a  bundle  of  these  false  thoughts;  and  you  yourself  have  said 
that  the  human  consciousness  was  a  'thought-activity,  con 
cerned  with  the  activity  of  false  thought.'  The  human  mind  is 

292 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


the  lie  about  the  infinite  mind.  It  is  the  mistake,  the  illusion. 
It  is  like  a  mistake  in  mathematics.  It  has  no  principle,  and 
nothing  to  stand  on.  The  minute  you  turn  the  truth  upon  it, 
why,  it  vanishes." 

"Well,  then,  chiquita,  why  don't  people  turn  the  truth  upon 
it  everywhere?" 

"Because  they  are  mesmerized  by  the  error,  Padre.  They 
sit  looking  at  these  false  thoughts  and  believing  them  true. 
Padre,  all  disease,  all  evil,  comes  from  the  false  thought  in  the 
human  mind.  It  is  that  thought  externalized  in  the  human 
consciousness.  And  when  the  human  mind  turns  from  them, 
and  puts  them  out,  and  lets  the  true  thoughts  in,  why — why, 
then  we  will  raise  the  dead!" 

"But,  chiquita,  the  human  body — if  it  has  died — " 

"Padre,"  she  interrupted,  "the  human  body  and  human 
mind  are  one  and  the  same.  The  body  is  in  the  mind.  The 
body  that  you  think  you  see  is  but  your  thought  of  a  body,  and 
is  in  your  so-called  human  mind!" 

"Do  you  really  understand  that,  child?" 

"I  know  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  so  would  you  if  you  read 
your  Bible  in  the  right  way.  Why — I  had  never  seen  a  Bible 
until  you  gave  me  yours.  I  didn't  know  what  a  book  it  was! 
And  to  think  that  it  has  been  in  the  world  for  thousands  of 
years,  and  yet  people  still  kill  one  another,  still  get  sick,  and 
still  die!  I  don't  see  how  they  can!" 

"But,  chiquita,  people  are  too  busy  to  devote  time  to  dem 
onstrating  the  truths  of  the  Bible,"  he  offered. 

"Too  busy!"  she  ejaculated.     "Busy  with  what?" 

"Why — busy  making  money — busy  socially — busy  having  a 
good  time — busy  accumulating  things  that — that  they  must  go 
away  and  leave  to  somebody  else!" 

"Yes,"  she  said  sadly.  "They  are  like  the  people  Jesus 
spoke  of,  too  busy  with  things  that  are  of  no  account  to  see 
the  things  that  are — that  are — " 

"That  are  priceless,  chiquita — that  are  the  most  vital  of  all 
things  to  sinful,  suffering  mankind,"  he  supplied. 

Rosendo  looked  in  at  the  door.  Jose  motioned  him  away. 
These  hours  with  Carmen  had  become  doubly  precious  to  him 
of  late.  Perhaps  he  felt  a  presentiment  that  the  net  about  him 
and  his  loved  ones  was  drawing  rapidly  tighter.  Perhaps  he 
saw  the  hour  swiftly  approaching,  even  at  hand,  when  these 
moments  of  spiritual  intercourse  would  be  rudely  terminated. 
And  perhaps  he  saw  the  clouds  lowering  ever  darker  above 
them,  and  knew  that  in  the  blackness  which  was  soon  to  fall  the 
girl  would  leave  him  and  be  swept  out  into  the  great  world  of 
human  thoughts  and  events,  to  meet,  alone  with  her  God,  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


fiercest  elements,  the  subtlest  wiles,  of  the  carnal  mind.  As  for 
himself — he  was  in  the  hands  of  that  same  God. 

He  turned  again  to  the  girl.  "Chiquita,"  he  said,  "you  do 
not  find  mistakes  in  the  Bible?  For,  out  in  the  big  world  where 
I  came  from,  there  are  many,  very  many,  who  say  that  it  is 
a  book  of  inconsistencies,  of  gross  inaccuracies,  and  that  its 
statements  are  directly  opposed  to  the  so-called  natural  sciences. 
They  say  that  it  doesn't  even  relate  historical  events  accurately. 
But,  after  all,  the  Bible  is  just  the  record  of  the  unfoldment  in 
the  human  consciousness  of  the  concept  of  God.  Why  cavil 
at  it  when  it  contains,  as  we  must  see,  a  revelation  of  the  full 
formula  for  salvation,  which,  as  you  say,  is  right-thinking." 

"Yes,  Padre.  And  it  even  tells  us  what  to  think  about.  Paul 
said,  you  know,  that  we  should  think  about  whatsoever  things 
are  true,  honest,  just,  pure,  lovely,  and  of  good  report.  Well, 
he  told  us  that  there  was  no  law — not  even  any  human  law — 
against  those  things.  And  don't  you  know,  he  wrote  about 
bringing  into  captivity  every  thought  to  Christ?  What  did  he 
mean  by  that?" 

"Just  what  you  have  been  telling  me,  I  guess,  chiquita: 
that  every  thought  must  be  measured  by  the  Christ-principle. 
Arid  if  it  doesn't  conform  to  that  standard,  it  must  be  rejected." 

"Yes.  And  then  he  said  that  he  died  daily.  He  did  die 
daily  to  evil,  to  all  evil  thought — " 

"And  to  the  testimony  of  the  physical  senses,  think  you?" 

"He  must  have!  For,  in  proving  God  to  be  real,  he  had  to 
prove  the  reports  of  the  five  physical  senses  to  be  only  human 
beliefs." 

"You  are  right,  chiquita.  He  must  have  known  that  the 
corporeal  senses  were  the  only  source  from  which  evil  came. 
He  must  have  known  that  unless  God  testified  in  regard  to 
things,  any  other  testimony  was  but  carnal  belief.  This  must 
be  so,  for  God,  being  infinite  mind,  is  also  infinite  intelligence. 
He  knows  all  things,  and  knows  them  aright — not  as  the  human 
mind  thinks  it  knows  them,  twisted  and  deformed,  but  right." 

"Of  course,  Padre.  You  know  now  that  you  see  it  right. 
And  can't  you  stick  to  it,  and  prove  it?" 

"Chiquita,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head  again,  his  words 
still  voicing  a  lingering  note  of  doubt,  "it  may  be — the  T  that 
I  call  myself  may  be  entirely  human,  unreal,  mortal.  I  make 
no  doubt  it  is,  for  it  seems  filled  to  the  brim  with  discordant 
thoughts.  And  it  will  pass  away.  And  then — then  what  will 
be  left?" 

"Oh,  Padre!"  she  cried,  with  a  trace  of  exasperation. 
"Empty  yourself  of  the  wrong  thoughts — shut  the  door  against 
them — don't  let  them  in  any  more!  Then  fill  yourself  with 

294 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


God's  thoughts.  Then  when  the  mortal  part  fades  away,  why, 
the  good  will  be  left.  And  it  will  be  the  right  'you.'  " 

"But  how  shall  1  empty  myself,  and  then  fill  myself  again?" 

"Padre!"  cried  the  girl,  springing  from  her  chair  and  stamp 
ing  her  foot  with  each  word  to  give  it  emphasis.  "It  is  love, 
love,  love,  nothing  but  love!  Forget  yourself,  and  love  every 
thing  and  everybody,  the  real  things  and  the  real  bodies!  Love 
God,  and  good,  and  good  thoughts!  Turn  from  the  bad  and 
the  unreal — forget  it!  Why — 

"Wait,  chiquita,"  he  interrupted.  "A  great  war  is  threat 
ening  our  country  at  this  very  minute.  Shall  I  turn  from  it 
and  let  come  what  may?" 

She  hesitated  not.  "No!  But  you  can  know  that  war  comes 
only  from  the  human  mind;  that  it  is  bad  thought  externalized; 
and  that  God  is  peace,  and  is  infinitely  greater  than  such  bad 
thought;  and  He  will  take  care  of  you — if  you  will  let  Him!" 

"And  how  do  I  let  Him?  By  sitting  back  and  folding  my 
hands  and  saying,  Here  am  I,  Lord,  protect  me — 

"Oh,  Padre  dear,  you  make  me  ashamed  of  your  foolish 
thought — which  isn't  your  thought  at  all,  but  just  thought  that 
seems  to  be  calling  itself  *y°u-'  Jesus  said,  He  that  believeth 
on  me,  the  works  that  I  do  shall  he  do  likewise.  But  that  did 
not  mean  sitting  back  with  folded  hands.  It  meant  under 
standing  him;  and  knowing  that  there  is  no  power  apart  from 
the  Christ-principle;  and  using  that  principle,  using  it  every 
moment,  hard;  and  with  it  overcoming  every  thought  that 
doesn't  come  from  God,  every  thought  of  the  human  mind, 
whether  it  is  called  war,  or  sickness,  or  death!" 

"Then  evil  can  be  thought  away,  chiquita?"  He  knew  not 
why  he  pursued  her  so  relentlessly. 

"No,  Padre,"  she  replied  with  a  gentle  patience  that  smote 
him.  "No,  Padre.  But  it  can  be  destroyed  in  the  human  mind. 
And  when  you  have  overcome  the  habit  of  thinking  the  wrong 
way,  evil  will  disappear.  That  is  the  whole  thing.  That  is 
what  Jesus  tried  to  make  the  people  see." 

But  Jose  knew  it.  Yet  he  had  not  put  it  to  the  proof.  He 
had  gone  through  life,  worrying  himself  loose  from  one  human 
belief,  only  to  become  enslaved  to  another  equally  insidious. 
He  knew  that  the  cause  of  whatever  came  to  him  was  within 
his  own  mentality.  And  yet  he  knew,  likewise,  that  he  would 
have  to  demonstrate  this — that  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
"prove"  God.  His  faith  without  the  works  following  was  dead. 
He  felt  that  he  did  not  really  believe  in  power  opposed  to  God; 
and  yet  he  did  constantly  yield  to  such  belief.  And  such  yield 
ing  was  the  chief  of  sins.  The  unique  Son  of  God  had  said  so. 
He  knew  that  when  the  Master  had  said,  "Behold,  I  give  you 

295 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


power  over  all  the  enemy,"  he  meant  that  the  Christ-principle 
would  overcome  every  false  claim  of  the  human  mentality, 
whether  that  claim  be  one  of  physical  condition  or  action,  or  a 
claim  of  environment  and  event.  He  knew  that  all  things  were 
possible  to  God,  and  likewise  to  the  one  who  understood  and 
faithfully  applied  the  Christ-principle.  Carmen  believed  that 
good  alone  was  real  and  present.  She  applied  this  knowledge 
to  every-day  affairs.  And  in  so  doing  she  denied  reality  to 
evil.  He  must  let  go.  He  must  turn  upon  the  claims  of  evil 
to  life  and  intelligence.  His  false  sense  of  righteousness  must 
give  place  to  the  spiritual  sense  of  God  as  immanent  good.  He 
knew  that  Carmen's  great  love  was  an  impervious  armor, 
which  turned  aside  the  darts  of  the  evil  one,  the  one  lie.  He 
knew  that  his  reasoning  from  the  premise  of  mixed  good  and 
evil  was  false,  and  the  results  chaotic.  And  knowing  all  this, 
he  knew  that  he  had  touched  the  hem  of  the  garment  of  the 
Christ-understanding.  There  remained,  then,  the  test  of  fire. 
And  it  had  come.  Would  he  stand? 

"Padre,"  said  Carmen,  going  to  him  and  putting  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  "you  say  that  you  think  a  great  war  is  coming. 
But  you  needn't  be  afraid.  Don't  you  remember  what  it  says 
in  the  book  of  Isaiah?  'No  weapon  that  is  formed  against 
thee  shall  prosper,  and  every  tongue  that  shall  rise  against 
thee  in  judgment  thou  shalt  condemn.  This  is  the  heritage  of 
the  servants  of  the  Lord,  and  their  righteousness  is  of  me, 
saith  the  Lord.'  No  weapon  of  evil  can  touch  you,  if  you  un 
derstand  God.  Every  tongue  of  the  human  mind  that  rises  to 
judge  you,  to  sentence  you,  shall  be  condemned.  You  will 
condemn  it — you  must!  This  is  your  heritage,  given  you  by 
God.  And  your  righteousness,  your  right-thinking,  must  come 
from  God.  Your  thoughts  must  be  His.  Then— 

"Yes,  yes,  chiquita,"  he  said,  drawing  her  to  him. 

"And  now,  Padre,  you  will  promise  me  that  you  will  know 
every  day  that  Anita's  babe  is  not  blind — that  it  sees,  because 
God  'sees  ?" 

"Yes,  chiquita,  I  promise." 

"Padre  dear,"  she  murmured,  nestling  close  to  him,  "I  love 
you  so  much,  so  much!" 

He  answered  not,  except  in  the  tightening  of  the  arm  that 
was  about  her. 


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CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  31 

IN  the  weeks  that  followed  there  were  days  when  the  very 
air  seemed  pregnant  with  potential  destruction,  awaiting 
only  the  daring  hand  that  would  render  it  kinetic.  Jose 
dwelt  in  a  state  of  incessant,  heart-shaking  agitation.  The  sud 
den  precipitation  of  the  revolt  six  years  before  had  caught  him 
wholly  unprepared,  unaware  even  of  the  events  which  had  led 
to  it.  In  the  intervening  years,  however,  he  had  had  some 
opportunity,  even  in  his  isolation,  to  study  political  conditions 
in  that  unhappy  country,  and  to  form  some  estimate  of  the 
mental  forces  at  work  in  both  Church  and  State  which,  he 
knew,  must  ultimately  bring  them  again  into  conflict  for  su 
premacy.  His  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  human  mind 
convinced  him  that  Diego's  dire  prophecy  had  not  been  empty; 
that  the  Church,  though  ostensibly  assuming  only  spiritual 
leadership,  would  nevertheless  rest  not  until  the  question 
"Who  shall  be  greatest?"  even  in  the  petty,  sordid  affairs  of 
mortals,  should  be  answered,  and  answered — though  by  force 
of  arms — in  her  favor.  And  his  estimate  of  the  strength  of 
the  opposing  parties  had  led  him  to  believe  that  the  impending 
struggle  would  drench  the  land  in  blood. 

As  to  the  role  which  Wenceslas  would  play,  he  could  form 
no  satisfactory  estimate.  He  knew  him  to  be  astute,  wary,  and 
the  shrewdest  of  politicians.  He  knew,  likewise,  that  he  was 
acting  in  conjunction  \vith  powerful  financial  interests  in  both 
North  America  and  Europe.  He  knew  him  to  be  a  man  who 
would  stop  at  no  scruple,  hesitate  at  no  dictate  of  conscience, 
yield  to  no  moral  or  ethical  code;  one  who  would  play  Rome 
against  Wall  Street,  with  his  own  unfortunate  country  as  the 
stake;  one  who  would  hurl  the  fairest  sons  of  Colombia  at  one 
another's  throats  to  bulge  his  own  coffers;  and  then  wring 
from  the  wailing  widows  their  poor  substance  for  Masses  to 
move  their  beloved  dead  through  an  imagined  purgatory. 

But  he  could  not  know  that,  in  casting  about  impatiently 
for  an  immediate  causus  belli,  Wenceslas  had  hit  upon  poor, 
isolated,  little  Simiti  as  the  point  of  ignition,  and  the  pitting  of 
its  struggling  priest  against  Don  Mario  as  the  method  of  ex 
citing  the  necessary  spark.  He  could  not  know  that  Wenceslas 
had  represented  to  the  Departmental  Governor  in  Cartagena 
that  an  obscure  Cura  in  far-off  Simiti,  an  exile  from  the  Vati 
can,  and  the  author  of  a  violent  diatribe  against  papal  author 
ity,  was  the  nucleus  about  which  anticlerical  sentiment  was 
crystallizing  in  the  Department  of  Bolivar.  He  did  not  know 

297 

29 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


that  the  Governor  had  been  induced  by  the  acting-Bishop's 
specious  representations  to  send  arms  to  Simiti,  to  be  fol 
lowed  by  federal  troops  only  when  the  crafty  Wenceslas  saw 
that  the  time  was  ripe.  He  did  not  even  suspect  that  Don 
Mario  was  to  be  the  puppet  whom  Wenceslas  would  sacrifice 
on  the  altar  of  rapacity  when  he  had  finished  with  him,  and 
that  the  simple-minded  Alcalde  in  his  blind  zeal  to  protect  the 
Church  would  thereby  proclaim  himself  an  enemy  of  both 
Church  and  State,  and  afford  the  smiling  Wenceslas  the  most 
fortuitous  of  opportunities  to  reveal  the  Church's  unexampled 
magnanimity  by  throwing  her  influence  in  with  that  of  the 
Government  against  their  common  enemy. 

His  own  intercourse  with  Wenceslas  during  the  years  of  his 
exile  in  Simiti  had  been  wholly  formal,  and  not  altogether  dis 
agreeable  as  long  as  the  contributions  of  gold  to  the  Bishop's 
leaking  coffers  continued.  He  had  received  almost  monthly 
communications  from  Cartagena,  relating  to  the  Church  at 
large,  and,  at  infrequent  intervals,  to  the  parish  of  Simiti.  But 
he  knew  that  Cartagena's  interest  in  Simiti  was  merely  casual 
— nay,  rather,  financial — and  he  strove  to  maintain  it  so,  lest 
the  stimulation  of  a  deeper  interest  thwart  his  own  plans. 
His  conflict  with  Diego  in  regard  to  Carmen  had  seemed  for 
the  moment  to  evoke  the  Bishop's  interference;  and  the  sud 
den  and  unaccountable  disappearance  of  that  priest  had  threat 
ened  to  expose  both  Jose  and  Carmen  to  the  full  scrutiny  of 
Wenceslas.  But,  fortunately,  the  insistence  of  those  matters 
which  were  rapidly  culminating  in  a  political  outbreak  left 
Wenceslas  little  time  for  interference  in  affairs  which  did  not 
pertain  exclusively  to  the  momentous  questions  with  which 
he  was  now  concerned,  and  Jose  and  Carmen  were  still  left 
unmolested.  It  was  only  when,  desperate  lest  Congress  ad 
journ  without  passing  the  measure  which  he  knew  \vould 
precipitate  the  conflict,  and  when,  well  nigh  panic-stricken 
lest  his  collusion  with  Ames  and  his  powerful  clique  of  WTall 
Street  become  known  through  the  exasperation  of  the  latter 
over  the  long  delay,  he  had  resolved  to  pit  Don  Mario  against 
Jose  in  distant  Simiti,  and,  in  that  unknown,  isolated  spot, 
where  close  investigation  would  never  be  made,  apply  the 
torch  to  the  waiting  combustibles,  that  Jose  saw  the  danger 
which  had  always  hung  over  him  and  the  girl  suddenly  de 
scending  upon  them  and  threatening  anew  the  separation  which 
he  had  ever  regarded  as  inevitable,  and  yet  which  he  had  hoped 
against  hope  to  avoid. 

With  the  deposition  of  arms  in  Simiti,  and  the  establish 
ment  of  federal  authority  in  Don  Mario,  that  always  pompous 
official  rose  in  his  own  esteem  and  in  the  eyes  of  a  few  para- 

298 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


sitical  attaches  to  an  eminence  never  before  dreamed  of  by 
the  humble  denizens  of  this  moss-encrusted  town.  From  ego 
tistical,  Don  Mario  became  insolent.  From  sluggishness  and 
torpidity  of  thought  and  action,  he  rose  suddenly  into  tre 
mendous  activity.  He  was  more  than  once  observed  by  Jose 
or  Rosendo  emerging  hastily  from  his  door  and  button-holing 
some  one  of  the  more  influential  citizens  of  the  town  and  ex 
citedly  reading  to  him  excerpts  from  letters  which  he  had  just 
received  from  Cartagena.  He  might  be  seen  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  in  the  little  patio  back  of  his  store,  busily  engaged  with 
certain  of  the  men  of  the  place  in  examining  papers  and  docu 
ments,  talking  volubly  and  with  much  excited  gesticulation 
and  wild  rolling  of  the  eyes.  A  party  seemed  to  be  crystalliz 
ing  about  him.  His  hitherto  uncertain  prestige  appeared  to  be 
soaring  greatly.  Men  who  before  made  slighting  remarks 
about  him,  or  opposed  his  administrative  acts,  were  now  often 
seen  in  earnest  converse  with  him.  His  manner  toward  Jose 
and  Rosendo  became  that  of  utter  contempt.  He  often  refused 
to  notice  the  priest  as  they  passed  in  the  streets. 

Jose's  apprehension  waxed  great.  It  attained  its  climax 
when  Rosendo  came  to  him  one  day  to  discuss  the  Alcalde's 
conduct  and  the  change  of  sentiment  which  seemed  to  be  steal 
ing  rapidly  over  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  Simiti. 

"Padre,"  said  the  old  man  in  perplexity,  "I  cannot  say  what 
it  is,  but  Don  Mario  has  some  scheme  in  hand,  and — and  I  do 
not  think  it  is  for  our  good.  I  cannot  get  anything  out  of  those 
with  whom  he  talks  so  continually,  but  Lazaro  tells  me  that — 
Bien,  that  he  learns  that  Don  Mario  suspects  you  of — of  not 
belonging  to  the  Church  party." 

Jose  smiled.  Don  Mario's  suspicions  about  him  had  been 
many  and  varied,  especially  as  La  Libertad  mine  had  not  been 
discovered.  He  said  as  much  to  Rosendo  in  reply;  and  as  he 
did  so,  he  thought  the  old  man's  face  took  on  a  queer  and  un 
wonted  expression. 

"But,  Padre,"  continued  Rosendo  at  length,  "they  say  that 
Don  Mario  has  word  from  the  Bishop  that  you  once  wrote  a 
book  against  the  Holy  Father — " 

"Good  God!"  The  words  burst  from  the  priest's  lips  like 
the  sudden  issuance  of  pent  steam.  Rosendo  stared  at  him 
in  bewilderment. 

"Rosendo!"  gasped  Jose.     "How  know  you  that?" 

"Caramba,  Padre!  it  is  what  Lazaro  tells  me,"  replied  the 
old  man,  his  own  suspicion  verging  upon  conviction. 

Jose's  dark  face  became  almost  white,  and  his  breath 
sobbed  out  in  gasps.  A  vague  idea  of  the  game  Wenceslas  was 
playing  now  stole  through  his  throbbing  brain.  That  book, 

299 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


his  Nemesis,  his  pursuing  Fate,  had  tracked  him  to  this  se 
cluded  corner  of  the  earth,  and  in  the  hands  of  the  most  un 
scrupulous  politician  of  South  America  was  being  used  as  a  tool. 
But,  precisely  to  what  end,  his  wild  thought  did  not  as  yet 
disclose.  Still,  above  the  welter  of  it  all,  he  saw  clearly  that 
there  must  be  no  further  delay  on  his  part.  Before  he  could 
speak,  however,  Rosendo  had  resumed  the  conversation. 

"Padre,"  he  said,  "had  it  occurred  to  you  that  you  were 
watched,  day  and  night?" 

"No — heavens!"    Jose  had  not  suspected  such  a  thing. 

"It  is  so,  Padre.  Don  Mario's  men  keep  you  in  sight  during 
the  day;  and  at  night  there  is  always  some  one  hovering  near 
your  house.  You  could  not  escape  now  even  if  you  would." 

Jose  sank  back  in  his  chair  limp  and  cold.  His  frenzied 
brain  held  but  one  thought :  he  had  delayed  until  too  late — 
and  the  end  was  at  hand! 

"Padre,"  said  Rosendo  earnestly,  "tell  me  about  that  book. 
You  did  write  it?  And  against  the  Holy  Father?  But — you 
still  say  the  Mass.  You  have  not  brought  Carmen  up  in  the 
Church.  But  it  was  I  who  told  you  not  to — that  her  heart  was 
her  church,  and  it  must  not  be  disturbed.  But — is  it  true,  as 
the  people  say,  that  you  really  belong  to  the  party  that  would 
destroy  the  Church?" 

Then  Jose  collected  himself.  While  his  heart  burned 
within  his  breast,  he  opened  its  portals  and  revealed  to  Ro 
sendo  all  that  lay  within.  Beginning  with  his  boyhood,  he 
drew  his  career  out  before  the  wandering  eyes  of  the  old  man 
down  to  the  day  when  the  culmination  of  carnal  ambition, 
false  thought,  perverted  concepts  of  filial  devotion  and  sacred- 
ness  of  oath,  of  family  honor  and  pride  of  race,  had  washed 
him  up  against  the  dreary  shores  of  Simiti.  With  no  thought 
of  concealment,  he  exposed  his  ambition  in  regard  to  Carmen 
— even  the  love  for  her  that  he  knew  must  die  of  inanition — 
and  ended  by  throwing  himself  without  reserve  upon  Rosendo's 
judgment.  When  the  tense  recital  was  ended,  Rosendo  leaned 
over  and  clasped  the  priest's  trembling  hand. 

"I  understand,  Padre,"  he  said  gently.  "I  am  dull  of  wit, 
I  know.  And  you  have  often  laughed  at  my  superstitions  and 
old  family  beliefs,  whether  religious  or  otherwise.  They  are 
strange — I  admit  that.  And  I  shall  die  in  the  Church,  and 
take  my  chances  on  the  future,  for  I  have  tried  to  live  a  good 
life.  But — with  a  man  like  you — I  understand.  And  now, 
Padre,  we  have  no  time  to  be  sorrowful.  We  must  be  up  and 
doing.  We  are  like  fish  in  a  net.  But — my  life  is  yours.  And 
both  are  Carmen's,  is  it  not  so?  Thanks  be  to  the  good  Virgin," 

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he  muttered,  as  he  walked  slowly  away,  "that  Lazaro  got  those 
titles  from  Don  Mario  to-day!" 

****** 

Nightfall  brought  an  unexpected  visitor  in  the  person  of 
Don  Jorge,  who  had  returned  from  the  remoter  parts  of  the 
Guamoco  region. 

"Bien,  and  what  news?"  he  called  cheerily,  as  he  strode 
into  the  parish  house,  where  Rosendo  and  Jose  were  in  earnest 
conversation. 

Jose  embraced  him  as  a  brother,  while  a  great  sense  of 
relief  stole  over  him.  Then  he  quickly  made  known  to  him 
the  situation. 

Don  Jorge  whistled  softly.  He  ceased  his  task  of  scraping 
the  caked  mud  from  his  bare  limbs,  and  drew  up  a  chair  near 
Jose. 

"So  you  wrote  a  book,  no?  And  rapped  the  sacred  priest 
hood?  Hombre!  That  is  good!  I  never  did  think  you  a  real 
priest.  But,  amigo,  lend  me  a  copy,  for  I  doubt  not  it  is  most 
excellent  reading,  and  will  serve  to  while  away  many  a  weary 
hour  in  the  jungle."  His  eyes  snapped  merrily,  and  he  slapped 
Jose  roundly  upon  the  back  when  he  finished  speaking. 

"But,"  he  continued  more  seriously,  "things  seem  to  be 
setting  against  you,  friend.  However,  let  me  but  canvass  the 
town  to-morrow,  and  by  evening  I  can  advise.  Caramba!  this 
old  hole  a  military  depot!  Who  would  have  thought  it!  And 
yet — and  yet — I  wonder  why  the  Governor  sends  arms  here. 
Bien,  we  shall  see." 

Don  Jorge  needed  not  a  full  day  to  correctly  estimate  the 
situation  in  Simiti.  His  bluff,  hearty  manner  and  genial  good 
nature  constituted  a  passport  to  every  house,  and  by  midday 
he  had  talked  with  nearly  every  man  in  the  pueblo.  He  called 
Jose  and  Rosendo  for  consultation  during  the  siesta. 

"Bien,"  he  said,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  parish  house, 
"Don  Mario  without  doubt  descends  from  the  very  serpent  that 
tempted  our  mother  Eve!  He  has  become  a  person  of  con 
siderable  importance  since  the  Governor  and  Don  Wenceslas 
strive  with  each  other  to  rest  their  authority  and  confidence 
in  him.  And,  unless  I  mistake  much,  they  have  him  slated 
for  important  work.  However  that  may  be,  the  man  already 
has  a  large  following.  Moreover,  he  has  them  well  poisoned 
against  you,  amigo  Jose.  They  know  more  details  about  your 
book  and  your  life  before  coming  to  Simiti  than  do  you.  Bien, 
you  must  counteract  the  Alcalde's  influence  by  a  public  state 
ment.  It  must  be  to-night — in  the  church!  You  will  have  to 
act  quickly,  for  the  old  fox  has  you  picked  for  trouble !  Diego's 
disappearance,  you  know;  the  girl,  Carmen;  your  rather  foolish 

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course  here — it  is  all  laid  up  against  you,  friend,  and  you  must 
meet  it!" 

Jose  assented.  Don  Jorge  went  out  and  summoned  the 
town  to  a  meeting  in  the  church  that  evening.  Immediately 
Don  Mario  issued  a  mandate  forbidding  a  public  gathering  at 
a  time  of  such  stress.  The  people  began  to  assemble  on  the 
street  corners  and  in  front  of  their  houses  to  discuss  the  situa 
tion.  Their  talk  became  loud  and  animated.  Threats  were 
heard.  The  people  were  becoming  divided.  Don  Jorge  was 
everywhere,  and  none  could  talk  so  volubly  nor  gesticulate  and 
expectorate  so  vehemently  as  he. 

At  sundown  the  people  moved  toward  the  plaza.  Then  the 
concourse  drifted  slowly  into  the  church.  Don  Jorge  dragged 
Jose  from  the  parish  house  and  up  to  the  altar.  "You  have 
got  to  divide  them,  Padre!"  he  whispered  excitedly.  "Your 
only  hope  now  lies  in  the  formation  of  your  own  party  to 
oppose  the  Alcalde!  Talk  to  them  as  you  never  talked  before! 
Say  all  that  you  had  stored  up  to  say  on  Judgment  Day!" 

Again,  as  Jose  faced  his  little  flock  and  saw  them,  bare  of 
feet,  scantily  clad  in  their  simple  cotton  and  calico,  their  faces 
set  in  deep  seriousness,  the  ludicrous  side  of  the  whole  situa 
tion  flashed  before  him,  and  he  almost  laughed  aloud  at  the 
spectacle  which  the  ancient,  decayed  town  at  that  moment 
presented.  These  primitive  folk — they  were  but  children,  with 
all  a  child's  simplicity  of  nature,  its  petulance,  its  immaturity 
of  view,  and  its  sudden  and  unreasoning  acceptance  of  author 
ity!  He  turned  to  the  altar  and  took  up  a  tall  brass  crucifix. 
He  held  it  out  before  him  for  a  moment.  Then  he  called  upon 
the  Christ  to  witness  to  the  truth  of  what  he  was  about  to  say. 

A  hush  fell  over  the  assembly.  Even  Don  Mario  seemed  to 
become  calm  after  that  dramatic  spectacle.  Then  Jose  spoke. 
He  talked  long  and  earnestly.  He  knew  not  that  such  elo 
quence  abode  wdthin  him.  His  declamation  became  more  and 
more  impassioned.  He  opened  wide  his  heart  and  called  upon 
all  present  to  look  fearlessly  within.  Yes,  he  had  written  the 
book  in  question.  But  its  publication  was  unfortunate.  Yes, 
it  had  expressed  his  views  at  that  time.  But  now — ah,  now! 

He  stopped  and  looked  about  the  church.  The  shadows 
were  gathering  thick,  and  the  smoking  kerosene  lamps  battled 
vainly  with  the  heavy  blackness.  In  a  far  corner  of  the  room 
he  saw  Carmen  and.  Ana.  Rosendo  sat  stolidly  beside  them. 
The  sightless  babe  waved  its  tiny  hands  in  mute  helplessness, 
while  Dona  Maria  held  it  closely  to  her  bosom.  Carmen's  last 
admonition  sang  in  his  ears.  He  must  know — really  know — 
that  the  babe  could  see!  He  must  know  that  God  was  omnipo 
tent!  His  appeal  to  the  people  was  not  for  himself.  He  cared 

302 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


not  what  became  of  him.  But  Carmen — and  now  Ana  and  the 
blind  babe — and  the  calm,  unimpassioned  Dona  Maria,  the 
embodiment  of  all  that  was  greatest  in  feminine  character— 
and  Rosendo,  waiting  to  lay  down  his  life  for  those  he  loved! 
And  then,  this  people,  soon,  he  felt,  to  be  shattered  by  the 
shock  of  war — ah,  God  above!  what  could  he  say  that  might 
save  them?  If  they  could  know,  as  Carmen  did,  if  they  could 
love  and  trust  as  she  did,  would  the  hideous  spectre  of  war 
ever  stalk  among  them?  Could  the  world  know,  and  love,  and 
trust  as  did  this  fair  child,  would  it  waste  itself  in  useless 
wars,  sink  with  famine  and  pestilence,  consume  with  the  an 
guish  of  fear,  and  in  the  end  bury  its  blasted  hopes  in  the  dank, 
reeking  tomb?  The  thought  gave  wings  to  his  voice,  soul  to 
his  words.  For  hours  the  people  sat  spellbound. 

Then  he  finished.  He  raised  his  hands  in  benediction. 
And,  while  the  holy  hush  remained  upon  the  people,  he  de 
scended  the  altar  steps,  his  frame  still  tremulous  with  the 
vehemence  of  his  appeal,  and  went  alone  to  his  house. 


CHAPTER  32 

DAWN  had  scarcely  reddened  in  the  east  when  a  number 
of  men  assembled  at  Jose's  door. 
"You    have   turned   the    trick,    amigo,"    said   Don   Jorge, 
rousing  up  from  his  petate  on  the  floor  beside  the  priest's  bed. 
"You  have  won  over  a  few  of  them,  at  least." 

Jose  went  out  to  meet  the  early  callers. 

"We  come  to  say,  Padre,"  announced  Andres  Arellano,  the 
dignified  spokesman,  "that  we  have  confidence  in  your  words 
of  last  night.  We  suspect  Don  Mario,  even  though  he  has 
letters  from  the  Bishop.  We  are  your  men,  and  we  would 
keep  the  war  away  from  Simiti." 

There  were  five  of  them,  strong  of  heart  and  brawny  of 
arm.  "And  there  will  be  more,  Padre,"  added  Andres,  reading 
the  priest's  question  in  his  appraising  glance. 

Thus  was  the  town  divided;  and  while  many  clung  to  the 
Alcalde,  partly  through  fear  of  offending  the  higher  ecclesias 
tical  authority,  and  partly  because  of  imagined  benefits  to  be 
gained,  others,  and  a  goodly  number,  assembled  at  Jose's  side, 
and  looked  to  him  to  lead  them  in  the  crisis  which  all  felt  to 
be  at  hand.  As  the  days  passed,  the  priest's  following  grew 
more  numerous,  until,  after  the  lapse  of  a  week,  the  town 
stood  fairly  divided.  Don  Jorge  announced  his  intention  of 
remaining  in  Simiti  for  the  present. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


From  the  night  of  the  meeting  in  the  church  excitement 
ran  continuously  higher.  Business  was  at  length  suspended; 
the  fishermen  forgot  their  nets;  and  the  limber  tongues  of  the 
town  gossips  steadily  increased  their  clatter.  Don  Mario's  store 
and  patio  assumed  the  functions  of  a  departmental  office.  Daily 
he  might  be  seen  laboriously  drafting  letters  of  incredible 
length  and  wearisome  prolixity  to  acting-Bishop  Wenceslas; 
and  nightly  he  was  engaged  in  long  colloquies  and  whispered 
conferences  with  Don  Luis  and  others  of  his  followers  and 
hangers-on.  The  government  arms  had  been  brought  up  from 
Bodega  Central  and  stored  in  an  empty  warehouse  belonging 
to  Don  Felipe  Alcozer  to  await  further  disposition. 

But  with  the  arrival  of  the  arms,  and  of  certain  letters  which 
Don  Mario  received  from  Cartagena,  the  old  town  lost  its  calm 
of  centuries,  not  to  recover  it  again  for  many  a  dreary  day. 
By  the  time  its  peace  wras  finally  restored,  it  had  received  a 
blow  from  which  it  never  recovered.  And  many  a  familiar 
face,  too,  had  disappeared  forever  from  its  narrow  streets. 

Meanwhile,  Jose  and  his  followers  anxiously  awaited  the 
turn  of  events.  It  came  at  length,  and  in  a  manner  not  wholly 
unexpected.  The  Alcalde  in  his  voluminous  correspondence 
with  Wenceslas  had  not  failed  to  bring  against  Jose  every 
charge  which  his  unduly  stimulated  brain  could  imagine.  But 
in  particular  did  he  dwell  upon  the  priest's  malign  influence 
upon  Carmen,  whose  physical  beauty  and  powers  of  mind  were 
the  marvel  of  Simiti.  He  hammered  upon  this  with  an  insist 
ence  that  could  not  but  at  length  again  attract  the  thought  of 
the  acting-Bishop,  who  wrote  finally  to  Don  Mario,  expressing 
the  mildly  couched  opinion  that,  now  that  his  attention  had 
been  called  again  to  the  matter,  Carmen  should  have  the  bene 
fits  of  the  education  and  liberal  training  which  a  convent  would 
afford. 

Don  Mario's  egotism  soared  to  the  sky.  The  great  Bishop 
was  actually  being  advised  by  him!  Hombre!  Where  would 
it  not  end!  He  would  yet  remove  to  a  larger  town,  perhaps 
Mompox,  and,  \vith  the  support  of  the  great  ecclesiastic,  stand 
for  election  to  Congress!  He  wrould  show  the  Bishop  wrhat 
mettle  he  had  in  him.  Hombre!  And  first  he  would  show 
His  Grace  how  a  loyal  servant  could  anticipate  his  master's 
wishes.  He  summoned  Fernando,  and  imperiously  bade  him 
bring  the  girl  Carmen  at  once. 

But  Fernando  returned,  saying  that  Rosendo  refused  to 
give  up  the  child.  Don  Mario  then  ordered  Rosendo's  arrest. 
But  Fernando  found  it  impossible  to  execute  the  commission. 
Jose  and  Don  Jorge  stood  with  Rosendo,  and  threatened  to 
deal  harshly  with  the  constable  should  he  attempt  to  take  Car- 

304 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


men  by  force.  Fernando  then  sought  to  impress  upon  the 
Alcalde  the  danger  of  arousing  public  opinion  again  over  the 
girl. 

Don  Mario's  wrath  burst  forth  like  an  exploding  bomb.  He 
seized  his  straw  hat  and  his  cane,  the  emblem  of  his  office,  and 
strode  to  the  house  of  Rosendo.  His  face  grew  more  deeply 
purple  as  he  went.  At  the  door  of  the  house  he  encountered 
Jose  and  Don  Jorge. 

"Don  Mario,"  began  Jose,  before  the  Alcalde  could  get  his 
words  shaped,  "it  is  useless.  Carmen  remains  with  us.  We 
will  defend  her  with  our  lives.  Be  advised,  Don  Mario,  for 
the  consequences  of  thoughtless  action  may  be  incalculable!" 

"Caramba!"  bellowed  the  irate  official,  "but,  cow-face!  do 
you  know  that  His  Grace  supports  me?  That  I  but  execute  his 
orders?  Dios  arriba!  if  you  do  not  at  once  deliver  to  me  your 
paramour — 

He  got  no  further.  Rosendo,  who  had  been  standing  just 
within  the  door,  suddenly  pushed  Jose  and  Don  Jorge  aside 
and,  stalking  out,  a  tower  of  flesh,  confronted  the  raging  Al 
calde.  For  a  moment  he  gazed  down  into  the  pig-eyes  of  the 
man.  Then,  with  a  quick  thrust  of  his  thick  arm,  he  pro 
jected  his  huge  fist  squarely  into  Don  Mario's  bloated  face. 
The  Alcalde  went  down  like  a  shot. 

Neither  Jose  nor  Don  Jorge,  as  they  rushed  in  between  Ro 
sendo  and  his  fallen  adversary,  had  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
consequences  of  the  old  man's  precipitate  action.  As  they 
assisted  the  prostrate  official  to  his  unsteady  feet  they  knew  not 
that  to  Rosendo,  simple,  peace-loving,  and  great  of  heart,  had 
fallen  the  lot  to  inaugurate  hostilities  in  the  terrible  anti 
clerical  war  which  now  for  four  dismal  years  was  to  tear 
Colombia  from  end  to  end,  and  leave  her  prostrate  and  ex 
hausted  at  last,  her  sons  decimated,  her  farms  and  industries 
ruined,  and  her  neck  beneath  the  heavy  heel  of  a  military 
despot  at  Bogota,  whose  pliant  hand  would  still  be  guided  by 
the  astute  brain  of  Rome. 

By  the  time  the  startled  Alcalde  had  been  set  again  upon  his 
feet  a  considerable  concourse  had  gathered  at  the  scene. 
Many  stood  in  wide-eyed  horror  at  what  had  just  occurred. 
Others  broke  into  loud  and  wild  talk.  The  crowd  rapidly  grew, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  plaza  was  full.  Supporters  of  both  sides 
declaimed  and  gesticulated  vehemently.  In  the  heat  of  the 
arguments  a  blow  was  struck.  Then  another.  The  Alcalde, 
when  he  found  his  tongue,  shrilly  demanded  the  arrest  of  Ro 
sendo  and  his  family,  including  the  priest  and  Don  Jorge.  A 
dozen  of  his  party  rushed  forward  to  execute  the  order.  Ro 
sendo  had  slipped  between  Jose  and  Don  Jorge  and  into  his 

305 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


house.  In  a  trice  he  emerged  with  a  great  machete.  The  peo 
ple  about  him  fell  back.  His  eyes  blazed  like  live  coals,  and 
his  breath  seemed  to  issue  from  his  dilating  nostrils  like  clouds 
of  steam.  To  approach  him  meant  instant  death.  Don  Jorge 
crept  behind  him  and,  gaining  the  house,  collected  the  terrified 
women  and  held  them  in  readiness  for  flight.  Juan,  Lazaro, 
and  a  number  of  others  surrounded  Jose  and  faced  the  angry 
multitude. 

The  strain  was  broken  by  the  frenzied  Alcalde,  who  rushed 
toward  Rosendo.  The  old  man  swung  his  enormous  machete 
with  a  swirl  that,  had  it  met  the  official,  would  have  clean  de 
capitated  him.  But,  fortunately,  one  of  the  priest's  supporters 
threw  out  his  foot,  and  the  corpulent  Alcalde  fell  heavily  over 
it  and  bit  the  dust.  Jose  threw  himself  upon  Rosendo.  The 
old  man  staggered  with  the  shock  and  gave  way.  The  priest 
turned  to  the  excited  crowd.  Holding  up  both  hands  high 
above  his  head,  he  sent  out  his  voice  clear  and  loud. 

"Children!  In  the  name  of  the  Church!  In  the  name  of 
the  Christ!  The  blessed  Virgin — 

"What  know  you  of  the  blessed  Virgin,  priest  of  Satan?" 
shouted  a  rough  follower  of  the  Alcalde. 

"Aye!"  yelled  another.  "Writer  of  foul  books!  Seducer 
of  young  girls!" 

Julio  Gomez  stooped  and  took  up  a  large  piece  of  shale. 
He  threw  it  with  all  his  force,  just  as  the  priest  again  strove 
to  make  his  voice  heard  above  the  din.  It  struck  Jose  full  on 
the  forehead.  The  jagged  stone  cut  deeply,  and  the  red  blood 
spurted.  Jose  fell  into  the  arms  of  Lazaro  and  was  dragged 
into  the  house. 

Then  Rosendo,  with  a  mad  yell,  plunged  wildly  into  the 
crowd.  A  dozen  arms  sought  to  hold  him,  but  in  vain.  Julio 
saw  the  terrifying  apparition  hurtling  down  upon  him.  He 
turned  and  fled,  but  not  before  the  great  knife  had  caught 
him  on  its  point  as  it  swung  down  and  ripped  a  deep  gash  the 
full  length  of  his  naked  back. 

Then  the  last  vestige  of  reason  fled  from  the  mob,  and  chaos 
took  the  reins.  Back  and  forth  through  the  plaza,  in  front  of 
the  church  where  hung  the  image  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  the 
maddened  people  surged,  fighting  like  demons,  raining  blows 
with  clubs,  fists,  and  machetes,  stabbing  with  their  long,  wicked 
knives,  hurling  sharp  stones,  gouging,  ripping,  yelling,  shriek 
ing,  calling  upon  Saints  and  Virgin  to  curse  their  enemies  and 
bless  their  blows.  Over  the  heads  of  them  all  towered  the 
mighty  frame  of  Rosendo.  Back  before  his  murderous  machete 
fell  the  terrified  combatants.  His  course  among  them  was 
that  of  a  cannon  ball.  Dozens  hung  upon  his  arms,  his  shoul- 

306 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ders,  or  flung  themselves  about  his  great  legs.  His  huge  body, 
slippery  and  reeking,  was  galvanized  into  energy  incarnate. 
Sparks  seemed  to  flash  from  his  eyes.  His  breath  turned  to 
livid  flame.  Behind  him,  following  in  the  swath  which  he  cut, 
his  supporters  crowded,  fought  and  yelled.  Don  Mario's  forces 
gave  way.  They  cursed,  broke,  and  fled.  Then  Don  Jorge,  a 
man  whose  mortal  strength  was  more  than  common,  threw 
himself  upon  the  steaming,  frenzied  Rosendo  and  stopped  his 
mad  progress. 

"Rosendo — amigo!  Caramba!  Listen!  They  are  fleeing 
to  the  bodega  to  get  the  rifles  and  ammunition!  Come — Dios 
arriba!  Come!" 

Cut,  bruised,  and  dripping  blood  from  a  dozen  wounds,  Ro 
sendo  stood  for  a  moment  blinking  in  confusion.  A  score  lay 
on  the  ground  about  him.  Whether  dead  or  wounded,  he  knew 
not,  nor  cared.  The  sight  of  Don  Mario's  supporters  in  full 
flight  fascinated  him.  He  broke  into  a  chuckle.  It  sounded 
like  the  gloating  of  an  imp  of  Satan.  Then  the  force  of  Don 
Jorge's  words  smote  him. 

"Caramba!  They  will  return  with  the  rifles!"  he  panted. 
"What  shall  we  do?" 

"Come!  We  must  lose  no  time!"  cried  Don  Jorge,  pulling 
him  toward  the  house.  Those  of  the  priest's  other  followers 
who  were  still  whole  scattered  wildly  to  their  homes  and 
barred  their  doors.  There  they  searched  for  knives,  machetes, 
razors,  any  tool  or  instrument  that  might  be  pressed  into  ser 
vice  as  a  weapon,  and  stood  guard.  One  frenzied  fellow,  the 
sole  possessor  of  an  antiquated  shotgun,  projected  the  rusty 
arm  from  a  hole  in  the  wall  of  his  mud  hut  and  blazed  away 
down  the  deserted  street  indiscriminately  and  without  aim. 

Within  the  house  Juan  and  Lazaro  were  supporting  the 
dazed  Jose,  while  Dona  Maria  bathed  and  bound  his  wound. 
Carmen  stood  gazing  upon  the  scene  in  bewilderment.  The 
precipitousness  of  the  affair  had  taken  her  breath  away  and 
driven  all  thought  in  mad  rout  from  her  mind. 

"Amigos!"  panted  Don  Jorge,  "the  church — it  is  the  only 
place  now  that  is  even  fairly  safe!  Dona  Maria,  do  you  collect 
all  the  food  in  the  house!  We  know  not  how  long  we  may  be 
prisoners — " 

"But — Don  Jorge,"  interrupted  Jose  feebly,  "they  will  at 
tack  us  even  there!  Let  us  flee — " 

"Where,  amigo?  To  the  Guamoco  trail?  Caramba!  they 
would  shoot  us  down  in  cold  blood!  Hombre!  There  is  no 
place  but  the  church!  That  will  hold  some  of  them  back,  at 
any  rate!  And  none  of  them,  if  they  get  crazed  with  anisado! 
But  it  is  the  only  place  now!  Come!" 

307 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Hombre!"  cried  Rosendo,  starting  for  the  door,  "but  do 
you,  Juan  and  Lazaro,  follow  me  with  your  machetes,  and  we 
will  drive  the  cowards  from  the  bodega  and  get  the  rifles  our 
selves!" 

"No,  amigo!  Impossible!  By  this  time  they  have  broken 
open  the  boxes  and  loaded  the  guns.  A  shot — and  it  would  be 
all  over  with  you!  But  in  the  church — you  have  a  chance 
there!" 

Don  Jorge  seized  his  arm  and  dragged  him  out  of  the  house 
and  across  the  deserted  plaza.  Juan  and  Lazaro  helped  Dona 
Maria  gather  what  food  and  water  remained  in  the  house;  and 
together  they  hurried  out  and  over  to  the  church.  Swinging 
open  the  heavy  wooden  doors,  they  entered  and  made  them  fast 
again.  Then  they  sank  upon  the  benches  and  strove  to  realize 
their  situation. 

But  Don  Jorge  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet.  "The  win 
dows!"  he  cried. 

Juan  and  Lazaro  hurried  to  them  and  swung  the  wooden 
shutters. 

"There  is  no  way  of  holding  them!"  cried  Juan  in  dismay. 

"Caramba!"  muttered  Rosendo,  seizing  a  bench  and  with 
one  blow  of  his  machete  splitting  it  clean  through,  "these  will 
make  props  to  hold  them!" 

It  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  minutes  to  place  benches 
across  the  thick  shutters  and  secure  them  with  others  placed 
diagonally  against  them  and  let  into  the  hard  dirt  floor.  The 
same  was  done  with  the  doors.  Then  the  little  group  huddled 
together  and  waited.  Jose  heard  a  sob  beside  him,  and  a 
hand  clutched  his  in  the  gloom.  It  was  Carmen.  In  the  ex 
citement  of  the  hour  he  had  all  but  forgotten  her.  Through 
his  present  confusion  of  thought  a  great  fact  loomed:  as  the 
girl  clung  to  him  she  was  weeping! 

A  low  rumble  drifted  to  them;  a  confusion  of  voices,  grow 
ing  louder;  and  then  a  sharp  report. 

"They  are  coming,  Padre,"  muttered  Rosendo.  "And  some 
one  has  tried  his  rifle!" 

A  moment  later  the  ruck  poured  into  the  plaza  and  made 
for  Rosendo's  house.  Don  Mario,  holding  his  cane  aloft  like  a 
sword,  was  at  their  head.  Raging  with  disappointment  at  not 
finding  the  fugitives  in  the  house,  they  threw  the  furniture  and 
kitchen  utensils  madly  about,  punched  great  holes  through 
the  walls,  and  then  rushed  pellmell  to  the  parish  house  next 
door.  A  groan  escaped  Jose  as  he  watched  them  through  a 
chink  in  the  shutters.  His  books  and  papers!  His  notes  and 
writings! 

But  as  the  howling  mob  streamed  toward  the  parish  house 

308 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


a  wrinkled  old  crone  shrilled  at  them  from  across  the  way  and 
pointed  toward  the  church. 

"In  there,  amigos!"  she  screamed.  "I  saw  them  enter! 
Shoot  them — they  have  hurt  my  Pedro!" 

Back  like  a  huge  wave  the  crowd  flowed,  and  up  against  the 
church  doors.  Don  Mario,  at  the  head  of  his  valiant  followers, 
held  up  his  hand  for  silence.  Then,  planting  himself  before 
the  main  doors  of  the  church,  he  loudly  voiced  his  authority. 

"In  the  name  of  the  Government  at  Bogota!"  he  cried 
pompously,  tapping  the  doors  with  his  light  cane.  Then  he 
turned  quickly.  "Fernando,"  he  called,  "run  to  my  house  and 
fetch  the  drum!" 

Despite  the  seriousness  of  their  situation,  Jose  smiled  at  the 
puppet-show  being  enacted  without. 

The  Alcalde  reiterated  his  demands  with  truculent  vanity. 
"Open!  In  the  name  of  the  Government!  I  am  the  law!" 

Don  Jorge  groaned  aloud.  "Caramba!  if  I  but  had  him  in 
here  alone!" 

Don  Mario  waited  a  few  moments.  Then,  as  no  response 
came  from  within,  his  anger  began  to  soar.  "Caramba!"  he 
cried,  "but  you  defy  the  law?" 

Angry  mutterings  rose  from  the  crowd.  Some  one  sug 
gested  burning  the  building.  Another  advised  battering  in  the 
doors.  A  third  intimated  that  shooting  them  full  of  holes  were 
better.  This  idea,  once  voiced,  spread  like  an  infection.  The 
childish  people  were  eager  to  try  the  rifles. 

"Shoot  the  doors  down!  Shoot  them  down,  Don  Mario!" 
yelled  the  mob. 

The  Alcalde  threw  himself  heavily  up  against  the  doors. 
"Caramba!"  he  shrilled.  "Fools!  Demons!  Open! — or  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you!" 

Jose  decided  that  their  silence  should  no  longer  exasperate 
the  angry  man.  He  put  his  mouth  to  the  crevice  between  the 
doors. 

"Don  Mario,"  he  cried,  "this  is  sacred  ground!  The  Host 
is  exposed  on  the  altar.  Take  your  mob  away.  Disperse,  and 
we  will  come  out.  We  may  settle  this  trouble  amicably,  if  you 
will  but  listen  to  reason." 

The  Alcalde  jumped  up  and  down  in  his  towering  wrath. 
"Puppy-face!"  he  screamed,  "but  I  am  the  law — I  am  the  Gov 
ernment!  A  curse  upon  you,  priest  of  Satan!  Will  you  unbar 
these  doors?" 

"No!"  replied  Jose.  "And  if  you  attack  us  you  attack  the 
Church!" 

"A  curse  on  the  Church!  Amigos!  Muchachos!"  he 
bawled,  turning  to  the  mob,  "we  will  batter  down  the  doors!" 

309 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  crowd  surged  forward  again.  But  the  props  held  firm. 
Again  and  again  the  mob  hurled  itself  upon  the  thick  doors. 
They  bent,  they  sagged,  but  they  held.  Don  Mario  became 
apoplectic.  A  torrent  of  anathemas  streamed  from  his  thick 
lips. 

"The  side  door!"  some  one  shouted,  recovering  a  portion  of 
his  scant  wit. 

"Aye — and  the  door  of  the  sacristial" 

"Try  the  windows!" 

Round  the  building  streamed  the  crazed  mob,  without  head, 
without  reason,  lusting  only  for  the  lives  of  the  frightened 
little  band  huddled  together  in  the  gloom  within.  Jose  kept  an 
arm  about  Carmen.  Ana  bent  sobbing  over  her  tiny  babe. 
Don  Jorge  and  Rosendo  remained  mute  and  grim.  Jose  knew 
that  those  two  would  cast  a  long  reckoning  before  they  died. 
Juan  and  Lazaro  went  from  door  to  window,  steadying  the 
props  and  making  sure  that  they  were  holding.  The  tough, 
hard,  tropical  wood,  though  pierced  in  places  by  comjejen 
ants,  was  resisting. 

The  sun  was  already  high,  and  the  plaza  had  become  a 
furnace.  The  patience  of  the  mob  quickly  evaporated  in  the 
ardent  heat.  Don  Mario's  wits  had  gone  completely.  Revenge, 
mingled  with  insensate  zeal  to  manifest  the  authority  which  he 
believed  his  intercourse  with  Wenceslas  had  greatly  aug 
mented,  had  driven  all  rationality  from  his  motives.  Flaming 
anger  had  unseated  his  reason.  Descending  from  the  platform 
on  which  stood  the  church,  he  blindly  drew  up  his  armed  fol 
lowers  and  bade  them  fire  upon  the  church  doors. 

If  Wenceslas,  acting-Bishop  by  the  grace  of  political  mach 
ination,  could  have  witnessed  the  stirring  drama  then  in 
progress  in  ancient  Simiti,  he  would  have  laughed  aloud  at  the 
complete  fulfillment  of  his  carefully  wrought  plans.  The  cun 
ning  of  the  shrewd,  experienced  politician  had  never  been  more 
clearly  manifested  than  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  little  pro 
gram  which  he  had  set  for  the  unwise  Alcalde  of  this  almost 
unknown  little  town,  whereby  the  hand  of  Congress  should  be 
forced  and  the  inevitable  revolt  inaugurated.  Don  Mario  had 
seized  the  government  arms,  the  deposition  of  which  in  Simiti 
in  his  care  had  constituted  him  more  than  ever  the  representa 
tive  of  federal  authority.  But,  in  his  wild  zeal,  he  had  fallen 
into  the  trap  which  Wenceslas  had  carefully  arranged  for  him, 
and  now  was  engaged  in  a  mad  attack  upon  the  Church  itself, 
upon  ecclesiastical  authority  as  vested  in  the  priest  Jose.  How 
could  Wenceslas  interpret  this  but  as  an  anticlerical  upris 
ing?  There  remained  but  the  final  scene.  And  while  the  soft 
headed  dupes  and  maniacal  supporters  of  Don  Mario  were 

310 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


hurling  bullets  into  the  thick  doors  of  the  old  church  in  Simiti, 
Wenceslas  sat  musing  in  his  comfortable  study  in  the  cathedral 
of  Cartagena,  waiting  with  what  patience  he  could  command 
for  further  reports  from  Don  Mario,  whose  last  letter  had  in 
formed  him  that  the  arrest  of  the  priest  Jose  and  his  unfortu 
nate  victim,  Carmen,  was  only  a  few  hours  off. 

When  the  first  shots  rang  out,  and  the  bullets  ploughed  into 
the  hard  wood  of  the  heavy  doors,  Jose's  heart  sank,  and  he 
gave  himself  up  as  lost.  Lazaro  and  Juan  cowered  upon  the 
floor.  Carmen  crept  close  to  Jose,  as  he  sat  limply  upon  a  bench, 
and  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"Padre  dear,"  she  whispered,  "it  isn't  true — it  isn't  true! 
They  don't  really  want  to  kill  us!  They  don't — really!  Their 
thoughts  have  only  the  minus  sign!" 

The  priest  clasped  her  to  his  breast.  The  recriminating 
thought  flashed  over  him  that  he  alone  was  the  cause  of  this. 
He  had  sacrificed  them  all — none  but  he  was  to  blame.  Ah, 
God  above!  if  he  could  only  offer  himself  to  satiate  the  mob's 
lust,  and  save  these  innocent  ones!  Lurid,  condemnatory 
thoughts  burned  through  his  brain  like  molten  iron.  He  rose 
hastily  and  rushed  to  the  door.  Rosendo  and  Don  Jorge  seized 
him  as  he  was  about  to  lift  a  prop. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Padre?"  they  exclaimed. 

"I  am  going  out,  friends — I  shall  give  myself  to  them  for 
you  all.  It  is  the  only  way.  I  am  the  one  they  seek.  Let  them 
have  me,  if  they  will  spare  you!" 

But  the  firing  had  ceased,  and  Don  Mario  was  approaching 
the  door.  Jose  bent  down  and  called  to  him.  "Myself  for  the 
others,  Don  Mario!"  he  cried.  "But  promise  to  spare  them — 
but  give  me  your  word — and  I  will  yield  myself  to  arrest!" 

"Caramba,  fool  priest!"  shouted  the  Alcalde  in  derision. 
"It  is  not  you  that  the  good  Bishop  wants,  but  the  girl!  I  have 
his  letters  demanding  that  I  send  her  to  him!  If  you  will  come 
out,  you  shall  not  be  hurt.  Only,  Rosendo  must  stand  trial 
for  the  harm  he  did  in  the  fight  this  morning;  and  the  girl  must 
go  to  Cartagena.  As  for  the  rest  of  you,  you  will  be  free.  Are 
the  terms  not  reasonable?  Give  me  your  answer  in  five 
minutes." 

Jose  turned  to  the  little  band.  There  was  awful  determina 
tion  in  his  voice.  "Juan  and  Lazaro,"  he  said,  "we  will  open  a 
window  quickly  in  the  rear  of  the  church  and  let  you  out.  It 
is  not  right  that  you  should  die  with  us.  And  Don  Jorge, 
too—" 

"Stop  there,  amigo!"  interrupted  the  latter  in  a  voice  as 
cold  as  steel.  "My  life  has  not  the  value  of  a  white  heron. 
Can  I  do  better  than  give  it  for  a  cause  that  I  know  to  be  right? 
Nay,  man,  I  remain  with  you.  Let  the  lads  go,  if  they  will — " 

311 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Lazaro  forced  himself  between  Don  Jorge  and  the  priest. 
"Padre,"  he  said  quietly,  "to  you  I  owe  what  I  am.  I  remain 
here." 

Jose  looked  through  the  gloom  at  Juan.  The  boy's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Carmen.  He  turned  and  gazed  for  a  moment  at 
a  window,  as  if  hesitating  between  two  decisions.  Then  he 
shook  his  head  slowly.  "Padre,"  he  said,  though  his  voice 
trembled,  "I,  too,  remain." 

The  Alcalde  received  his  answer  with  a  burst  of  inarticulate 
rage.  He  rushed  back  to  his  followers  with  his  arms  waving 
wildly.  "Shoot!"  he  screamed.  "Shoot!  Pierce  the  doors! 
Batter  them  down!  Compadres,  get  the  poles  and  burst  in  the 
shutters.  Caramba!  it  is  the  Government  they  'are  defying!" 

A  volley  from  the  rifles  followed  his  \vords.  The  thick 
doors  shook  under  the  blast.  A  bullet  pierced  the  wall  and 
whizzed  past  Carmen.  Jose  seized  the  girl  and  drew  her  down 
under  a  bench.  The  startled  bats  among  the  roof  beams  flut 
tered  wildly  about  through  the  heavy  gloom.  Frightened  rats 
scurried  around  the  altar.  The  rusty  bell  in  the  tower  cried 
out  as  if  in  protest  against  the  sacrilege.  Juan  burst  into  tears 
and  crept  beneath  a  bench. 

"Padre,"  said  Rosendo,  "it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when 
the  doors  will  fall.  See — that  bullet  went  clean  through! 
Bien,  let  us  place  the  women  back  of  the  altar,  while  we  men 
stand  here  at  one  side  of  the  doors,  so  that  when  they  fall  we 
may  dash  out  and  cut  our  way  through  the  crowd.  If  we 
throw  ourselves  suddenly  upon  them,  we  may  snatch  away  a 
rifle  or  two.  Then  Don  Jorge  and  I,  with  the  lads  here,  may 
drive  them  back — perhaps  beat  them !  But  my  first  blow  shall 
be  for  Don  Mario!  I  vow  here  that,  if  I  escape  this  place,  he 
shall  not  live  another  hour!" 

"Better  so,  Rosendo,  than  that  they  should  take  us  alive. 
But — Carmen?  Do  we  leave  her  to  fall  into  Don  Mario's 
hands?" 

Rosendo's  voice,  low  and  cold,  froze  the  marrow  in  the 
priest's  bones.  "Padre,  she  will  not  fall  into  the  Alcalde's 
hands." 

"God  above!     Rosendo,  do  you — " 

A  piercing  cry  checked  him.  "Santa  Virgen!  Padre — /" 
Lazaro  had  collapsed  upon  the  floor.  Rosendo  and  Jose  hurried 
to  him. 

"Padre!"  The  man's  breath  came  in  gasps.  "Padre — I 
confess — pray  for  me.  It  struck  me — here!"  He  struggled  to 
lay  a  hand  upon  his  bleeding  breast. 

"To  the  altar,  amigos!"  cried  Don  Jorge,  ducking  his  head 
as  a  bullet  sang  close  to  it. 

312 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Seizing  the  expiring  Lazaro,  they  hurriedly  dragged  him 
down  the  aisle  and  took  refuge  back  of  the  brick  altar.  The 
bullets,  now  piercing  the  walls  of  the  church  with  ease,  whizzed 
about  them.  One  struck  the  pendant  figure  of  the  Christ,  and 
it  fell  crashing  to  the  floor.  Rosendo  stood  in  horror,  as  if  he 
expected  a  miracle  to  follow  this  act  of  sacrilege. 

"Oh,  God!"  prayed  Jose,  "only  Thy  hand  can  save  us!" 

"He  will  save  us,  Padre — He  will!"  cried  Carmen,  creeping 
closer  to  him  through  the  darkness.  "God  is  everywhere,  and 
right  here!" 

"Padre,"  said  Don  Jorge  hurriedly,  "the  Host — is  it  on  the 
altar?" 

"Yes — why?"  replied  the  priest. 

"Then,  when  the  doors  fall,  do  you  stand  in  front  of  the 
altar,  holding  it  aloft  and  calling  on  the  people  to  stand  back, 
lest  the  hand  of  God  strike  them!" 

Jose  hesitated  not.  "It  is  a  chance — yes,  a  bare  chance. 
They  wall  stop  before  it — or  they  will  kill  me!  But  I  will  do 
it!"' 

"Padre!  You  shall  not — Padre!  Then  I  shall  stand  with 
you!"  Carmen's  voice  broke  clear  and  piercing  through  the 
din.  Jose  struggled  to  free  himself  from  her. 

"Na,  Padre,"  interposed  Rosendo,  "it  may  be  better  so!  Let 
her  stand  with  you!  But — Caramba!  Make  haste!" 

The  clamor  without  increased.  Heavy  poles  and  billets  of 
wood  had  been  fetched,  and  blow  after  blow  now  fell  upon 
every  shutter  and  door.  The  sharp  spitting  of  the  rifles  tore 
the  air,  and  bullets  crashed  through  the  walls  and  windows. 
In  the  heavy  shadows  back  of  the  altar  Rosendo  and  Don 
Jorge  crouched  over  the  sobbing  women.  Lazaro  lay  very  still. 
Jose  knew  as  he  stretched  out  a  hand  through  the  darkness 
and  touched  the  cold  face  that  the  faithful  spirit  had  fled. 
How  soon  his  own  would  follow  he  knew  not,  nor  cared.  Keep 
ing  close  to  the  floor,  he  crept  out  and  around  to  the  front  of 
the  altar.  Reaching  up,  he  grasped  the  Sacred  Host,  and  then 
stood  upright,  holding  it  out  before  him.  Carmen  rose  by  his 
side  and  took  his  hand.  Together  in  the  gloom  they  waited. 


313 

30 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  33 

"T")ADRE!     Padre!  are  you  alive?" 

\~    Rosendo's    hoarse    whisper    drifted    across    the    silence 

like  a  wraith.     He  crept  out  and  along  the  floor,  scarce 

daring  to  look  up.     Through  the  darkness  his  straining  eyes 

caught  the  outlines  of  the  two  figures  standing  like  statues 

before  the  altar. 

"Loado  sea  Dios!"  he  cried,  and  his  voice  broke  with  a  sob. 
"But,  Padre,  they  have  stopped — what  has  happened?" 

"I  know  not,  amigo.  Be  patient.  We  are  in  the  hands  of 
God- 

"Padre — listen!"  Carmen  darted  from  the  altar  and  ran  to 
the  door.  "Padre!"  she  called  back.  "Come!  Some  one  is 
speaking  English!" 

Jose  and  Rosendo  hurried  to  the  door.  All  was  quiet  with 
out,  but  for  an  animated  conversation  between  Don  Mario  and 
some  strangers  who  had  evidently  just  arrived  upon  the  scene. 
One  of  the  latter  was  speaking  with  the  Alcalde  in  excellent 
Spanish.  Another,  evidently  unacquainted  with  the  language, 
made  frequent  interruptions  in  the  English  tongue.  Jose's 
heart  beat  wildly. 

"Say,  Reed,"  said  the  voice  in  English,  "tell  the  parchment- 
faced  old  buzzard  that  we  appreciate  the  little  comedy  he  has 
staged  for  us.  Tell  him  it  is  bully-bueno,  but  he  must  not 
overdo  it.  We  are  plum  done  up,  and  want  a  few  days  of  rest." 

"What  says  the  senor,  amigo?"  asked  Don  Mario,  with  his 
utmost  suavity  and  unction  of  manner. 

"He  says,"  returned  the  other  in  Spanish,  "that  he  is  de 
lighted  wath  the  firmness  which  you  display  in  the  administra 
tion  of  your  office,  and  that  he  trusts  the  bandits  within  the 
church  may  be  speedily  executed." 

"Bandits!"  ejaculated  Don  Mario.  "Just  so,  amigo!  They 
are  those  who  defy  the  Government  as  represented  by  myself!" 
He  straightened  up  and  threw  out  his  chest  with  such  an  ex 
hibition  of  importance  that  the  strangers  with  difficulty  kept 
their  faces  straight. 

Carmen  and  Jose  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement  during 
this  colloquy. 

"Padre!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "Do  all  who  speak  English 
tell  such  lies?" 

"Ah!"  murmured  the  one  addressed  as  Reed,  directing  him 
self  to  the  Alcalde,  "how  dared  they!  But,  senor,  my  friend 
and  I  have  come  to  your  beautiful  city  on  business  of  the  ut- 

314 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


most  importance,  in  which  you  doubtless  will  share  largely. 
I  would  suggest,"  looking  with  amusement  at  the  array  of 
armed  men  about  him,  "that  your  prisoners  are  in  no  imme 
diate  likelihood  of  escaping,  and  you  might  leave  them  under 
close  guard  while  we  discuss  our  business.  A — a — we  hear  re 
ports,  senor,  that  there  is  likely  to  be  trouble  in  the  country, 
and  we  are  desirous  of  getting  out  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Cierto!  Cierto,  senores!"  exclaimed  Don  Mario,  bowing 
low.  "It  shall  be  as  you  say."  Turning  to  the  gaping  people, 
he  selected  several  to  do  guard  duty,  dismissed  the  others,  and 
then  bade  the  strangers  follow  him  to  his  house,  which,  he 
declared  vehemently,  was  theirs  as  long  as  they  might  honor 
him  with  their  distinguished  presence. 

The  sudden  turn  of  events  left  the  little  group  within  the 
church  in  a  maze  of  bewilderment.  They  drew  together  in  the 
center  of  the  room  and  talked  in  low  whispers  until  the  sun 
dropped  behind  the  hills  and  night  drifted  through  the  quiet 
streets.  Late  that  evening  came  a  tapping  at  the  rear  door  of 
the  church,  and  a  voice  called  softly  to  the  priest.  Jose  roused 
out  of  his  gloomy  revery  and  hastened  to  answer  it. 

"It  is  Fernando,  Padre.  I  am  on  guard;  but  no  one  must 
know  that  I  talk  with  you.  But — Padre,  if  you  open  the  door 
and  escape,  I  will  not  see  you.  I  am  sorry,  Padre,  but  it  could 
not  be  helped.  Don  Mario  has  us  all  frightened,  for  the 
Bishop—" 

"True,  amigo,"  returned  Jose;  "but  the  strangers  who  ar 
rived  this  afternoon — who  are  they,  and  whence?" 

"Two  Americanos,  Padre,  and  miners." 

Jose  studied  a  moment.  "Fernando — you  would  aid  me? 
Bien,  get  word  to  the  stranger  who  speaks  both  English  and 
Spanish.  Bring  him  here,  secretly,  and  stand  guard  yourself 
while  I  talk  with  him." 

"Gladly,  Padre,"  returned  the  penitent  fellow,  as  he 
hastened  quietly  away. 

An  hour  later  Jose  was  again  roused  by  Fernando  tapping 
on  the  door. 

"Open,  Padre.  Fear  not;  only  the  Americano  will  enter. 
Don  Mario  does  not  know." 

Jose  lifted  the  prop  and  swung  the  door  open.  Rosendo 
stood  with  uplifted  machete.  A  man  entered  from  the  black 
ness  without.  Jose  quickly  closed  the  door,  and  then  addressed 
him  in  English. 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  the  stranger  in  a  mellow  voice. 
"I  had  no  idea  I  should  find  any  one  in  this  God-forsaken  town 
who  could  speak  real  United  States!" 

Jose  drew  him  into  the  sacristia.  Neither  man  could  see 
the  other  in  the  dense  blackness. 

315 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Tell  me,  friend,"  began  Jose,  "who  you  are,  and  where 
you  come  from." 

"Reed — Charles  Reed — New  York — mining  engineer — down 
here  to  examine  the  so-called  mines  of  the  Molino  Company, 
now  gasping  its  last  while  awaiting  our  report.  Arrived  this 
afternoon  from  Badillo  with  my  partner,  fellow  named  Harris. 
But — great  heavens,  man!  you  certainly  were  in  a  stew  when 
we  appeared!  And  why  don't  you  escape  now?" 

"Escape,  friend?  Where?  Even  if  we  passed  the  guard, 
where  would  we  go?  There  are  two  women,  a  girl,  and  a  babe 
with  us.  We  have  little  food  and  no  money.  Should  we  gain 
the  Boque  or  Guamoco  trail,  we  would  be  pursued  and  shot 
down.  There  is  a  chance  here — none  in  flight! 

"But  now,  Mr.  Reed,"  continued  Jose  earnestly,  "will  you 
get  word  from  me  to  the  Bishop  in  Cartagena  that  our  church 
has  been  attacked — that  its  priest  is  besieged  by  the  Alcalde, 
and  his  life  in  jeopardy?" 

"Assuredly— but  how?" 

"You  have  money?"  said  Jose,  speaking  rapidly.  "Good. 
Your  bogas  have  not  returned  to  Badillo?" 

"No,  they  are  staying  here  for  the  big  show.  Execution  of 
the  traitors,  you  know." 

"Then,  friend,  send  them  at  dawn  to  Bodega  Central.  Let 
them  take  a  message  to  be  sent  by  the  telegraph  from  that 
place.  Tell  the  Bishop — 

"Sure!"  interrupted  the  other.  "Leave  it  to  me.  I'll  fix  up 
a  message  that  will  bring  him  by  return  boat!  I've  been  talking 
with  the  Honorable  Alcalde  and  I've  got  his  exact  number. 
Say,  he  certainly  is  the  biggest  damn — beg  pardon;  I  mean, 
the  biggest  numbskull  I  have  ever  run  across— and  that's  say 
ing  considerable  for  a  mining  man!" 

"Go,  friend!"  said  Jose,  making  no  other  reply  to  the  man's 
words.  "Go  quickly — and  use  what  influence  you  have  with 
the  Alcalde  to  save  us.  We  have  women  here — and  a  young 
girl!"  He  found  the  American's  hand  and  led  him  out  into  the 

night. 

****** 

Wenceslas  Ortiz  stood  before  the  Departmental  Governor. 
His  face  was  deeply  serious,  and  his  demeanor  expressed  the 
utmost  gravity.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  despatch.  The  Governor 
sat  at  his  desk,  nervously  fumbling  a  pen. 

"Bien,  Senor,"  said  Wenceslas  quietly,  "do  you  act — or 
shall  I  take  it  to  His  Excellency,  the  President?" 

The  Governor  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "Caramba!"  he 
blurted  out.  "The  report  is  too  meager!  And  yet,  I  cannot 
see  but  that  the  Alcalde  acted  wholly  within  his  rights!" 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Your  Excellency,  he  seizes  government  arms — he  attacks 
the  church — he  attempts  to  destroy  the  life  of  its  priest.  Nomi 
nally  acting  for  the  Government;  at  heart,  anticlerical.  Is  it  not 
evident?  Will  the  Government  clear  itself  now  of  the  suspicion 
which  this  has  aroused?" 

"But  the  priest — did  you  not  say  only  last  week  that  he 
himself  had  published  a  book  violently  anticlerical  in  tone?" 

"Senor,  we  will  not  discuss  the  matter  further,"  said  Wen- 
ceslas,  moving  toward  the  door.  "Your  final  decision — you 
will  send  troops  to  Simiti,  or  no?" 

"Certainly  not!  The  evidence  warrants  no  interference 
from  me!" 

Wenceslas  courteously  bowed  himself  out.  Once  beyond 
the  door,  he  breathed  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  "Santa  Virgen!" 
he  muttered,  "but  I  took  a  chance!  Had  he  yielded  and  sent 
troops,  all  would  have  been  spoiled.  Now  for  Bogota!" 

He  entered  his  carriage  and  was  driven  hurriedly  to  his 
sanctum.  There  he  despatched  a  long  message  to  the  President 
of  the  Republic.  At  noon  he  had  a  reply.  He  mused  over  it 
for  the  space  of  an  hour.  Then  he  framed  another  despatch. 
"Your  Excellency,"  it  read,  "the  Church  supports  the  Adminis 
tration." 

Late  that  evening  a  second  message  from  Bogota  was  put 
into  his  hand.  He  tore  it  open  and  read,  "The  Hercules  ordered 
to  Simiti." 

"Ah,"  he  sighed,  sinking  into  his  chair.  "At  last!  The 
President  interferes!  And  now  a  wire  to  Ames.  And — 
Caramba,  yes!  A  message  to  the  captain  of  the  Hercules  to 
bring  me  that  girl!" 

****** 

"Well,  old  man,  I've  done  all  I  could  to  stave  off  the  blun 
dering  idiot;  but  I  guess  you  are  in  for  it!  The  jig  is  up,  I'm 
thinking!" 

It  was  Reed  talking.  Simiti  again  slept,  while  the  American 
and  Jose  in  the  sacristia  talked  long  and  earnestly.  Fernando 
kept  guard  at  the  door.  The  other  prisoners  lay  wrapped  in 
slumber. 

"Your  message  went  down  the  river  two  days  ago,"  con 
tinued  Reed.  "And,  believe  me!  since  then  I've  racked  my 
dusty  brain  for  topics  to  keep  the  Alcalde  occupied  and  for 
getful  of  you.  But  I'm  dryer  than  a  desert  now;  and  he  vows 
that  to-morrow  you  and  your  friends  will  be  dragged  out  of 
this  old  shack  by  your  necks,  and  then  shot." 

The  two  days  had  been  filled  with  exquisite  torture  for  Jose. 
Only  the  presence  of  Carmen  restrained  him  from  rushing  out 
and  ending  it  all.  Her  faith  had  been  his  constant  marvel. 

317 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Every  hour,  every  moment,  she  knew  only  the  immanence  of 
her  God;  whereas  he,  obedient  to  the  undulating  Rincon  char 
acter-curve,  expressed  the  mutability  of  his  faith  in  hourly 
alternations  of  optimism  and  black  despair.  After  periods  of 
exalted  hope,  stimulated  by  the  girl's  sublime  confidence,  there 
would  come  the  inevitable  backward  rush  of  all  the  chilling 
fear,  despondency,  and  false  thought  which  he  had  just  ex 
pelled  in  vain,  and  he  would  be  left  again  floundering  helplessly 
in  the  dismal  labyrinth  of  terrifying  doubts. 

The  quiet  which  enwrapped  them  during  these  days  of  im 
prisonment;  the  gloom-shrouded  church;  the  awed  hush  that 
lay  upon  them  in  the  presence  of  the  dead  Lazaro,  stimulated 
the  feeble  and  sensitive  spirit  of  the  priest  to  an  unwonted 
degree  of  introspection,  and  he  sat  for  hours  gazing  blankly 
into  the  ghastly  emptiness  of  his  past. 

He  saw  how  at  the  first,  when  Carmen  entered  his  life  with 
the  stimulus  of  her  buoyant  faith,  there  had  seemed  to  follow 
an  emptying  of  self,  a  quick  clearing  of  his  mentality,  and  a 
replacement  of  much  of  the  morbid  thought,  which  clung 
limpet-like  to  his  mentality,  by  new  and  wonderfully  illuminat 
ing  ideas.  For  a  while  he  had  seemed  to  be  on  the  road  to 
salvation;  he  felt  that  he  had  touched  the  robe  of  the  Christ, 
and  heavenly  virtue  had  entered  into  his  being. 

But  then  the  shadows  began  to  gather  once  more.  He  did 
not  cling  to  the  new  truths  and  spiritual  ideas  tenaciously 
enough  to  work  them  out  in  demonstration.  He  had  proved 
shallow  soil,  whereon  the  seed  had  fallen,  only  to  be  choked 
by  the  weeds  which  grew  apace  therein.  The  troubles  which 
clustered  thick  about  him  after  his  first  few  months  in  Simiti 
had  seemed  to  hamper  his  freer  limbs,  and  check  his  upward 
progress.  Constant  conflict  with  Diego,  with  Don  Mario,  and 
Wenceslas;  the  pressure  from  his  mother  and  his  uncle,  had 
kept  him  looking,  now  at  evil,  now  at  good,  giving  life  and 
power  to  each  in  turn,  and  wrestling  incessantly  with  the  false 
concepts  which  his  own  mentality  kept  ever  alive.  Worrying 
himself  free  from  one  set  of  human  beliefs,  he  fell  again  into  the 
meshes  of  others.  Though  he  thought  he  knew  the  truth — 
though  he  saw  it  lived  and  demonstrated  by  Carmen — he  had 
yet  been  afraid  to  throw  himself  unreservedly  upon  his  convic 
tions.  And  so  he  daily  paid  the  dire  penalty  which  error  failed 
not  to  exact. 

But  Carmen,  the  object  of  by  far  the  greater  part  of  all  his 
anxious  thought,  had  moved  as  if  in  response  to  a  beckoning 
hand  that  remained  invisible  to  him.  Each  day  she  had  grown 
more  beautiful.  And  each  day,  too,  she  had  seemed  to  draw 
farther  away  from  him,  as  she  rose  steadily  out  of  the  limited 

318 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


encompassment  in  which  they  dwelt.  Not  by  conscious  design 
did  she  appear  to  separate  from  him,  but  inevitably,  because  of 
his  own  narrow  capacity  for  true  spiritual  intercourse  with 
such  a  soul  as  hers.  He  shared  her  ideals;  he  had  sought  in 
his  way  to  attain  them;  he  had  striven,  too,  to  comprehend  her 
spirit,  which  in  his  heart  he  knew  to  be  a  bright  rellection  ot 
the  infinite  Spirit  which  is  God.  But  as  the  years  passed  he 
had  found  his  efforts  to  be  like  her  more  and  more  clumsy  and 
blundering,  and  his  responses  to  her  spiritual  demands  less  and 
less  vigorous.  At  times  he  seemed  to  catch  glimpses  of  her 
soul  that  awed  him.  At  others  he  would  feel  himself  half  in 
clined  to  share  the  people's  belief  that  she  was  possessed  of 
powers  occult.  And  then  he  would  sink  into  despair  of  ever 
understanding  the  girl — for  he  knew  that  to  do  so  he  must  be 
like  her,  even  as  to  understand  God  we  must  become  like  Him. 

After  her  fourteenth  birthday  Jose  found  himself  rapidly 
ceasing  to  regard  Carmen  as  a  mere  child.  Not  that  she  did 
not  still  often  seem  delightfully  immature,  when  her  spirits 
would  flow  wildly,  and  she  would  draw  him  into  the  frolics 
which  had  yielded  her  such  extravagant  joy  in  former  days; 
but  that  the  growth  of  knowledge  and  the  rapid  development  of 
her  thought  had  seemed  to  bring  to  her  a  deepening  sense  of 
responsibility,  a  growing  impression  of  maturity,  and  an  in 
creasing  regard  for  the  meaning  of  life  and  her  part  in  it.  She 
had  ceased  to  insist  that  she  would  never  leave  Simiti.  And 
Jose  often  thought  of  late,  as  he  watched  her,  that  he  detected 
signs  of  irksomeness  at  the  limitations  which  her  environment 
imposed  upon  her.  But,  if  so,  these  were  never  openly  ex 
pressed;  nor  did  her  manner  ever  change  toward  her  foster- 
parents,  or  toward  the  simple  and  uncomprehending  folk  of 
her  native  town. 

From  the  first,  Jose  had  constituted  himself  her  teacher, 
guide,  and  protector.  And  she  had  joyously  accepted  him. 
His  soured  and  rebellious  nature  had  been  no  barrier  to  her 
great  love,  which  had  twined  about  his  heart  like  ivy  around  a 
crumbling  tower.  And  his  love  for  the  child  had  swelled  like  a 
torrent,  fed  hourly  by  countless  uncharted  streams.  He  had 
watched  over  her  like  a  father;  he  had  rejoiced  to  see  her 
bloom  into  a  beauty  as  rich  and  luxuriant  as  the  tropical 
foliage;  he  had  gazed  for  hours  into  the  unsearchable  abyss  of 
her  black  eyes  and  read  there,  in  ecstasy,  a  wondrous  response 
to  his  love;  and  when,  but  a  few  short  days  ago,  she  had  again 
intimated  a  future  union,  a  union  upon  which,  even  as  a  child, 
she  had  insisted,  yet  one  which  he  knew — had  always  known— 
utterly,  extravagantly  impossible — he  had,  nevertheless,  seized 
upon  the  thought  with  a  joy  that  was  passionate,  desperate — 

319 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  had  then  flung  it  from  him  with  a  cry  of  agony.  It  was 
not  the  disparity  of  ages;  it  was  not  the  girl's  present  imma 
turity.  In  less  than  a  year  she  would  have  attained  the  mar 
riageable  age  of  these  Latin  countries.  But  he  could  wait  two, 
three,  aye,  ten  years  for  such  a  divine  gift!  No;  the  shadow 
which  lay  upon  his  life  was  cast  by  the  huge  presence  of  the 
master  whose  chains  he  wore,  the  iron  links  of  which,  galling 
his  soul,  he  knew  to  be  unbreakable.  And,  as  he  sat  in  the 
gloom  of  the  decayed  old  church  where  he  was  now  a  prisoner, 
the  thought  that  his  situation  but  symbolized  an  imprisonment 
in  bonds  eternal  roused  him  to  a  half-frenzied  resolve  to  destroy 
himself. 

"Padre  dear,"  the  girl  had  whispered  to  him  that  night, 
just  before  the  American  came  again  with  his  disquieting  re 
port,  "Love  will  open  the  door — Love  will  set  us  free.  We  are 
not  afraid.  Remember,  Paul  thanked  God  for  freedom  even 
while  he  sat  in  chains.  And  I  am  just  as  thankful  as  he." 

Jose  knew  as  he  kissed  her  tenderly  and  bade  her  go  to  her 
place  of  rest  on  the  bench  beside  Doiia  Maria  that  death  stood 
between  her  and  the  stained  hand  of  Wenceslas  Ortiz. 

As  morning  reddened  in  the  eastern  sky  Don  Mario,  sur 
rounded  by  an  armed  guard  and  preceded  by  his  secretary, 
who  beat  lustily  upon  a  small  drum,  marched  pompously  down 
the  main  street  and  across  the  plaza  to  the  church.  Holding  his 
cane  aloft  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the  platform  and  again 
loudly  demanded  the  surrender  of  the  prisoners  within. 

"On  what  terms,  Don  Mario?"  asked  Jose. 

"The  same,"  reiterated  the  Alcalde  vigorously. 

Jose  sighed.  "Then  we  will  die,  Don  Mario,"  he  replied 
sadly,  moving  away  from  the  door  and  leading  his  little  band 
of  harried  followers  to  the  rear  of  the  altar. 

The  Alcalde  quickly  descended  the  steps  and  shouted  nu 
merous  orders.  Several  of  his  men  hurried  off  in  various  direc 
tions,  while  those  remaining  at  once  opened  fire  upon  the 
church.  In  a  few  moments  the  firing  was  increased,  and  the 
entire  attack  was  concentrated  upon  the  front  doors. 

The  din  without  became  horrible.  Shouts  and  curses  filled 
the  morning  air.  But  it  was  evident  to  Jose  that  his  besiegers 
were  meeting  with  no  opposition  from  his  own  supporters  in 
the  fight  of  two  days  before.  The  sight  of  the  deadly  rilles  in 
the  hands  of  Don  Mario's  party  had  quickly  quenched  their 
loyalty  to  Jose,  and  led  them  basely  to  abandon  him  and  his 
companions  to  their  fate. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  vigorous  assault  the  attack  abruptly 
ceased,  and  Jose  was  called  again  to  the  door. 

"It's    Reed,"    came    the    American's    voice.      He    spoke    in 

320 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


English.  "I've  persuaded  the  old  carrion  to  let  me  have  a 
moment's  pow-wow  with  you.  Say,  give  the  old  buzzard  what 
he  wants.  Otherwise  it's  sure  death  for  you  all.  I've  argued 
myself  sick  with  him,  but  he's  as  set  as  concrete.  I'll  do  what 
I  can  for  you  if  you  come  out;  but  he's  going  to  have  the  girl, 
whether  or  no.  Seems  that  the  Bishop  of  Cartagena  wants 
her;  and  the  old  crow  here  is  playing  politics  with  him." 

"Yes,  old  man,"  chimed  in  another  voice,  which  Jose  knew 
to  be  that  of  Harris.  "You  know  these  fellows  are  hell  on 
politics." 

"Shut  up,  Harris!"  growled  Reed.  Then  to  Jose,  "What'll 
I  tell  the  old  duffer?" 

"Lord  Harry!"  ejaculated  Harris,  "if  I  had  a  couple  of 
Mausers  I  could  put  these  ancient  Springfields  on  the  bum  in 
a  hurry!" 

"Tell  him,  friend,  that  we  are  prepared  to  die,"  replied 
Jose  drearily,  as  he  turned  back  into  the  gloom  and  took  Car 
men's  hand. 

The  final  assault  began,  and  Jose  knew  that  it  was  only  a 
question  of  minutes  when  the  trembling  doors  would  fall.  He 
crouched  with  his  companions  behind  the  altar,  awaiting  the 
inevitable.  Carmen  held  his  hand  tightly. 

"Love  will  save  us,  Padre,"  she  whispered.  "Love  them! 
Love  them,  Padre!  They  don't  know  what  is  using  them — and 
it  has  no  power !  God  is  here — is  everywhere !  Love  will  save 
us!" 

Rosendo  bent  over  and  whispered  to  Don  Jorge,  "When 
the  doors  fall  and  the  men  rush  in,  stand  you  here  with  me! 
When  they  reach  the  altar  we  will  throw  ourselves  upon  them, 
I  first,  you  following,  while  Juan  will  bring  Carmen  and  try 
to  protect  her.  With  our  machetes  we  will  cut  our  way  out. 
If  we  find  that  it  is  hopeless — then  give  me  Carmen!" 

A  moment  later,  as  with  a  loud  w^ail,  the  two  front  doors 
burst  asunder  and  fell  crashing  to  the  floor.  A  flood  of  golden 
sunlight  poured  into  the  dark  room.  In  its  yellow  wake  rushed 
the  mob,  with  exultant  yells.  Rosendo  rose  quickly  and  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  his  little  band. 

But,  ere  the  first  of  the  frenzied  besiegers  had  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  church,  a  loud  cry  arose  in  the  plaza. 

"The  soldiers!     Dios  arriba!     The  soldiers!" 

Down  the  main  thoroughfare  came  a  volley  of  shots.  Don 
Mario,  half  way  through  the  church  door,  froze  in  his  tracks. 
Those  of  his  followers  who  had  entered,  turned  quickly  and 
made  pellmell  for  the  exit.  Their  startled  gaze  met  a  com 
pany  of  federal  troops  rushing  down  the  street,  firing  as  they 
came.  Don  Mario  strained  after  his  flying  wits. 

321 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Close  the  doors!"  he  yelled.  But  the  doors  were  prone 
upon  the  floor,  and  could  not  be  replaced.  Then  he  and  his 
men  scrambled  out  and  rushed  around  to  one  side  of  the  build 
ing.  As  the  soldiers  came  running  up,  the  Alcalde's  followers 
fired  point  blank  into  their  faces,  then  dropped  their  guns  and 
fled  precipitately. 

It  wras  all  over  in  a  trice.  Within  an  hour  staid  old  Simiti 
lay  in  the  grip  of  martial  law,  with  its  once  overweening  Al 
calde,  now  a  meek  and  frightened  prisoner,  arraigned  before 
Captain  Morales,  holding  court  in  the  shabby  town  hall. 

But  the  court-martial  was  \vholly  perfunctory.  Though 
none  there  but  himself  knew  it,  the  captain  had  come  with  the 
disposal  of  the  unfortunate  Don  Mario  prearranged.  A  per 
functory  hearing  of  witnesses,  which  but  increased  his  approval 
of  his  orders,  and  he  pronounced  sentence  upon  the  former 
Alcalde,  and  closed  the  case. 

"Attack  upon  the  church — Assassination  of  the  man  Lazaro 
—Firing  upon  federal  soldiers — To  be  shot  at  sunset,  seiior," 
he  concluded  solemnly. 

Don  Mario  sank  to  the  floor  in  terror.  "Caramba!  caramba!" 
he  howled.  "But  I  had  letters  from  the  Bishop!  I  was  ordered 
by  him  to  do  it!" 

"Bien,  sefior,"  replied  the  captain,  whose  heart  was  not 
wholly  devoid  of  pity,  "produce  your  letters." 

"Dios  arriba!  I  burned  them!  He  said  I  should!  I  obeyed 
him!  Caramba!  I  am  lost — lost!" 

"Senor  Capitdn,"  interposed  Jose,  "may  I  plead  for  the  man? 
He  is— 

"There,  Padre,"  returned  the  captain,  holding  up  a  hand, 
"it  is  useless.  Doubtless  this  has  been  brought  about  by  motives 
which  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  unfortunate — but  inevitable. 
You  have  a  cdrcel  here?  Bien,"  addressing  his  lieutenant,  "re 
move  the  prisoner  to  it,  and  at  sunset  let  the  sentence  be  car 
ried  out." 

Don  Mario,  screaming  writh  fear,  was  dragged  from  the 
room. 

"And  nowr,  senores,"  continued  the  captain  calmly,  as  if 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  had  occurred,  "I  appoint  Don  Fer 
nando,  former  secretary,  as  temporary  Alcalde,  until  such  time 
as  the  Governor  may  fill  the  office  permanently.  And,"  he  con 
tinued,  looking  about  the  room  with  a  heavy  scowl,  wrhile  the 
timid  people  shrank  against  the  wall,  "as  for  those  misguided 
ones  who  took  part  with  Don  Mario  in  this  anticlerical  up 
rising — his  fate  will  serve,  I  think,  as  a  warning!" 

A  hush  of  horror  lay  upon  the  stunned  people  as  they  filed 
slowly  out  of  the  room. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Bien,"  added  the  captain,  addressing  Fernando,  "quarters 
for  my  men,  and  rations.  We  return  to  the  Hercules  at  day 
break.  And  let  all  arms  and  ammunition  be  collected.  Every 
house  must  be  searched.  And  we  shall  want  peones  to  carry 
it  to  the  river." 

Jose  turned  away,  sick  with  the  horror  of  it  all.  A  soldier 
approached  him  with  a  message  from  Don  Mario.  The  con 
demned  man  was  asking  for  the  last  rites.  Faint  and  trembling, 
the  priest  accompanied  the  messenger  to  the  jail. 

"Padre!  Dios  arriba!"  wailed  the  terrified  and  bewildered 
Don  Mario.  "It  was  a  mistake!  Don  Wenceslas — 

"Yes,  I  understand,  Don  Mario,"  interrupted  Jose,  tenderly 
taking  the  man's  hand.  "He  told  you  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  Padre,"  sobbed  the  unfortunate  victim.  "He  said  that 
I  would  be  rich — that  I  would  be  elected  to  Congress — ah,  the 
traitor!  And,  Padre — I  burned  his  letters  because  it  was  his 
wish!  Ah,  Santa  Virgen!"  He  put  his  head  on  the  priest's 
shoulder  and  wept  violently. 

Jose's  heart  was  wrung;  but  he  was  powerless  to  aid  the 
man.  And  yet,  as  he  dwelt  momentarily  on  his  own  sorrows, 
he  almost  envied  the  fate  which  had  overtaken  the  misguided 
Don  Mario. 

The  lieutenant  entered.  "Senor  Padre,"  he  said,  "the  sun  is 
low.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour — " 

Don  Mario  sank  to  the  ground  and  clasped  the  priest's  knees. 
Jose  held  up  his  hand,  and  the  lieutenant,  bowing  courteously, 
withdrew.  The  priest  knelt  beside  the  cowering  prisoner. 

"Don  Mario,"  he  said  gently,  holding  the  man's  hand,  "con 
fess  all  to  me.  It  may  be  the  means  of  saving  other  lives — and 
then  you  will  have  expiated  your  own  crimes." 

"Padre,"  moaned  the  stricken  man,  rocking  back  and  forth, 
his  head  buried  in  his  hands  and  tears  streaming  through  his 
fingers,  "Padre,  you  will  forgive — ?" 

"Aye,  Don  Mario,  everything.  And  the  Christ  forgives. 
Your  sins  are  remitted.  But  remove  now  the  last  burden  from 
your  soul — the  guilty  knowledge  of  the  part  Don  Wenceslas  has 
had  in  the  disaster  which  has  come  upon  Simiti.  Tell  it  all, 
friend,  for  you  may  save  many  precious  lives  thereby." 

The  fallen  Alcalde  roused  himself  by  a  mighty  effort.  For 
getting  for  the  moment  his  own  dire  predicament,  he  opened 
his  heart.  Jose  sat  before  him  in  wide-mouthed  astonishment. 
Don  Mario's  confession  brought  a  revelation  that  left  him  cold. 
The  lieutenant  entered  again. 

"One  moment,"  said  Jose.  Then,  to  Don  Mario:  "And  Car 
men?" 

Don  Mario  leaned  close  to  the  priest  and  whispered  low. 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


"No,  she  is  not  Diego's  child!  And,  Padre,  take  her  away,  at 
once!  But  out  of  the  country!  There  is  not  an  inch  of  ground 
in  all  Colombia  now  where  she  would  be  safe  from  Don  Wen- 
ceslas!" 

Jose's  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  Then  he  again  took  Don 
Mario's  hand. 

"Friend,"  he  said  gravely,  "rest  assured,  what  you  have  told 
me  saves  at  least  one  life,  and  removes  the  sin  with  which  your 
own  was  stained.  And  now,"  rising  and  turning  to  the  waiting 
lieutenant,  "we  are  ready." 

Ora  pro  nobis!  Ora  pro  nobis!  Santa  Virgen,  San  Salvador, 
ora  pro  nobis! 

A  few  minutes  later  a  sharp  report  echoed  through  the 
Simiti  valley  and  startled  the  herons  that  were  seeking  their 
night's  rest  on  the  wooded  isle.  Then  Jose  de  Rincon,  alone, 
and  with  a  heart  of  lead,  moved  slowly  down  through  the  dreary 
village  and  crossed  the  deserted  plaza  to  his  lowly  abode. 


CHAPTER  34 

THE  low-hung  moon,  shrouded  in  heavy  vapor,  threw  an 
eldritch  shimmer  upon  the  little  group  that  silently  bore 
the  body  of  the  martyred  Lazaro  from  the  old  church  late 
that  night  to  the  dreary  cemetery  on  the  hill.  Jose  took  but  a 
reluctant  part  in  the  proceedings.  He  would  even  have  avoided 
this  last  service  to  his  faithful  friend  if  he  could.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  he  stumbled  along  the  stony  road  behind  the  body 
which  Rosendo  and  Don  Jorge  carried  that  his  human  endur 
ance  had  been  strained  so  far  beyond  the  elastic  limit  that  there 
could  now  be  no  rebound.  Every  thought  that  touched  his  sore 
mind  made  it  bleed  anew,  for  every  thought  that  he  accepted 
was  acrid,  rasping,  oppressive.  The  sheer  weight  of  foreboding, 
of  wild  apprehension,  of  paralyzing  fear,  crushed  him,  until  his 
shoulders  bent  low  as  he  walked.  How,  lest  he  perform  a  mira 
cle,  could  he  hope  to  extricate  himself  and  his  loved  ones  from 
the  meshes  of  the  net,  far-cast,  but  with  unerring  aim,  which 
had  fallen  upon  them? 

As  he  passed  the  town  hall  he  saw  through  the  open  door 
the  captain's  cot,  and  a  guard  standing  motionless  beside  it. 
The  captain  had  elected  to  remain  there  for  the  night,  while 
his  men  found  a  prickly  hospitality  among  the  cowering  towns 
folk.  Jose  knew  now  that  the  hand  which  Don  Mario  had 
dealt  himself  in  the  game  inaugurated  by  Wenceslas  had  been 
from  a  stacked  deck.  He  knew  that  the  President  of  the  Re- 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


public  had  ordered  Morales  to  this  inoffensive  little  town  to 
quell  an  alleged  anticlerical  uprising,  and  that  the  execution 
of  the  misguided  Alcalde  had  been  determined  long  before  the 
Hercules  had  got  under  way.  He  could  see  that  it  was  necessary 
for  the  Government  to  sacrifice  its  agent  in  the  person  of  the 
Alcalde,  in  order  to  prove  its  own  loyalty  to  the  Church.  And 
in  return  therefor  he  knew  it  would  expect,  not  without  reason, 
the  cooperation  of  the  Church  in  case  the  President's  inter 
ference  in  the  province  of  Bolivar  should  precipitate  a  general 
revolt. 

But  what  had  been  determined  upon  as  his  own  fate?  He 
had  not  the  semblance  of  an  idea.  From  the  confession  of  the 
ruined  Alcalde  he  now  knew  that  Don  Mario  had  been  poisoned 
against  him  from  the  beginning;  that  even  the  letters  of  intro 
duction  which  Wenceslas  had  given  him  to  the  Alcalde  con 
tained  the  charge  of  his  having  accomplished  the  ruin  of  the 
girl  Maria  in  Cartagena,  and  of  his  previous  incarceration  in 
the  monastery  of  Palazzola.  And  Don  Mario  had  confessed  in 
his  last  moments  that  Wenceslas  had  sought  to  work  through 
him  and  Jose  in  the  hope  that  the  location  of  the  famous  mine, 
La  Libertad,  might  be  revealed.  Don  Mario  had  been  instructed 
to  get  what  he  could  out  of  this  scion  of  Rincon;  and  only  his 
own  greed  and  cupidity  had  caused  him  to  play  fast  and  loose 
with  both  sides  until,  falling  before  the  allurements  which  Wen 
ceslas  held  out,  he  had  rushed  madly  into  his  own  destruction. 
Jose  realized  that  so  far  he  himself  had  proved  extremely  useful 
to  Wenceslas — but  had  his  usefulness  ended?  At  these  thoughts 
his  soul  momentarily  suffused  with  the  pride  of  the  old  and 
hectoring  Rincon  stock  and  rose,  instinct  with  revolt — but  only 
to  sink  again  in  helpless  resignation,  while  the  shadow  of  de 
spair  rolled  in  and  quenched  his  feeble  determination. 

Rosendo  and  Don  Jorge  placed  the  body  in  one  of  the  vacant 
vaults  and  filled  the  entrance  with  some  loose  bricks.  Then 
they  stood  back  expectantly.  It  was  now  the  priest's  turn.  He 
had  a  part  to  perform,  out  there  on  the  bleak  hilltop  in  the 
ghostly  light.  But  Jose  remained  motionless  and  silent,  his 
head  sunk  upon  his  breast. 

Then  Rosendo,  waxing  troubled,  spoke  in  gentle  admonition. 
"He  would  expect  it,  you  know,  Padre." 

Jose  turned  away  from  the  lonely  vault.  Bitter  tears  coursed 
down  his  cheeks,  and  his  voice  broke.  He  laid  his  head  on 
Rosendo's  stalwart  shoulder  and  wept  aloud. 

The  sickly,  greenish  cast  of  the  moonlight  silhouetted  the 
figures  of  the  three  men  in  grotesque  shapes  against  the  ceme 
tery  wall  and  the  crumbling  tombs.  The  morose  call  of  a 
toucan  floated  weirdly  upon  the  heavy  air.  The  faint  wail  of 

325 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  frogs  in  the  shallow  waters  below  rose  like  the  despairing 
sighs  of  lost  souls. 

Rosendo  wound  his  long  arm  about  the  sorrowing  priest. 
Don  Jorge's  muscles  knotted,  and  a  muttered  imprecation  rose 
from  his  tight  lips.  Strangely  had  the  shift  and  coil  of  the 
human  mind  thrown  together  these  three  men,  so  different  in 
character,  yet  standing  now  in  united  protest  against  the  misery 
which  men  heap  upon  their  fellow-men  in  the  name  of  Christ. 
Jose,  the  apostate  agent  of  Holy  Church,  his  hands  bound,  and 
his  heart  bursting  with  yearning  toward  his  fellow-men;  Ro 
sendo,  simple-minded  and  faithful,  chained  to  the  Church  by 
heredity  and  association,  yet  ashamed  of  its  abuses  and  lusts; 
Don  Jorge,  fierce  in  his  denunciation  of  the  political  and  reli 
gious  sham  and  hypocrisy  which  he  saw  masking  behind  the 
cloak  of  imperial  religion. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  friends,"  moaned  Jose,  raising  his 
head;  "nothing  that  would  not  still  further  reveal  my  own 
miserable  weakness  and  the  despicable  falsity  of  the  Church. 
If  the  Church  had  followed  the  Christ,  it  would  have  taught  me 
to  do  likewise;  and  I  should  now  call  to  Lazaro  and  bid  him 
come  forth,  instead  of  shamefully  confessing  my  impotency  and 
utter  lack  of  spirituality,  even  while  I  pose  as  an  Alter  Christus." 

"You — you  will  leave  a  blessing  with  him  before  we  go, 
Padre?"  queried  the  anxious  Rosendo,  clinging  still  to  the 
frayed  edge  of  his  fathers'  faith. 

"My  blessing,  Rosendo,"  replied  Jose  sadly,  "would  do  no 
good.  He  lies  there  because  we  have  utterly  forgotten  what 
the  Master  came  to  teach.  He  lies  there  because  of  our  false, 
undemonstrable,  mortal  beliefs.  Oh,  that  the  Church,  instead 
of  wasting  time  murmuring  futile  prayers  over  dead  bodies, 
had  striven  to  learn  to  do  the  deeds  which  the  Christ  said  we 
should  all  do  if  we  but  kept  his  commandments!" 

"But,  Padre,  you  will  say  Masses  for  him?"  pursued  Ro 
sendo. 

"Masses?  No,  I  can  not — now.  I  would  not  take  his  or 
your  money  to  give  to  the  Church  to  get  his  soul  out  of  an 
imagined  purgatory  which  the  Church  long  ago  invented  for 
the  purpose  of  enriching  herself  materially — for,  alas!  after 
spiritual  riches  she  has  had  little  hankering." 

"To  pay  God  to  get  His  own  children  out  of  the  flames, 
eh?"  suggested  Don  Jorge.  "It  is  what  I  have  always  said,  the 
religion  of  the  Church  is  a  religion  de  dinero.  If  there  ever  was 
a  God,  either  He  is  still  laughing  Himself  sick  at  our  follies — 
or  else  He  has  wept  Himself  to  death  over  them!  Jesus  Christ 
taught  no  such  stuff!" 

"Friend,"  said  Jose  solemnly,  turning  to  Don  Jorge,  "I  long 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


since  learned  what  the  whole  world  must  learn  some  time,  that 
the  Church  stands  to-day,  not  as  the  bride  of  the  Christ,  but  as 
the  incarnation  of  the  human  mind,  as  error  opposed  to  Truth. 
It  is  the  embodiment  of  'Who  shall  be  greatest?'  It  is  one  of 
the  various  phenomena  of  the  human  mentality;  and  its  ad 
herents  are  the  victims  of  authoritative  falsehood.  Its  Mass 
and  countless  other  ceremonies  differ  in  no  essential  respect 
from  ancient  pagan  worship.  Of  spirituality  it  has  none.  And 
so  it  can  do  none  of  the  works  of  the  Master.  Its  corrupting 
faith  is  foully  materialistic.  It  has  been  weighed  and  found 
wanting.  And  as  the  human  mind  expands,  the  incoming  light 
must  drive  out  the  black  beliefs  and  deeds  of  Holy  Church,  else 
the  oncoming  centuries  will  have  no  place  for  it." 

"I  believe  you!"  ejaculated  Don  Jorge.  VBut  why  do  you 
still  remain  a  priest?  Hornbre!  I  knew  when  I  saw  you  on 
the  river  boat  that  you  were  none.  But,"  his  voice  dropping  to 
a  whisper,  "there  is  a  soldier  in  the  road  below.  It  would  be 
well  to  leave.  He  might  think  we  were  here  to  plot." 

When  the  soldier  had  passed,  they  quietly  left  the  gloomy 
cemetery  and  made  their  way  quickly  back  through  the  strag 
gling  moonlight  to  Rosendo's  house.  Dona  Maria,  with  char 
acteristic  quietude,  was  preparing  for  the  duties  of  the  ap 
proaching  day.  Carmen  lay  asleep.  Jose  went  to  her  bedside 
and  bent  over  her,  wondering.  What  were  the  events  of  the 
past  few  days  in  her  sight?  How  did  she  interpret  them?  Was 
her  faith  still  unshaken?  What  did  Lazaro's  death  and  the 
execution  of  Don  Mario  mean  to  her?  Did  she,  as  he  had  done, 
look  upon  them  as  real  events  in  a  real  world,  created  and 
governed  by  a  good  God?  Or  did  she  still  hold  such  things  to 
be  the  unreal  phenomena  of  the  human  mentality? — unreal, 
because  opposed  to  God,  and  without  the  infinite  principle.  As 
for  himself,  how  had  the  current  of  his  life  been  diverted  by 
this  rare  child !  What  had  she  not  sought  to  teach  him  by  her 
simple  faith,  her  unshaken  trust  in  the  immanence  of  good! 
True,  as  a  pure  reflection  of  good  she  had  seemed  to  be  the 
means  of  stirring  up  tremendous  evil.  But  had  he  not  seen 
the  evil  eventually  consume  itself,  leaving  her  unscathed?  And 
yet,  wTould  this  continue?  He  himself  had  always  conceded  to 
the  forces  of  evil  as  great  power  as  to  those  of  good — nay,  even 
greater.  And  even  now  as  he  stood  looking  at  her,  wrapped  in 
peaceful  slumber,  his  strained  sight  caught  no  gleam  of  hope, 
no  light  flashing  through  the  heavy  clouds  of  misfortune  that 
lowered  above  her.  He  turned  away  with  an  anxious  sigh. 

"Padre,"  said  the  gentle  Doiia  Maria,  "the  two  Ameri 
canos — " 

"Ah,  yes,"  interrupted  Jose,  suddenly  remembering  that  he 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


had  sent  word  to  them  to  use  his  house  while  they  remained 
in  the  town.  "They  had  escaped  my  thought.  Bien,  they 
are — ?" 

"They  brought  their  baggage  to  your  house  an  hour  ago 
and  set  up  their  beds  in  your  living  room.  They  \vill  be  asleep 
by  now." 

"Good,"  he  replied,  a  wistful  sense  of  gratitude  stealing  over 
him  at  the  reassuring  thought  of  their  presence.  "Bien,  we  will 
not  disturb  them." 

Summoning  Rosendo  and  Don  Jorge,  the  three  men  sought 
the  lake's  edge.  There,  seated  on  the  loose  shales,  they  wrestled 
with  their  problem  until  dawn  spread  her  filmy  veil  over  the 
shimmering  stars. 

****** 

Long  before  sun-up  the  soldiers  and  the  peones,  whom  Cap 
tain  Morales  had  impressed,  were  busy  gathering  the  com 
mandeered  rifles  and  carrying  them  down  to  the  gunboat  Her 
cules,  waiting  at  the  mouth  of  the  Boque  river,  some  six  or 
eight  miles  distant,  and  over  a  wild  trail.  The  townsfolk, 
thoroughly  frightened,  hugged  the  shelter  of  their  homes,  and 
left  the  streets  to  the  troops.  Though  they  detested  the  sol 
diers,  yet  none  would  lightly  risk  a  blow  from  the  heavy  hand 
of  Morales,  whose  authority  on  a  punitive  expedition  of  this 
sort  was  unlimited.  The  summary  execution  of  the  Alcalde 
had  stricken  them  with  horror,  and  left  an  impression  which 
never  would  be  erased  from  their  memories. 

Immediately  after  the  early  desayuno  the  captain  appeared 
at  Rosendo's  door.  He  had  come  to  say  farewell  to  the  priest. 
All  of  the  soldiers  had  disappeared  down  the  trail,  with  the 
exception  of  the  two  who  formed  the  captain's  small  personal 
escort. 

"Conque,  adios,  Senor  Padre,"  he  called  cheerily,  as  he  ap 
proached.  Jose  was  sitting  at  table  with  Rosendo's  family  and 
Don  Jorge.  Instinctively  he  rose  hastily,  and  seizing  Carmen, 
thrust  her  into  the  adjoining  bedroom  and  closed  the  door. 
Then  he  went  out  to  face  the  captain. 

"Much  excitement  for  your  little  pueblo,  no?"  exclaimed  the 
captain  with  a  bluff  laugh  as  he  grasped  Jose's  hand.  "But  a 
lesson  like  this  will  last  a  century.  I  rejoice  that  I  found  it 
unnecessary  to  burn  the  town." 

Jose  trembled  as  he  replied.  "Sefwr  Capitdn,  I,  too,  rejoice. 
But — the  state  of  the  country — what  may  we  expect?" 

The  captain  laughed  again.  "Caramba,  Padre  mio!  who 
can  say?  There  is  much  talk,  many  angry  looks,  much  gestur 
ing  and  waving  of  hands.  Congress  still  sits.  The  President 
sees  fit  to  send  me  here,  without  order  from  the  Departmental 

328 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Governor.  Hombre!  what  will  follow?  Quien  sabe?"  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  that  expressive  Latin  gesture  which 
indicates  complete  irresponsibility  for  and  indifference  to  re 
sults. 

Jose's  heart  began  to  beat  more  regularly.  He  again  took 
the  captain's  hand.  He  was  eager  to  see  him  depart.  "Bueno 
pues,  Senor  Capitdn,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "I  wish  you  every 
felicitation  on  your  return  trip.  Ah — ah — your  orders  con 
tained  no  reference  to — to  me?"  he  added  hesitatingly. 

"None  whatever,  Senor  Padre,"  replied  the  captain  genially. 
He  turned  to  go,  and  Jose  stifled  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  But 
suddenly  the  captain  stopped;  then  turned  again. 

"Caramba!"  he  ejaculated,  "I  nearly  forgot!  Hombre!  what 
would  His  Grace  have  said?" 

He  fumbled  in  an  inner  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  telegraphic 
document. 

"And  you  will  seize  the  person  of  one  Rosendo  Ariza's 
daughter  and  immediately  send  her  with  proper  conveyance  to 
the  Sister  Superior  of  the  convent  of  Our  Lady  in  Cartagena," 
he  read  aloud. 

Jose  froze  to  the  spot.  From  within  Rosendo's  house  came 
a  soft,  scurrying  sound.  Then  he  heard  a  movement  in  his 
own.  Morales  returned  the  folded  message  to  his  pocket  and 
started  to  enter  the  house.  Jose  could  offer  no  resistance.  He 
was  rendered  suddenly  inert,  although  vividly  conscious  of  a 
drama  about  to  be  enacted  in  which  he  and  his  loved  ones 
would  play  leading  roles.  As  in  a  dream  he  heard  the  captain 
address  Rosendo  and  gruffly  demand  that  he  produce  his  daugh 
ter.  He  heard  a  deep  curse  from  Rosendo;  and  his  blood  con 
gealed  more  thickly  as  he  dwelt  momentarily  on  the  old  man's 
possible  conduct  in  the  face  of  the  federal  demand.  He  heard 
Morales  hunting  impatiently  through  the  shabby  rooms.  Then 
he  saw  him  emerge  in  a  towering  rage — but  empty-handed. 

"Caramba,  Padre!"  cried  the  angry  captain,  "but  what  is 
this?  Have  they  not  had  one  good  lesson,  that  I  must  inflict 
another?  I  demand  to  know,  has  this  Rosendo  Ariza  a  daugh 
ter?" 

He  stood  waiting  for  the  answer  that  Jose  knew  he  must 
make.  The  priest's  hollow  voice  sounded  like  an  echo  from 
another  world. 

"Yes." 

"Bien,  then  I  have  discovered  one  honest  man  in  yourself, 
Padre.  You  will  now  assist  me  in  finding  her." 

"I — I  know  not — where — where  she  is,  Senor  Capitan" 
murmured  Jose  with  feebly  fluttering  lips. 

They  were  alone,  this  little  party  of  actors,  although,  many 

329 

31 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


an  eye  peered  out  timidly  at  them  from  behind  closed  shutters 
and  barred  doors  around  the  plaza.  Don  Jorge  and  Rosendo 
came  out  of  the  house  and  stood  behind  Jose.  The  captain 
confronted  them,  bristling  with  wrath  at  the  insolence  that 
dared  oppose  his  supreme  authority.  The  heat  had  already  be 
gun  to  pour  down  in  torrents.  The  morning  air  was  light,  but 
not  a  sound  traversed  it.  The  principals  in  this  tense  drama 
might  have  been  painted  against  that  vivid  tropical  background. 

Then  Harris,  moved  by  his  piquant  Yankee  curiosity,  ap 
peared  at  the  door  of  the  parish  house,  his  great  eyes  protrud 
ing  and  his  head  craned  forth  like  a  monster  heron.  Morales 
saw  him.  "Ha!"  he  exclaimed.  "Perhaps  the  Americano  hides 
the  daughter  of  Ariza!" 

He  started  for  the  priest's  door.  But  ere  he  reached  it 
Reed  suddenly  appeared  from  behind  Harris.  In  his  hand  he 
grasped  a  large  American  flag.  Holding  this  high  above  his 
head,  he  blocked  the  entrance. 

"Hold!  Senor  Capitan!"  he  cried  in  his  perfect  Spanish. 
"We  are  American  citizens,  and  this  house  is  under  the  protec 
tion  of  the  American  Government!" 

Morales  fell  back  and  stood  with  mouth  agape  in  astonish 
ment.  The  audacity  of  this  foreign  adventurer  fairly  robbed 
him  of  his  breath.  He  glanced  dubiously  from  him  to  the 
priest.  Then,  to  save  the  situation,  he  broke  into  an  embar 
rassed  laugh. 

"Bien,  my  good  friend,"  he  finally  said,  addressing  Reed  in 
his  courtliest  manner,  "all  respect  to  your  excellent  Govern 
ment.  And,  if  you  will  accept  it,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  secure 
you  a  commission  in  the  Colombian  army.  But,  my  orders — 
you  understand,  do  you  not?  The  sun  is  already  high,  and  I 
can  not  lose  more  time.  Therefore,  you  wrill  kindly  stand  aside 
and  permit  me  to  search  that  house."  He  motioned  to  his  men 
and  moved  forward. 

Still  holding  aloft  the  flag,  Reed  drew  a  long  revolver.  Harris 
quickly  produced  one  of  equal  size  and  wicked  appearance. 
Morales  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  at  them  in  hesitation.  He 
knew  what  he  might  expect.  He  had  heard  much  of  American 
bravery.  His  chief  delight  when  not  in  the  field  was  the  perusal 
of  a  battered  history  of  the  American  Civil  War;  and  his  ex 
clamations  of  admiration  for  the  hardihood  of  those  who  par 
ticipated  in  it  were  always  loud  and  frequent.  But  he,  too,  had 
a  reputation  to  sustain.  The  Americans  stood  grimly  silent  be 
fore  him.  Harris's  finger  twitched  nervously  along  the  trigger, 
and  a  smile  played  over  his  thin  lips.  The  man  was  aching  for 
a  scrimmage. 

Then,  his  face  flaming  with  shame  and  chagrin,  Morales 
turned  to  his  escort  and  commanded  them  to  advance. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Up  went  the  two  revolvers.     A  moment  more,  and — 

A  cry  came  from  Rosendo's  house.  Ana,  her  face  swollen 
with  weeping,  clasping  her  sightless  babe  to  her  bosom,  had 
emerged  and  faced  the  captain. 

"Senor,"  she  said  in  a  voice  strained  to  a  whisper,  "I  am 
the  daughter  of  Rosendo  Ariza." 

A  half-suppressed  exclamation  burst  from  the  lips  of  Ro 
sendo.  A  desperate,  suffocating  joy  surged  over  the  riven  soul 
of  the  priest.  Don  Jorge's  mouth  opened,  but  no  sound  came 
forth.  This  precipitate  denoument  held  them  rigid  with  aston 
ishment. 

A  heavy  silence  descended  upon  them  all.  In  the  eyes  of 
Jose  Ana's  tense  figure,  standing  grim  and  rigid  before  the 
captain,  took  on  a  dignity  that  was  majestic,  a  worth  that  tran 
scended  all  human  computation.  A  Magdalen,  yes,  standing 
with  her  sin-conceived  child  clasped  in  her  trembling  arms. 
But  this  act — God  above !  this  sacrificial  act  broke  the  alabaster 
box  and  spread  the  precious  nard  over  the  feet  of  the  pitying 
Christ. 

Morales  turned  questioningly  to  Jose.  "Is  this  true,  Padre?" 
he  asked. 

"It  is,"  murmured  the  dazed  priest,  scarce  hearing  his  own 
words. 

"But — I  have  no  orders  respecting  a  child — " 

"They  cannot  be  separated,"  half  whispered  Jose,  not  daring 
to  meet  the  vacant  gaze  of  the  babe. 

The  captain  hesitated  a  moment  longer.  Then,  with  an 
upward  glance  at  the  sun,  he  gave  a  sharp  command  to  his 
men.  Placing  the  woman  between  them,  the  two  soldiers  faced 
about  and  moved  quickly  away.  With  a  low  bow  and  a  final 
"Adios,  Senor  es"  the  captain  hurriedly  joined  them.  Ere  the 
little  group  before  Rosendo's  house  had  collected  their  wits,  the 
soldiers  and  their  frail  charge  had  mounted  the  hill  beyond  the 
old  church  and  disappeared  into  the  matted  trail  that  led  from 
it  to  the  distant  river. 

Rosendo  was  the  first  to  break  the  mesmeric  silence.  "Dios 
arriba!"  he  cried.  His  knees  gave  way  beneath  him  and  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "Anita — !" 

Then  he  rose  hastily,  and  made  as  if  to  pursue  the  soldiers. 
Jose  and  Don  Jorge  restrained  him. 

"Hombre!"  cried  Don  Jorge,  "but  it  is  the  hand  of  Provi 
dence!  It  is  better  so!  Listen,  friend  Rosendo,  it  but  gives  us 
time  to  act!  Perhaps  many  days!  When  the  mistake  is  dis 
covered  they  will  return,  and  they  will  bring  her  back  un 
harmed — though  they  may  not  learn  until  she  reaches  Car 
tagena!  Bien,  we  can  not  waste  time  in  mourning  now! 
Courage,  man!  Think — think  hard!" 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


Rosendo  strove  to  unravel  his  tangled  wits.  Jose  went  to 
him  and  clasped  his  big  hand. 

"Rosendo — friend — would  you  have  it  different?  I — I  alone 
am  to  blame  that  they  took  Anita!  But — it  was  to  save — to 
save —  Ah,  God !  if  I  did  wrong,  take  the  American's  revolver 
and  shoot  me!"  He  tore  open  his  cassock  and  stook  rigid  be 
fore  the  dazed  man.  Anguish  and  soul-torture  had  warped  his 
features. 

"Caramba!  Enough  of  such  talk!"  cried  Don  Jorge  im 
patiently.  "We  shall  find  plenty  of  others  more  deserving  of 
shooting,  I  think!  The  girl — \vhere  is  she?" 

Reed  turned  back  into  the  parish  house,  and  emerged  a 
moment  later  with  Carmen  and  Dona  Maria,  who  knew  not 
as  yet  of  Ana's  departure.  "I  hid  them  in  your  bedroom, 
Padre,"  Reed  explained. 

Jose  threw  him  a  look  of  gratitude.  "Dona  Maria,"  he  cried, 
"do  you  take  Carmen  into  your  house  and  await  our  decision! 
And  you,  men,  go  into  my  study!  It  is  as  Don  Jorge  says,  we 
must  act  quickly!  Leave  your  flag  hanging,  Mr.  Reed!  It  may 
serve  to  protect  us  further  against  the  angry  people  of  Simiti!" 

The  five  men  quickly  gathered  in  Jose's  living  room  in  a 
strained,  excited  group.  The  priest  was  the  first  to  speak. 
Rapidly  he  related  in  detail  Don  Mario's  last  confession.  When 
he  had  closed,  Reed  made  reply. 

"Old  man,"  he  said,  familiarly  addressing  Jose,  "having 
seen  the  girl,  I  do  not  at  all  wonder  that  blood  has  been  shed 
over  her.  But  to  keep  her  another  hour  in  Simiti  is  to  sacrifice 
her.  Get  her  away — and  at  once !  If  not,  the  people  will  drive 
you  out.  I  talked  with  Fernando  last  night.  With  the  soldiers 
gone,  the  people  will  rise  up  against  you  all." 

"But,  friend,  where  shall  we  go?"  cried  Jose  in  desperation. 
"There  is  no  place  in  Colombia  now  where  she  wrould  be  safe!" 

"Then  leave  the  country,"  suggested  Reed. 

"It  can  not  be  done,"  interposed  Don  Jorge.  "It  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  escape  down  the  river  with  the  girl,  even 
if  he  had  funds  to  carry  her  away  from  Colombia,  which  he 
has  not.  At  any  port  he  would  be  seized.  To  take  the  trail 
would  only  postpone  for  a  short  time  their  certain  capture. 
And  then — well,  we  will  not  predict!  To  flee  into  the  jungle — 
or  to  hide  among  the  peones  along  the  trails — that  might  be 
done — yes." 

"What's  the  gibberish  about  now,  pal?"  put  in  Harris,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  Spanish  tongue  was  nil. 

Reed  explained  to  him  at  some  length. 

"Well,  that's  easy,"  returned  Harris.  "Tell  'em  you'll  take 
the  girl  out  yourself.  She's  white  enough  to  pass  as  your 
daughter,  you  know." 

332 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Rosendo,  stunned  by  the  sudden  departure  of  Ana,  had  sat 
in  a  state  of  stupefaction  during  this  conversation.  But  now 
he  roused  up  and  turned  to  Reed.  "What  says  he,  senor?"  he 
inquired  thickly. 

The  latter  translated  his  friend's  suggestion,  laughing  as 
he  commented  on  its  gross  absurdity. 

Rosendo  dropped  his  head  again  upon  his  chest  and  lapsed 
into  silence.  Then  he  rose  unsteadily  and  passed  a  hand  slowly 
across  his  brow.  A  strange  light  had  come  into  his  eyes.  For 
a  moment  he  stood  looking  fixedly  at  Reed.  Finally  he  began 
to  speak. 

"Senores,"  he  said,  rolling  his  syllables  sonorously,  "the 
time  has  come  at  last!  For  years  I  have  waited,  waited,  know 
ing  that  some  day  the  great  gift  which  the  good  God  put  into 
my  hands  for  the  little  Carmen  would  be  needed.  Senores,  my 
parents  were  slaves.  The  cruel  Spaniards  drove  them  to  and 
from  their  heavy  labors  with  the  lash;  and  when  the  great 
war  ended,  they  sank  exhausted  into  their  graves.  My  parents 
—I  have  not  told  you  this,  Padre — were  the  slaves  of  Don 
Ignacio  de  Rincon!" 

An  exclamation  burst  from  the  astonished  priest's  lips. 
What,  then,  had  this  man  been  concealing  all  these  years? 
Little  wonder  that  he  had  hesitated  when  he  learned  that  a 
Rincon  had  come  to  the  parish  of  Simiti! 

The  old  man  quickly  resumed.  As  he  continued,  his  recital 
became  dramatic.  .  As  they  listened,  his  auditors  sat  spell 
bound. 

"Don  Ignacio  de  Rincon  himself  was  kind  of  heart.  But  his 
overseers — ah,  Dios  arriba!  they  were  cruel!  cruel!  Many  a 
time  the  great  lash  wound  itself  about  my  poor  father's  shrink 
ing  body,  and  hurled  him  shrieking  to  the  ground — and  why? 
Because  his  blistered  hands  could  not  hold  the  batea  with  which 
he  washed  gold  for  your  grandfather,  Padre,  your  grandfather!" 

Jose's  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  A  groan  escaped  him, 
and  tears  trickled  slowly  down  his  sunken  cheeks. 

"I  bear  you  no  malice,  Padre,"  continued  Rosendo.  "It  was 
hard  those  first  days  to  accept  you  here.  But  when,  during 
your  fever,  I  learned  from  your  own  lips  what  you  had  suffered, 
I  knew  that  you  needed  a  friend,  and  I  took  you  to  my  bosom. 
And  now  I  am  glad — ah,  very  glad,  that  I  did  so.  But,  though 
my  confidence  in  you  increased  day  by  day,  I  could  never  bring 
myself  to  tell  you  my  great  secret — the  secret  that  now  I  reveal 
for  the  sake  of  the  little  Carmen.  Padre — senores — I — /  am 
the  owner  of  the  great  mine,  La  Libcrtad!" 

Had  the  heavens  collapsed  the  astonishment  of  Don  Jorge 
and  the  priest  could  not  have  been  greater.  The  coming  of  the 

333 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


soldiers,  the  terrific  strain  of  the  past  few  days,  culminating  in 
the  loss  of  Ana — all  was  for  the  moment  obliterated. 

Jose  started  up  and  tried  to  speak.  But  the  words  would 
not  come.  Rosendo  paused  a  moment  for  the  effect  which  he 
knew  his  revelation  would  produce,  and  then  went  on  rapidly: 

"Padre,  the  mine  belonged  to  your  grandfather.  It  produced 
untold  wealth.  The  gold  taken  from  it  was  brought  down  the 
Guamoco  trail  to  Simiti,  and  from  here  shipped  to  Cartagena, 
where  he  lived  in  great  elegance.  I  make  no  doubt  the  gold 
which  you  and  the  little  Carmen  discovered  in  the  old  church 
that  day  came  from  this  same  wonderful  mine.  But  the  ore 
was  quartz,  and  arrastras  were  required  to  grind  it,  and  much 
skill  was  needed,  too.  He  had  men  from  old  Spain,  deeply 
versed  in  such  knowledge.  Ah,  the  tales  my  poor  father  told 
of  that  mine! 

"Bien,  the  war  broke  out.  The  Guamoco  region  became  de 
populated,  and  sank  back  into  the  jungle.  The  location  of  the 
mine  had  been  recorded  in  Cartagena;  but,  as  you  know,  when 
Don  Ignacio  fled  from  this  country  he  destroyed  the  record. 
He  did  the  same  with  the  records  in  Simiti,  on  that  last  flying 
trip  here,  when  he  hid  the  gold  in  the  altar  of  the  old'  church. 
And  then  the  jungle  grew  up  around  the  mine  during  those 
thirteen  long  years  of  warfare — the  people  who  knew  of  it  died 
off — and  the  mine  was  lost,  utterly  lost!" 

He  stopped  for  breath.  The  little  group  sat  enthralled  be 
fore  him.  All  but  Harris,  who  was  vainly  beseeching  Reed  to 
translate  to  him  the  dramatic  story. 

"Padre,"  continued  Rosendo  at  length,  "from  what  my 
father  had  told  me  I  had  a  vague  idea  of  the  location  of  that 
mine.  And  many  a  weary  day  I  spent  hunting  for  it!  Then — 
then  I  found  it!  Ah,  Caramba!  I  wept  aloud  for  joy!  It  was 
while  I  was  on  the  Tigui,  washing  gold.  I  was  working  near 
what  we  used  to  call  Pozo  Cayman,  opposite  La  Colorado, 
where  the  Frenchmen  died.  I  camped  on  the  lonely  bank  there, 
with  only  the  birds  and  the  wondering  animals  to  keep  me 
company.  One  dark  night,  as  I  lay  on  the  ground,  I  had  a 
dream.  I  believe  in  dreams,  Padre.  I  dreamt  that  the  Virgin, 
all  in  white,  came  to  me  where  I  lay — that  she  whispered  to  me 
and  told  me  to  rise  quickly  and  drive  away  the  devil. 

"I  awoke  suddenly.  It  was  still  dark,  but  a  pair  of  fiery 
eyes  were  gleaming  at  me  from  the  bush.  I  seized  my  machete 
and  started  after  them.  It  was  a  jaguar,  Padre,  and  he  fled  up 
the  hill  from  me.  Why  I  followed,  I  know  not,  unless  I  thought, 
still  half  asleep  as  I  was,  that  I  was  obeying  the  Virgin. 

"At  the  top  of  the  hill  I  lost  the  animal — and  myself,  as 
well.  I  am  a  good  woodsman,  senores,  and  not  easily  lost.  But 

334 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


this  time  my  poor  head  went  badly  astray.  I  started  to  cut 
through  the  bush.  At  last  I  came  to  the  edge  of  a  steep  ravine. 
I  clambered  down  the  sides  into  the  gully  below.  I  thought  it 
looked  like  an  old  trail,  and  I  followed  it.  So  narrow  was  it  at 
times  that  the  walls  almost  touched.  But  I  went  on.  Then  it 
widened,  and  I  knew  that  at  last  I  was  in  a  trail,  long  since 
abandoned — and  how  old,  only  the  good  God  himself  knew! 

"But  my  story  grows  as  long  as  the  trail!  On  and  on  I 
went,  crossing  stream  after  stream,  scaring  snakes  from  my 
path,  frightening  the  birds  above,  who  doubtless  have  never 
seen  men  in  that  region,  all  the  time  thinking  I  was  going 
toward  the  Tigui,  until  at  last  the  old  sunken  trail  led  me  up  a 
tremendous  hill.  At  the  top,  buried  in  a  dense  matting  of 
brush,  I  fell  over  a  circle  of  stones.  They  were  the  remains  of 
an  ancient  arrastra.  Further  on  I  found  another;  and  still 
another.  Then,  near  them,  the  stone  foundations  of  houses, 
long  since  gone  to  decay.  From  these  the  trail  took  me  into  a 
gully,  \vhere  but  little  water  flowed.  It  was  lined  with  quartz 
bowlders.  I  struck  off  a  piece  from  one  of  the  largest.  It 
showed  specks  of  gold!  My  eyes  danced!  I  forgot  that  I  was 
lost!  I  went  on  up  the  stream,  striking  off  piece  after  piece 
from  the  great  rocks.  Every  one  showed  specks  of  free  gold. 
Caramba!  I  reached  the  top  of  the  hill.  Hombre!  how  can  I 
tell  it!  Tunnel  after  tunnel  yawned  at  me  from  the  hillside. 
Some  of  these  were  still  open,  where  they  had  been  driven 
through  the  hard  rock.  Others  had  caved.  I  had  my  wrallet, 
in  which  I  always  carry  matches  and  a  bit  of  candle.  I  entered 
one  of  the  open  tunnels.  Dios  arriba!  far  within  I  crossed  a 
quartz  vein — I  scraped  it  with  my  machete.  Caramba!  it  could 
not  have  been  less  than  six  feet  in  width — and  all  speckled  with 
gold !  Above  it,  far  into  the  blackness,  where  bats  were  scurry 
ing  madly,  the  ore  had  been  taken  out  long,  long  ago.  In  the 
darkness  below  I  stumbled  over  old,  rusted  tools.  Every  one 
bore  the  inscription,  'I  de  R.'  Your  grandfather,  Padre,  put  his 
stamp  on  everything  belonging  to  him.  Then,  as  I  sat  trying  to 
place  myself,  my  father's  oft-told  story  of  the  location  of  the 
mine  flashed  into  my  brain.  My  memory  is  good,  Padre.  And  I 
knew  then  where  I  was.  I  was  at  the  headwaters  of  the  Bor- 
rachera.  And  I  had  discovered  La  Libertad!" 

Reed's  eager  ears  had  drunk  in  every  word  of  the  old 
man's  dramatic  story.  His  practical  mind  had  revolved  its 
possibilities.  When  Rosendo  paused  again,  he  quickly  asked: 

"The  title,  senor?" 

Rosendo  drew  forth  a  paper  from  his  bosom.  It  bore  the 
government  stamp.  He  handed  it  to  Reed. 

"You  will  recall,  Padre,"  he  said,  addressing  the  dully  won- 

335 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


dering  Jose,  "that  I  once  asked  you  to  give  me  a  name  for  a 
mine— a  rare  name?  And  you  told  me  to  call  it  the — the — 
what  is  it?" 

"The  Chicago  mine,  Rosendo?"  replied  Jose,  recalling  the 
incident. 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  the  old  man  excitedly,  "that  is  it!  Bien, 
I  told  no  one  of  my  discovery  of  years  before.  I  had  never 
had  money  enough  to  get  the  title  to  it.  Besides,  I  was  afraid. 
But  when  it  seemed  that  I  might  soon  have  use  for  it  I  sold  my 
fmca  for  funds  and  had  Lazaro  apply  through  Don  Mario  for 
title  to  a  mine  called — called— 
=.  "The  Chicago  mine,"  said  Jose,  again  coming  to  the  rescue. 

"Just  so!  Bien,  Lazaro  got  the  title,  which  I  never  could 
have  done,  for  at  that  time  Don  Mario  would  not  have  put 
through  any  papers  for  me.  I  then  had  the  unsuspecting 
Lazaro  transfer  the  title  to  me,  and — Bien,  I  am  the  sole  owner 
of  La  Libertad!" 

Reed  examined  the  paper  at  some  length,  and  then  handed 
it  back  to  Rosendo.  "Can  we  not  talk  business,  sefior?"  he 
said,  speaking  with  some  agitation.  "I  am  so  situated  that  I 
can  float  an  American  company  to  operate  this  mine,  and 
allow  you  a  large  percentage  of  the  returns.  Great  heavens!" 
he  exclaimed,  unable  longer  to  contain  himself,  "it  is  your 
fortune!" 

"Sefior,"  replied  Rosendo,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  "I  want 
no  share  in  any  of  your  American  companies.  But — your 
friend — he  has  suggested  just  what  has  been  running  through 
my  mind  ever  since  you  came  to  Simiti." 

Jose's  heart  suddenly  stopped.  The  wild,  terrifying  idea 
tore  through  his  fraught  brain.  He  turned  quickly  to  Reed 
and  addressed  him  in  English.  "No — no — it  is  impossible!  The 
old  man  wanders!  You  can  not  take  the  girl — !" 

"Certainly  not!"  ejaculated  Reed  with  some  warmth.  "Such 
a  thing  is  quite  out  of  the  question!" 

"Stuff!"  exclaimed  Harris.  "Now  look  here,  Mr.  Priest, 
Reed's  wife  is  in  Cartagena,  waiting  for  him.  Came  down 
from  New  York  that  far  for  the  trip.  Kind  of  sickly,  you 
know.  What's  to  prevent  her  from  taking  the  girl  to  the 
States  and  placing  her  in  a  boarding  school  there  until  such 
time  as  you  can  either  follow,  or  this  stew  down  here  has 
settled  sufficiently  to  permit  of  her  returning  to  you?" 

Reed  threw  up  a  deprecatory  hand.    "Impossible!"  he  cried. 

"But,"  interposed  Harris  exasperatedly,  "would  you  leave 
the  ravishing  little  beauty  here  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
cannibals  who  are  trailing  her?  Lord  Harry!  if  it  weren't  for 
the  looks  of  the  thing  I'd  take  her  myself.  But  you've  got  a 

336 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


wife,  so  it'd  be  easy."  He  leaned  over  to  Reed  and  concluded 
in  a  whisper,  "The  old  man's  going  to  make  a  proposition — 
listen!" 

"But,"  remonstrated  the  latter,  "the  expense  of  keeping  her 
in  New  York  indefinitely!  For,  unless  I  mistake  much,  none 
of  these  people  will  ever  see  the  States  after  she  leaves.  And 
then  I  have  an  adopted  daughter  on  my  hands!  And,  heaven 
knows!  now  that  my  ambitious  wife  is  determined  to  break 
into  New  York  society  with  her  adorable  sister,  I  have  no 
money  to  waste  on  adopted  children!" 

Rosendo,  who  had  been  studying  the  Americans  attentively 
during  their  conversation,  now  laid  a  hand  on  Reed's.  "Senor," 
he  said  in  a  quiet  tone./'if  you  will  take  the  little  Carmen  with 
you,  and  keep  her  safe  from  harm  until  Padre  Jose  can  come 
to  you,  or  she  can  be  returned  to  us  here,  I  will  transfer  to  you 
a  half  interest  in  this  mine." 

Jose  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  face  was  blanched  with  fear. 
"Rosendo!"  he  cried  wildly,  "do  not  do  that!  Dios  arriba,  no! 
You  do  not  know  this  man!  Ah,  senor,"  turning  to  Reed,  "I  beg 
you  will  forgive — but  Rosendo  is  mad  to  suggest  such  a  thing! 
We  cannot  permit  it — we — I — oh,  God  above!"  He  sank  again 
into  his  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Don  Jorge  gave  vent  to  a  long,  low  whistle.  Rosendo,  his 
voice  husky  and  his  lips  trembling,  went  on: 

"I  know,  Padre — I  know.  But  it  must  be  done!  I  will  give 
the  mine  to  the  American — and  to  Carmen.  He  has  a  powerful 
government  back  of  him,  and  he  is  able  to  defend  the  title  and 
save  her  interest  as  well  as  his  own.  As  for  me,  I — Bien, 
I  shall  want  nothing  when  Carmen  goes — nothing." 

"For  heaven's  sake!"  burst  in  Harris,  seizing  Reed's  arm. 
"If  you  don't  tell  me  what  all  this  is  about  now  I  shall  shoot — 
and  not  straight  up,  either!" 

"Seiiores,"  said  Reed  in  a  controlled  voice,  "let  me  talk 
this  matter  over  with  my  friend  here.  I  will  come  to  you  in  an 
hour." 

Rosendo  and  Don  Jorge  bowed  and  silently  withdrew  from 
the  parish  house.  The  former  went  at  once  to  apprise  the 
wondering  Dona  Maria  of  the  events  which  had  crowded  the 
morning's  early  hours  and  to  answer  her  apprehensive  ques 
tionings  regarding  Ana.  Carmen  was  to  know  only  that  Ana — 
but  what  could  he  tell  her?  That  the  woman  had  sacrificed 
herself  for  the  girl?  No;  but  that  they  had  seized  this  oppor 
tunity  to  send  her,  under  the  protection  of  Captain  Morales,  to 
the  Sisters  of  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady.  The  old  man  knew  that 
the  girl  would  see  only  God's  hand  in  the  event. 

Jose  as  in  a  dream  sought  Carmen.     It  seemed  to  him  that 

337 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


once  his  arms  closed  about  her  no  power  under  the  skies  could 
tear  them  asunder.  He  found  her  sitting  in  the  doorway  at 
the  rear  of  Rosendo's  house,  looking  dreamily  out  over  the 
placid  lake.  Cucumbra,  now  old  and  feeble,  slept  at  her  feet. 
As  the  man  approached  he  heard  her  murmur  repeatedly,  "It 
is  not  true — it  is  not  true — it  is  not  true!" 

"Carmen!"  cried  Jose,  seizing  her  hand.     "Come  with  me!" 
She  rose  quickly.     "Gladly,  Padre — but  where?" 
"God   only   knows — to   the   end   of   the  world!"    cried  the 
frenzied  man. 

"Well,   Padre  dear,"   she  softly  replied,  as  she  smiled  up 
into  his  drawn  face,  "we  will  start  out.     But  I  think  we  had 
better  rest  when  we  reach  the  shales,  dgn't  you?" 
Then  she  put  her  hand  in  his. 


CHAPTER  35 

"~\  TO,  Padre  dear,"  with  an  energetic  shake  of  her  head,  "no. 

Lv    Not  even  after  all  that  has  seemed  to  happen  to  us  do  I 

believe  it  true.    No,  I  do  not  believe  it  real.     Evil  is  not 

power.     It  does  not  exist,  excepting  in  the  human  mind.     And 

that,  as  you  yourself  know,  can  not  be  real,  for  it  is  all  that  God 

is  not." 

They  were  seated  beneath  the  slowly  withering  algarroba 
tree  out  on  the  burning  shales.  Jose  still  held  the  girl's  hand 
tightly  in  his.  Again  he  was  struggling  with  self,  struggling 
to  pass  the  border-line  from  self-consciousness  to  God-con 
sciousness;  striving,  under  the  spiritual  influence  of  this  girl,  to 
break  the  mesmeric  hold  of  his  own  mortal  beliefs,  and  swing 
freely  out  into  his  true  orbit  about  the  central  Sun,  infinite 
Mind. 

The  young  girl,  burgeoning  into  a  marvelous  womanhood, 
sat  before  him  like  an  embodied  spirit.  Her  beauty  of  soul 
shone  out  in  gorgeous  luxuriance,  and  seemed  to  him  to  en 
velop  her  in  a  sheen  of  radiance.  The  brilliant  sunshine  glanced 
sparkling  from  her  glossy  hair  into  a  nimbus  of  light  about  her 
head.  Her  rich  complexion  was  but  faintly  suggestive  to  him 
of  a  Latin  origin.  Her  oval  face  and  regular  features  might 
have  indicated  any  of  the  ruddier  branches  of  the  so-called 
Aryan  stock.  But  his  thought  was  not  dwelling  on  these  things 
now.  It  was  brooding  over  the  events  of  the  past  few  weeks, 
and  their  probable  consequences.  And  this  he  had  just  voiced 
to  her. 

"Padre    dear,"    she    had    said,    when    his    tremulous    voice 

338 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


ceased,  "how  much  longer  will  you  believe  that  two  and  two 
are  seven?  And  how  much  longer  will  you  try  to  make  me  be 
lieve  it?  Oh,  Padre,  at  first  you  did  seem  to  see  so  clearly,  and 
you  talked  so  beautifully  to  me!  And  then,  when  things  seemed 
to  go  wrong,  you  went  right  back  to  your  old  thoughts  and 
opened  the  door  and  let  them  all  in  again.  And  so  things 
couldn't  help  getting  worse  for  you.  You  told  me  yourself,  long 
ago,  that  you  would  have  to  empty  your  mind  of  its  old  beliefs. 
But  I  guess  you  didn't  get  them  all  out.  If  you  had  cleaned 
house  and  got  your  mind  ready  for  the  good  thoughts,  they 
would  have  come  in.  You  know,  you  have  to  get  ready  for  the 
good,  before  it  can  come.  You  have  to  be  receptive.  But  you 
go  right  on  getting  ready  for  evil.  If  you  loved  God — really 
loved  Him — why,  you  would  not  be  worried  and  anxious  to 
day,  and  you  would  not  be  believing  still  that  two  and  two  are 
seven.  You  told  me,  oh,  so  long  ago!  that  this  human  life  was 
just  a  sense  of  life,  a  series  of  states  of  consciousness,  and  that 
consciousness  was  only  mental  activity,  the  activity  of  thought. 
Well,  I  remembered  that,  and  put  it  into  practice — but  you 
didn't.  A  true  consciousness  is  the  activity  of  true  thought, 
you  said.  A  false  consciousness  is  the  activity  of  false  thought. 
True  thought  comes  from  God,  who  is  mind.  False  thought 
is  the  opposite  of  true  thought,  and  doesn't  come  from  any 
mind  at  all,  but  is  just  supposition.  A  supposition  is  never 
really  created,  because  it  is  never  real — never  truth.  True 
thought  becomes  externalized  to  us  in  good,  in  harmony,  in 
happiness.  False  thought  becomes  externalized  to  us  in  un- 
happiness,  sickness,  loss,  in  wrong-doing,  and  in  death.  It  is 
unreal,  and  yet  awfully  real  to  those  who  believe  it  to  be  real. 
Why  don't  you  act  your  knowledge,  as  you  at  first  said  you 
were  going  to  do?  I  have  all  along  tried  to  do  this.  Whenever 
thoughts  come  to  me  I  always  look  carefully  at  them  to  see 
whether  they  are  based  on  any  real  principle,  on  God.  If  so,  I 
let  them  in.  If  not,  I  drive  them  away.  Sometimes  it  has  been 
hard  to  tell  just  which  were  true  and  which  false.  And  some 
times  I  got  caught,  and  had  to  pay  the  penalty.  But  every  day 
I  do  better;  and  the  time  will  come  at  last  when  I  shall  be 
able  to  tell  at  once  which  thoughts  are  true  and  which  untrue. 
When  that  time  comes,  nothing  but  good  thoughts  will  enter, 
and  nothing  but  good  will  be  externalized  to  me  in  conscious 
ness.  I  shall  be  in  heaven — all  the  heaven  there  is.  It  is  the 
heaven  which  Jesus  talked  so  much  about,  and  which  he  said 
was  within  us  all.  It  is  so  simple,  Padre  dear,  so  simple!" 

The  man  sat  humbly  before  her  like  a  rebuked  child.  He 
knew  that  she  spoke  truth.  Indeed,  these  were  the  very  things 
that  he  had  taught  her  himself.  Why,  then,  had  he  failed  to 

339 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


demonstrate  them?  Only  because  he  had  attempted  to  mix 
error  with  truth — had  clung  to  the  reality  and  immanence  of 
evil,  even  while  striving  to  believe  good  omnipotent  and  in 
finite.  He  had  worked  out  these  theories,  and  they  had  ap 
peared  beautiful  to  him.  But,  while  Carmen  had  eagerly 
grasped  and  assimilated  them,  even  to  the  consistent  shaping 
of  her  daily  life  to  accord  with  them,  he  had  gone  on  putting 
the  stamp  of  genuineness  and  reality  upon  every  sort  of  thought 
and  upon  every  human  event  as  it  had  been  enacted  in  his 
conscious  experience.  His  difficulty  was  that,  having  pro 
claimed  the  allness  of  spirit,  God,  he  had  proceeded  to  bow 
the  knee  to  evil.  Carmen  had  seemed  to  know  that  the  mortal, 
material  concepts  of  humanity  would  dissolve  in  the  light  of 
truth.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  had  clung  to  them,  even  though 
they  seared  the  mind  that  held  them,  and  became  externalized 
in  utter  wretchedness. 

"When  you  let  God's  thoughts  in,  Padre,  and  drive  out 
their  opposites,  then  sickness  and  unhappiness  will  disappear, 
just  as  the  mist  disappears  over  the  lake  when  the  sun  rises 
and  the  light  goes  through  it.  If  you  really  expected  to  some 
day  see  the  now  'unseen  things'  of  God,  you  would  get  ready 
for  them,  and  you  would  'rejoice  always,'  even  though  you  did 
seem  to  see  the  wickedness  of  Padre  Diego,  the  coming  of  the 
soldiers,  the  death  of  Lazaro  and  Don  Mario,  and  lots  of  un 
happiness  about  yourself  and  me.  Those  men  are  not  dead — 
except  to  your  thought.  You  ought  to  know  that  all  these 
things  are  the  unreal  thoughts  externalized  in  your  con 
sciousness.  And,  knowing  them  for  what  they  really  are,  the 
opposites  of  God's  thoughts,  you  ought  to  know  that  they  can 
have  no  more  power  over  you  than  anything  else  that  you  know 
to  be  supposition.  We  can  suppose  that  two  and  two  are  seven, 
but  we  can't  make  it  true.  The  supposition  does  not  have  any 
effect  upon  us.  We  know  that  it  isn't  so.  But  as  regards  just 
thought — and  you  yourself  said  that  everything  reduces  to 
thought — why,  people  seem  to  think  it  is  different.  But  it 
isn't.  Don't  you  understand  what  the  good  man  Jesus  meant 
when  he  told  the  Pharisees  to  first  cleanse  the  cup  and  platter 
within,  that  the  outside  might  also  be  clean?  Why,  that  was  a 
clear  case  of  externalization,  if  there  ever  was  one!  Cleanse 
your  thought,  and  everything  outside  of  you  will  then  become 
clean,  for  your  clean  thought  will  become  externalized.  You 
once  said  that  you  believed  in  the  theory  that  'like  attracts 
like.'  I  do,  too.  I  believe  that  good  thoughts  attract  good  ones, 
and  evil  thoughts  attract  thoughts  like  themselves.  I  have 
proved  it.  And  you  ought  to  know  that  your  life  shows  it,  too. 
You  hold  fear-thoughts  and  worry-thoughts,  and  then,  just  as 

340 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


soon  as  these  become  externalized  to  you  as  misfortune  and 
unhappiness,  you  say  that  evil  is  real  and  powerful,  and  that 
God  permits  it  to  exist.  Yes,  God  does  permit  all  the  existence 
there  is  to  a  supposition — which  is  none.  You  pity  yourself 
and  all  the  world  for  being  unhappy,  when  all  you  need  is  to 
do  as  Jesus  told  you,  and  know  God  to  be  infinite  Mind,  and 
evil  to  be  only  the  suppositional  opposite,  without  reality,  with 
out  life,  without  power — unless  you  give  it  these  things  in  your 
o\vn  consciousness.  You  don't  have  to  take  thought  for  your 
life.  You  don't  have  to  be  covetous,  or  envious,  or  fearful,  or 
anxious.  You  couldn't  do  anything  if  you  were.  These  things 
don't  help  you.  Jesus  said  that  of  himself  he  could  do  nothing. 
But — as  soon  as  he  recognized  God  as  the  infinite  principle  of 
all,  and  acted  that  knowledge — why,  then  he  raised  the  dead! 
And  at  last,  when  his  understanding  was  greater,  he  dissolved 
the  mental  concept  which  people  called  his  human  body.  Don't 
you  see  it,  Padre — don't  you?  I  know  you  do!" 

Yes,  he  saw  it.  He  always  did  when  she  pleaded  thus.  And 
yet: 

"But,  Carmen,  padre  Rosendo  would  send  you  out  of  the 
country  with  these  Americans!" 

"Yes,  so  you  have  said.  And  you  have  said  that  you  have 
always  feared  you  would  lose  me.  Is  that  fear  being  externalized 
now?  I  have  not  feared  that  I  would  lose  you.  But,  Padre 
dear—" 

The  ghastly  look  on  the  man's  face  threw  wide  the  flood 
gates  of  her  sympathy.  "Padre— all  things  work  together  for 
good,  you  know.  Good  is  always  working.  It  never  stops. 
Listen —  She  clung  more  closely  to  him. 

"Padre,  it  may  be  best,  after  all.  You  do  not  want  me  to 
stay  always  in  Simiti.  And  if  I  go,  you  will  go  with  me,  or 
soon  follow.  Oh,  Padre  dear,  you  have  told  me  that  up  in  that 
great  country  above  us  the  people  do  not  know  God  as  you  and 
I  are  learning  to  know  Him.  Padre — I  want  to  go  and  tell 
them  about  Him!  I've  wanted  to  for  a  long,  long  time." 

The  girl's  eyes  shone  with  a  holy  light.  Her  wistful  face 
glowed  with  a  love  divine. 

"Padre  dear,  you  have  so  often  said  that  I  had  a  message 
for  the  world.  Do  not  the  people  up  north  need  that  message? 
Would  you  keep  me  here  then?  The  people  of  Simiti  are  too 
dull  to  hear  the  message  now.  But  up  there — Oh,  Padre,  it 
may  be  right  that  I  should  go!  And,  if  it  is  right,  nothing  can 
prevent  it,  for  the  right  will  be  externalized!  Right  will  pre 
vail!" 

True,  there  was  the  girl's  future.  Such  a  spirit  as  hers 
could  not  long  be  confined  within  the  narrow  verges  of  Simiti. 

341 


He  must  not  oppose  his  egoism  to.  her  interests.  And,  be 
sides,  he  might  follow  soon.  Perhaps  go  with  her!  Who 
knew?  it  might  be  the  opening  of  the  way  to  the  consumma 
tion  of  that  heart-longing  for — 

Ah,  the  desperate  joy  that  surged  through  his  yearning 
soul  at  the  thought!  The  girl  was  fifteen.  A  year,  two,  three, 
and  he  would  still  be  a  young  man !  She  loved  him — never  had 
man  had  such  proofs  as  he  of  an  affection  so  divine!  And  he 
worshiped  her!  Why  hesitate  longer?  Surely  the  way  was 
unfolding! 

"Carmen,"  he  said  tenderly,  drawing  her  closer  to  him, 
"you  may  be  right.  Yes — we  will  both  go  with  the  Americans. 
Once  out  of  this  environment  and  free  from  ecclesiastical 
chains,  I  shall  do  better." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  brimming  eyes.  "Padre 
dear,"  she  whispered,  "I  want  to  go — away  from  Simiti.  Juan 
— he  asks  me  almost  every  day  to  marry  him.  And  he  becomes 
angry  when  I  refuse.  Even  in  the  church,  when  Don  Mario 
was  trying  to  get  us,  Juan  said  he  would  save  me  if  I  would 
promise  to  marry  him.  He  said  he  would  go  to  Cartagena  and 
kill  the  Bishop.  He  follows  me  like  a  shadow.  He — Padre,  he 
is  a  good  boy.  I  love  him.  But — I  do  not — want  to  marry 
him." 

They  sat  silent  for  some  moments.  Jose  knew  how  insistent 
Juan  had  become.  The  lad  adored  the  girl.  He  tormented  the 
priest  about  her. 

"Padre,  you — you  are  not  always  going  to  be  a  priest — are 
you?  And — I — I — oh,  Padre  dear,  I  love  you  so!"  She  turned 
impulsively  and  threw  both  arms  about  his  neck.  "I  want  to 
see  you  work  out  your  problem.  I  will  help  you.  You  can  go 
with  me — and  I  can  always  live  with  you — and  some  day — 
some  day — "  She  buried  her  face  in  his  shoulder.  The  artless 
girl  had  never  seemed  to  think  it  unmaidenly  to  declare  her 
love  for  him,  to  show  him  unmistakably  that  she  hoped  to  be 
come  his  wife. 

The  man's  heart  gave  a  mighty  leap.  The  beautiful  child 
in  his  arms  was  human!  Young  in  years,  and  yet  a  woman  by 
the  conventions  of  these  tropic  lands.  He  bent  his  head  and 
kissed  her.  Why,  she  had  long  insisted  that  she  would  wait  for 
him!  And  why  should  he  now  oppose  the  externalization  of 
that  sweet  thought? 

"Ah,  chiquita"  he  murmured,  "I  will  indeed  go  with  you 
now!  I  will  send  my  resignation  to  the  Bishop  at  once.  No, 
I  will  wait  and  send  it  from  the  States.  I  will  renounce  my 
oath,  abjure  my  promise — " 

The  girl  sat  suddenly  upright  and  looked  earnestly  into  his 

342 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


eyes.  "What  do  you  mean,  Padre?"  she  queried  dubiously. 
"What  did  you  promise?" 

"Ah,  I  have  never  told  you.  But — I  promised  my  mother, 
dearest  one,  that  I  would  always  remain  a  priest — unless, 
indeed,  the  Church  herself  should  eject  me  from  the  priest 
hood.  But,  it  was  foolish — " 

"And  your  mother — she  expects  you  to  keep  your  word?" 

"Yes,  chiquita." 

The  girl  sat  in  pensive  silence  for  a  moment.  "But,  Padre," 
she  resumed,  "honesty — it  is  the  very  first  thing  that  God 
requires  of  us.  We  have  to  be — we  must  be  honest,  for  He  is 
Truth.  He  cannot  see  or  recognize  error,  you  know.  And  so 
He  cannot  see  you  and  help  you  if  you  are  dishonest." 

"I  know,  child.  And  I  tried  to  be  honest,  even  when  cir 
cumstances  and  my  own  poor  resistive  force  combined  to  direct 
me  into  the  priesthood.  But— since  that  day  I  have  lived  a 
life  of  hypocrisy,  not  knowing  how  to  shape  my  course.  Then, 
at  length,  I  met  you.  It  was — too  late!" 

"But,  Padre,  the  Church  has  not  put  you  out?  You  are 
still  a  priest?" 

"Yes,"  sadly;  "and  no." 

"But,  if  you  went  to  the  States — with  me — would  you  be 
put  out  of  the  Church?" 

"Possibly,  chiquita." 

"And  what  would  that  mean,  Padre?" 

"The  disgrace  that  always  attaches  to  an  apostate  priest, 
child." 

"And,  Padre — your  mother — what  would  she  say?" 

Jose  hung  his  head.     "It  would  kill  her,"  he  replied  slowly. 

Carmen  reflected  long,  while  Jose,  with  ebbing  hope,  waited. 
"Padre  dear,"  she  finally  said,  "then  you  have  not  yet  worked 
out  your  problem — have  you?" 

No,  he  knew  that.  And  he  was  now  attempting  to  solve  it 
by  flight. 

"I  mean,  Padre,  you  have  not  worked  it  out  in  God's  way. 
For  if  you  had,  no  one  would  be  hurt,  and  there  could  not  be 
any  disgrace,  or  unhappiness — could  there?" 

"But,  chiquita,"  he  cried  in  despair,  "nothing  but  excom 
munication  can  release  me !  And  I  long  ago  ceased  to  look  for 
that.  You  do  not  understand — you  are  young!  What  can  I 
do?"  His  tortured  soul  pleaded  in  agony. 

"Why,  Padre  dear,  you  can  work  it  out,  all  out,  in  God's 
way." 

"But — must  I  remain  here — can  I  let  you  go  alone  with  the 
Americans — ?" 

"Yes,  you  can,  if  it  is  right,"  she  answered  gently. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Carmen!"  he  cried,  straining  her  in  his  arms.  "If  you 
go  with  the  Americans,  I  shall,  I  must,  go  too!" 

"Not  unless  it  is  right,  Padre,"  she  insisted.  "If  it  is  right, 
nothing  can  keep  you  from  going.  But,  unless  it  is  God's  way — • 
well,  you  can  not  solve  your  problem  by  running  away  from  it." 

"But — child — to  remain  here  means — God  above!  you  don't 
realize  what  it  may  mean  to  us  both!" 

The  girl  relapsed  into  silence.  Jose  began  to  feel  that  they 
were  drifting  hopelessly,  abysmally  apart.  Desperation  seized 
him. 

"Carmen!"  he  cried  miserably.  "I  have  been  cheated  and 
thwarted  all  my  wretched  life!  I  can  endure  it  no  longer!  I 
can  not,  would  not,  hold  you  here,  if  the  way  opens  for  you  to 
go!  But — I  can  not  remain  here  without  you — and  live!" 

"That  is  not  true,  Padre,"  replied  the  girl,  slowly  shaking 
her  head.  "No  human  being  is  necessary  to  any  one's  hap 
piness.  And  progress  always  comes  first.  You  are  trying  to 
'acquire  that  mind  which  was  in  Christ.'  If  you  are  really 
progressing,  why,  you  will  surely  be  happy.  But  you  must 
work  it  all  out  God's  way." 

"His  way!"  he  retorted  bitterly.     "And  that— 

"You  must  be  honest,  Padre,  honest  with  Him  and  with 
everybody.  If  you  can  no  longer  be  a  priest — if  you  are  not 
one,  and  never  have  been  one — you  must  be  honest  with  the 
Church  and  with  yourself.  You  must  see  and  reflect,  only 
Truth.  Why  do  you  not  write  to  the  Bishop  and  tell  him  all 
about  it?  You  say  you  have  been  protecting  me.  But  leave  me 
to  God.  You  must — Padre,  you  must — be  honest!  Write  to 
your  mother — write  to  the  Bishop.  Tell  them  both  how  you 
feel.  Then  leave  it  all  writh  God.  Do  not  run  away.  Throw 
yourself  upon  Him.  But — oh,  Padre  dear,  you  must  trust  Him, 
and  you  must — you  must — know  that  He  is  good,  that  He  is 
infinite,  and  that  there  is  no  evil!  Otherwise,  the  good  can  not 
be  externalized.  If  you  did  that,  your  problem  would  be 
quickly  solved." 

She  rose  and  took  his  hand.  "Padre  dear,"  she  continued, 
"God  is  life — there  is  no  death.  God  is  eternal — there  is  no 
age.  God  is  all  good — there  is  no  poverty,  no  lack,  no  loss. 
God  is  infinite,  and  He  is  mind — there  is  no  inability  to  see  the 
right  and  to  do  it.  God  is  my  mind,  my  spirit,  my  soul,  my 
all.  I  have  nothing  to  fear.  Human  mental  concepts  are  not 
real.  You,  yourself,  say  so.  I  am  not  afraid  of  them.  I  look 
at  God  constantly,  and  strive  always  to  see  only  Him.  But  He 
is  just  as  much  to  you  as  He  is  to  me.  You  can  not  outline  how 
things  will  work  out;  but  you  can  know  that  they  can  only 
work  out  in  the  right  way.  You  must  work  as  God  directs. 

344 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Only  by  so  doing  can  you  solve  your  problem.  I  try  always  to 
work  that  way.  And  I  have  always  worked  for  you  that  way. 
I  have  always  thought  the  time  would  come  when  you  and  I 
would  live  and  work  together — always.  But  I  have  not  insisted 
on  it.  I  have  not  said  that  it  had  to  be.  If  it  works  out  that 
way,  I  know  I  would  be  very  happy.  But,  even  if  it  does  not, 
I  shall  know  that  I  can  not  be  deprived  of  any  good,  for  the 
good  God  is  everywhere,  and  He  is  love,  and  He  has  given  me 
all  happiness.  And  now  we  must  leave  everything  to  Him, 
while  we  work,  work,  work  to  see  Him  only  everywhere." 

She  would  talk  no  more.  Suffering  himself  to  be  led  by 
her,  they  crossed  the  shales  to  the  dust-laden  road  and  made 
their  way  silently  through  the  burning  heat  into  the  village. 

At  the  door  of  the  parish  house  stood  Rosendo.  His  face 
was  grave,  but  his  manner  calm.  "Padre,"  he  announced, 
"it  is  arranged." 

Jose's  knees  shook  under  him  as  he  followed  the  old  man 
into  the  house.  Reed,  Harris,  and  Don  Jorge  sat  about  the 
table,  on  which  were  strewn  papers  covered  with  figures  and 
sketches.  The  priest  sat  down  dumbly  and  drew  Carmen  to 
him.  Harris  fell  to  devouring  the  girl  with  his  bulging  eyes. 
Reed  at  once  plunged  into  the  topic  under  consideration. 

"I  have  been  saying,"  he  began,  addressing  the  priest,  "that 
I  can  accept  the  proposal  made  by  Don  Rosendo,  but  with 
some  amendments.  Mr.  Harris  and  I  are  under  contract  with 
the  Molino  Company  to  report  upon  their  properties  along  the 
Boque  river.  I  am  informed  by  Don  Rosendo  that  he  is 
acquainted  with  these  alleged  mines,  and  knows  them  to  be 
worthless.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  am  obliged  to  examine  them. 
But  I  will  agree  to  take  this  girl  to  New  York,  under  the  pro 
tection  of  my  wife,  upon  the  consideration  that  when  I  reach 
my  home  city  I  be  allowed  to  form  a  company  to  take  over  this 
mine,  returning  to  the  girl  a  fifty-one  per  cent  interest  in  the 
stock,  one  half  of  which  she  agrees  in  writing  to  deliver  to  me 
immediately  upon  its  issuance.  Being  under  contract,  I  can  not 
accept  it  now.  The  balance  of  the  stock  must  be  sold  for  de 
velopment  purposes.  I  further  agree  to  place  the  girl  in  a 
boarding  school  of  the  first  quality  in  the  States,  and  to  bear  all 
expenses  of  her  maintenance  until  such  time  as  she  is  either 
self-supporting,  or  one  or  several  of  you  may  come  to  her,  or 
effect  her  return  to  Colombia.  Now,  according  to  Ariza's 
sketches,  we  may  proceed  up  the  Boque  river  to  its  headwaters 
—how  far  did  you  say,  friend?" 

"Some  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Simiti,  sefior,"  replied 
Rosendo. 

"And  then,"   resumed  Reed,   "we   can  cut   across   country 

345 

32 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


from  the  sources  of  the  Boque,  following  what  is  known  as 
Rosario  creek,  down  to  the  river  Tigui,  striking  the  latter 
somewhere  near  the  ancient  point  known  as  La  Colorado." 

"But,  sefior,"  interposed  Rosendo,  "remember  that  the  head 
waters  of  the  Boque  are  practically  unknown  to-day.  Many 
years  ago,  when  I  was  a  small  lad,  some  liberated  slaves  worked 
along  Rosario  creek,  which  was  then  one  day's  journey  on  foot 
with  packs  from  La  Colorado.  But  that  old  trail  has  long  since 
disappeared.  Probably  no  one  has  been  over  it  since." 

"Very  well,"  returned  the  practical  Reed,  "then  we  shall 
have  to  make  our  own  trail  across  the  divide  to  the  Tigui.  But 
once  at  La  Colorado,  you  tell  me  there  is  an  ancient  trail  that 
leads  down  to  Llano,  on  the  Nechi  river?" 

"Yes,  to  the  mouth  of  the  Amaceri.  Llano  was  something 
of  a  town  long  ago.  But  river  steamers  that  go  up  the  Nechi  as 
far  as  Zaragoza  once  a  month,  or  less  frequently,  still  touch 
there,  I  am  told.  And  so  you  can  get  down  the  Cauca  to  Mag- 
anguey,  where  you  can  change  to  a  Magdalena  river  boat  for 
Calamar.  Then  by  rail  to  Cartagena.  The  trail  to  Llano  can 
not  be  more  than  fifty  miles  in  length,  and  fairly  open." 

Harris,  who  had  been  studying  the  sketches,  whistled 
softly.  "Lord  Harry!"  he  muttered,  "nearly  two  hundred 
miles,  and  all  by  foot,  over  unspeakable  jungle  trails!" 

Reed  paid  no  attention  to  him.  "Very  well,  then,"  he  con 
tinued,  "\ve  had  best  set  out  as  soon  as  possible.  To  you,  friend 
Rosendo,  I  leave  all  arrangements  regarding  supplies  and  car- 
gadores.  I  will  furnish  funds  for  the  entire  expedition,  ex 
pecting  to  be  reimbursed  by  La  Libertad." 

Carmen  listened,  with  dilated  eyes.  As  for  Jose,  his  head 
swam.  Starting  hurriedly  after  Rosendo,  who  rose  immediately 
to  inaugurate  preparations,  he  drew  him  into  the  latter's  house. 
"Hombre!"  he  cried,  his  whole  frame  tremulous  with  agitation, 
"do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?  Do  you— 

"Na,  Padre,"  replied  Rosendo  gently,  as  he  held  up  a  re 
straining  hand,  "it  is  best.  I  want  the  Americanos  to  take 
Carmen.  She  is  not  safe  another  day  here.  The  soldiers  left 
but  yesterday.  They  may  return  any  hour.  At  any  moment 
an  order  might  come  for  your  arrest  or  mine.  We  must  get 
her  away  at  once.  We  can  do  no  more  for  her  here.  The 
struggle  has  been  long,  and  I  weary  of  it."  He  sat  down  in 
exhaustion  and  mopped  his  damp  brow.  "I  weary  of  life, 
Padre.  I  would  be  through  with  it.  I  am  old.  This  world  can 
hold  little  more  for  me.  If  I  can  but  know  that  she  is  safe — 
Bien,  that  is  all.  From  what  we  have  learned,  this  country  will 
soon  be  plunged  again  into  war.  I  do  not  wish  to  live  through 
another  revolution.  I  have  seen  many.  I  seem  to  have  fought 

346 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


all  my  life.  And  for  what?  What  is  La  Libertad  to  me?  Noth 
ing — less  than  nothing.  I  have  not  the  funds  to  work  it.  I 
doubt  if  I  could  even  hold  it,  were  it  known  here  that  I  had  the 
title  to  such  a  famous  mine.  But  the  Americano  can  hold  it. 
And  he  is  honest,  Padre.  He  will  save  Carmen's  interest,  and 
deal  fairly  with  her.  Bien,  let  him  place  her  in  a  school  in  the 
States.  If  you  weather  the  oncoming  revolution,  then  you  may 
be  able  to  send  for  her.  Quien  sabe?" 

Jose  controlled  himself.  "Rosendo,"  he  said,  "I  will  go 
with  her." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "Do  you  mean, 
Padre,  that  you  will  leave  the  Church?" 

Jose  kept  silent  for  some  time.     Then  he  spoke  bitterly. 

"Can  I  remain  longer  in  Simiti,  where  the  people  have  be 
come  divided — where  they  look  upon  me  askance,  as  the  cause 
of  the  trouble  that  has  befallen  them?  Is  not  my  usefulness 
here  ended?  War  is  at  our  door.  What,  think  you,  will  it 
mean  to  Simiti?  To  us?  And  Wenceslas,  what  has  he  further 
in  store  for  you  and  me?  Wn*at  he  has  for  Carmen,  we  well 
know.  And  we  seek  by  flight  to  save  her.  But  the  disappear 
ance  of  Diego  has  not  been  explained.  The  trick  which  Anita 
played  upon  Morales  to  save  Carmen  must  bring  down  increased 
wrath  upon  our  heads,  especially  yours  and  mine.  No,  Ro 
sendo,  you  and  I  must  go,  and  go  at  once!" 

"And  Anita—?" 

"We  will  pick  her  up  in  Cartagena.  Don  Jorge  will  ac 
company  us.  I  have  certain  information  to  give  him  that  will 
enlist  his  services — information  which,  I  think,  will  serve  to 
introduce  him  to  His  Grace,  and  somewhat  abruptly.  But, 
come,  Rosendo,  do  you  and  Dona  Maria  prepare  for  flight!" 

"Maria  and  I?  The  States!  Na,  Padre,  it  is  impossible! 
I  will  go  \vith  the  Americanos  up  the  Boque  and  to  La  Libertad. 
Then  I  will  return  to  Simiti — or  to  the  hacienda  of  Don  Nicolas, 
if  Maria  wishes  to  remain  there  while  I  am  in  the  hills. 
But — do  you  go,  Padre — go  and  look  after  the  girl.  There  is 
nothing  further  for  you  here.  Yes,  Padre,  go— go!" 

"But — ah,  Rosendo,  you  will  reconsider?  The  Americans 
will  take  us  all  for  that  mine!" 

"I?  No,  Padre,"  said  the  old  man  firmly,  but  in  a  voice 
heavy  with  sadness.  "Maria  and  I  remain  in  Simiti.  My  work 
is  done  when  I  have  seen  the  girl  safely  out  of  this  unhappy 
country.  I  could  not  live  in  the  States.  And  my  days  are  few 
now,  anyway.  Let  me  end  them  here.  How,  I  care  not." 

Carmen  came  bounding  in  and  flew  into  Rosendo's  arms. 
"Padre  Rosendo!"  she  cried,  aglow  with  animation,  "we  are 
all  going  to  the  States  up  north!  I  am  going  to  take  them 

347 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


my  message!  And  I  am  going  to  school  there!  Oh,  padre, 
isn't  it  beautiful!" 

"Ah,  chiquita,"  said  Rosendo  cheerily,  straining  her  to 
him,  "I  guess  we  have  decided  to  send  you  on  ahead— a  little 
ahead  of  us.  Your  old  padre  has  some  business  he  must  attend 
to  here  before  he  leaves."  His  eyes  grew  moist.  Jose  knew 
what  his  effort  at  cheerfulness  was  costing  him. 

"But,  padre  Rosendo,  you  will  come — later?  You  promise? 
You  must!"  She  looked  into  his  eyes,  pleading  wistfully. 

"Yes,  little  one,  yes — of  course.  For  where  you  are,  there 
your  old  padre  will  always  be — always — always!" 

"And  Padre  Jose?"  panted  the  girl  under  Rosendo's  tight 
grasp  as  she  turned  her  head  toward  the  priest. 

"He  goes  with  us,"  assured  Rosendo — "I  think — at  least 
as  far  as  the  coast.  He  will  see  Anita — and — '  His  voice 
broke,  and  he  turned  abruptly  away. 

"And  she  will  go  to  the  States  with  us!  Oh,  padre!"  cried 
the  girl,  bounding  up  and  down  with  joy. 

Jose  turned  and  \vent  quickly  into  his  own  house.  With 
grim  determination  he  drew  the  battered  haircloth  trunk  from 
beneath  his  bed  and  began  to  throw  his  few  effects  into  it. 

But  he  had  scarce  begun  when  Juan,  now  bearing  the  proud 
title  of  official  courier  between  Simiti  and  Bodega  Central,  en 
tered  with  a  letter.  Jose  recognized  the  writing,  and  tore  it 
open  at  once.  It  was  from  his  mother. 

"My  beloved  son,  at  last,  after  these  many  years  of  most  rigid 
economy,  even  of  privation,  I  have  saved  enough  from  my  meager 
income,  together  with  what  little  you  have  been  able  to  send  me  from 
time  to  time,  and  a  recent  generous  contribution  from  your  dear  uncle, 
to  enable  me  to  visit  you.  I  shall  sail  for  Colombia  just  as  soon  as  you 
send  me  detailed  instructions  regarding  the  journey.  And,  oh,  my  son, 
to  see  you  offering  the  Mass  in  your  own  church,  and  to  realize  that  your 
long  delayed  preferment  is  even  at  hand,  for  so  your  good  uncle  informs 
me  daily,  will  again  warm  the  blood  in  a  heart  long  chilled  by  poignant 
suffering.  Till  we  meet,  the  Blessed  Virgin  shield  you,  my  beloved  son." 

The  letter  slipped  from  the  priest's  fingers  and  drifted  to 
the  floor.  With  a  moan  he  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  36 

WHAT  had  kept  Jose  de  Rincon  chained  all  these  years  to 
an  institution  to  which  in  thought,  feeling,  and  sym 
pathy    he    was    so    utterly    alien,    we    have    repeatedly 
pointed  out — a  warped  sense  of  filial  devotion,  a  devotion  that 
would  not  willingly  bring   sorrow  upon  his   proud,   sensitive 

348 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


mother,  and  yet  the  kind  that  so  often  accomplishes  just  that 
which  it  strives  to  avoid.  But  yet  he  had  somehow  failed  to 
note  the  nice  distinction  which  he  was  always  making  between 
the  promises  he  had  given  to  her  and  the  oath  which  he  had 
taken  at  his  ordination.  He  had  permitted  himself  to  be  held 
to  the  Church  by  his  mother's  fond  desires,  despite  the  fact 
that  his  nominal  observance  of  these  had  wrecked  his  own 
life  and  all  but  brought  her  in  sorrow  to  the  grave.  The 
abundance  of  his  misery  might  be  traced  to  forgetfulness  of 
the  sapient  words  of  Jesus:  "For  whosoever  shall  do  the  will 
of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven,  the  same  is  my  brother,  and 
sister,  and  mother." 

Then  had  come  Carmen.  And  he  had  sacrificed  his  new 
found  life  to  the  child.  He  had  exhausted  every  expedient  to 
keep  himself  in  Simiti,  that  he  might  transfer  his  own  great 
learning  to  this  girl,  and  at  the  same  time  yield  himself  to  her 
beneficent  influence.  Yet,  despite  his  vague  hopes,  he  had 
always  dimly  seen  the  day  when  she  would  leave  him;  but  he 
had  likewise  tried  to  feel  that  when  it  arrived  his  own  status 
would  be  such  that  the  ecclesiastical  ties  which  bound  him 
would  be  loosened,  and  he  would  be  free  to  follow  her.  Alas! 
the  lapse  of  years  had  brought  little  change  in  that  respect. 

But  now  he  saw  the  girl  entering  upon  that  very  hour  of 
departure  which  all  his  life  in  Simiti  had  hung  like  a  menac 
ing  cloud  above  him.  And  the  shock  had  been  such  that  he 
had  thrown  every  other  consideration  to  the  winds,  and,  re 
gardless  of  consequences,  was  madly  preparing  to  accompany 
her.  Then,  like  a  voice  from  the  tomb,  had  come  his  mother's 
letter. 

He  slept  not  that  night.  Indeed,  for  the  past  two  nights 
sleep  had  avoided  his  haggard  eyes.  In  the  feeble  glow  of  his 
candle  he  sat  in  his  little  bedroom  by  his  rough,  bare  table,  far 
into  the  hours  of  morning,  struggling,  resolving,  hoping,  de 
spairing — and,  at  last,  yielding.  If  he  had  been  born  anew 
that  fateful  day,  seven  years  before,  when  Rosendo  first  told 
him  the  girl's  story,  he  had  this  night  again  died.  When  the 
gray  hours  of  dawn  stole  silently  across  the  distant  hills  he 
rose.  His  eyes  were  bleared  and  dull.  His  cheeks  sunken. 
He  staggered  as  he  passed  out  through  the  living  room  where 
lay  the  sleeping  Americans.  Rosendo  met  him  in  front  of 
the  house. 

"Padre!"  exclaimed  the  old  man  as  he  noted  the  priest's 
appearance. 

Jose  held  up  a  warning  hand.  "Do  not  speak  of  it,  Ro 
sendo.  I  am  not  well.  But  not  a  word  to  Carmen!" 

Rosendo  nodded  understandingly.     "It  has  been  hard  on 

349 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


you,  Padre.     But  you  will  soon  be  off  now.     And  in  the  States 
with  her — 

"For  God's  sake,  friend,  never  speak  of  that  again!"  cried 
Jose  sharply.  "Listen!  How  long  will  it  take  to  complete 
your  preparations?" 

"Bien,"  returned  the  amazed  Rosendo  when  he  recovered 
his  breath,  "we  can  get  away  to-morrow." 

"Can  you  not  go  this  evening?" 

"No,  Padre.     There  is  much  to  do.     But  you — " 

"Hear  me,  friend.  Everything  must  be  conducted  in  the 
greatest  secrecy.  It  must  be  given  out  that  the  Americans  go 
to  explore  the  Boque;  that  you  accompany  them  as  guide; 
that  Carmen  goes  as — as  cook,  why  not?" 

"Cierto,  she  cooks  as  well  as  Maria." 

"Very  well.  Juan  must  be  kept  in  complete  ignorance  of 
the  real  nature  of  your  trip.  He  must  not  go  with  you.  He 
is  the  courier — I  will  see  that  Fernando  sends  him  again  to 
Bodega  Central  to-morrow,  and  keeps  him  there  for  several 
days.  You  say  it  is  some  two  hundred  miles  to  Llano.  How 
long  will  it  take  to  go  that  distance?" 

"Why — Quien  sabe,  Padre?"  returned  Rosendo  thought 
fully.  "With  a  fair  trail,  and  allowing  the  Americanos  some 
time  to  prospect  on  the  Boque — where  they  will  find  nothing — 
and  several  days  to  look  over  La  Libertad,  we  ought  to  reach 
Llano  in  six  weeks." 

"And  Cartagena?" 

"A  wreek  later,  if  you  do  not  have  to  wait  a  month  on  the 
river  bank  for  the  boat." 

"Then,  all  going  well,  within  two  months  Carmen  should 
be  out  of  the  country." 

"Surely.     You  and  she — 

"Enough,  friend.     I  do  not  go  with  her." 

"What?     Caramba!" 

"Go  now  and  bid  Carmen  come  to  me  immediately  after  the 
desayuno.  Tell  Dona  Maria  that  I  will  eat  nothing  this  morn 
ing.  I  am  going  up  to  the  old  church  on  the  hill." 

Rosendo  stared  stupidly  at  the  priest.  But  Jose  turned 
abruptly  and  started  away,  leaving  the  old  man  in  a  maze  of 
bewilderment. 

In  the  gloom  of  the  old  church  Jose  threw  himself  upon  a 
bench  near  the  door,  and  waited  torpidly.  A  few  moments 
later  came  a  voice,  and  then  the  soft  patter  of  bare  feet  in  the 
thick  dust  without.  Carmen  was  talking  as  she  approached. 
Jose  rose  in  curiosity;  but  the  girl  was  alone.  In  her  hand 
she  held  a  scrubby  flower  that  had  drawn  a  desperate  nourish 
ment  from  the  barren  soil  at  the  roadside.  She  glanced  up  at 
Jose  and  smiled. 

350 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"It  is  easy  to  understand  their  language,  isn't  it,  Padre? 
They  don't  speak  as  we  do,  but  they  reflect.  And  that  is 
better  than  speaking.  They  reflect  God.  They  stand  for  His 
ideas  in  the  human  mind.  And  so  do  you.  And  I.  Aren't 
they  wonderful,  these  flowers!  But  you  know,  they  are  only 
the  way  we  interpret  certain  of  God's  wonderful  ideas.  Only, 
because  we  mortals  believe  in  death,  we  see  these  beautiful 
things  at  last  reflecting  our  thought  of  death — don't  we?  We 
see  only  our  thoughts,  after  all.  Everything  we  see  about  us 
is  reflected  thought.  First  we  see  our  thoughts  of  life  and 
beauty  and  good.  And  then  our  thoughts  of  decay  and  death. 

"But  God — He  never  sees  anything  but  the  good,"  she  went 
on.  "He  sees  the  real,  not  the  supposition.  And  when  we 
learn  to  see  only  as  He  does,  why,  then  we  will  never  again 
see  death.  We  will  see  ourselves  as  we  really  are,  immortal. 
God  sees  Himself  that  way.  Jesus  learned  to  see  that  way, 
didn't  he?  His  thought  was  finally  so  pure  that  he  saw  noth 
ing  but  good.  And  that  gave  him  such  power  that  he  did  those 
things  that  the  poor,  ignorant,  wrong-thinking  people  called 
miracles.  But  they  were  only  the  things  that  you  and  I  and 
everybody  else  ought  to  be  doing  to-day — and  would  be  doing, 
if  we  thought  as  he  did,  instead  of  thinking  of  evil. 

"But,"  she  panted,  as  she  sat  down  beside  him,  "I've  talked 
a  lot,  haven't  I?  And  you  sent  for  me  because  you  wanted  to 
talk.  But,  remember,"  holding  up  an  admonitory  finger,  "I 
shall  not  listen  if  you  talk  anything  but  good.  Oh,  Padre 
dear,"  looking  up  wistfully  into  his  drawn  face,  "you  are  still 
thinking  that  two  and  two  are  seven!  Will  you  never  again 
think  right?  How  can  you  ever  expect  to  see  good  if  you  look 
only  at  evil?  If  I  looked  only  at  wilted  flowers  I  would  never 
know  there  were  any  others." 

"Carmen,"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  "I  love  you." 

"Why,  of  course  you  do,"  returned  the  artless  girl.  "You 
can't  help  it.  You  have  just  got  to  love  me  and  everything  and 
everybody.  That's  reflecting  God." 

He  had  not  meant  to  say  that.  But  it  had  been  floating  like 
foam  on  his  tossing  mind.  He  took  her  hand. 

"You  are  going  away  from  me,"  he  continued,  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

"Why,  no,  Padre,"  she  replied  quickly;  "you  are  going 
too!  Padre  Rosendo  said  we  could  start  to-morrow  at  sun 
rise." 

"I  do  not  go,"  he  said  in  a  quavering  voice.  "I  remain  in 
Simiti." 

She  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly.  What  meant  this 
change  which  had  come  over  him  so  suddenly?  She  drew 
closer. 

351 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Why,  Padre?"  she  whispered. 

His  mother's  face  hovered  before  liim  in  the  dim  light. 
Behind  her  a  mitered  head,  symbolizing  the  Church,  nodded 
and  beckoned  significantly.  Back  of  them,  as  they  stood  be 
tween  him  and  the  girl,  he  saw  the  glorified  vision  of  Carmen. 
It  was  his  problem.  He  turned  wearily  from  it  to  the  gentle 
presence  at  his  side. 

"Why,  Padre  dear?"  came  again  the  soft  question. 

"I  stay — to  work  out — my  problem,"  was  his  scarcely  audi 
ble  reply. 

The  girl  did  not  speak.  But  her  breath  came  more  quickly, 
and  her  hand  closed  more  tightly  about  his. 

"Dearest  one,"  he  murmured,  bending  over  the  brown 
curls,  "it  is  God's  way,  I  guess.  Perhaps  in  the  years  which  I 
have  spent  here  with  you  I  have  had  the  time  and  the  opportu 
nity  to  work  out  my  salvation.  I  am  sure  that  I  have.  But, 
though  I  strove  in  my  way,  I  could  not  quickly  acquire  your 
spirituality.  I  could  not  at  once  shake  loose  those  poisonous 
thoughts  of  a  lifetime,  which  have  at  last  become  externalized 
in  separation  from  all  that  I  hold  dearest  in  this  life,  you,  my 
beloved  girl,  you."  He  buried  his  face  in  her  luxuriant  hair  and 
strove  to  hold  back  the  rush  of  scalding  tears. 

"It  but  shows  how  poisonous  thoughts  separate  us  from  ;ill 
that  is  good — even  from  God,"  he  continued  in  a  choked  voice. 
"Oh,  my  sweet  girl,  I  love  you  as  it  seems  to  \\\<:  no  human 
being  could  love  another!  It  has  been  so  from  that  first  day 
when,  a  mere  babe,  your  wonderful  eyes  held  m<  until  I  could 
read  in  them  a  depth  of  love  for  mankind  that  was  divine." 
It  did  not  seem  to  him  that  a  mature  man  was  speaking  to  a 
mere  girl.  She  seemed,  as  always,  ages  beyond  him  in  wisdom 
and  experience. 

Carmen  reached  up  and  wound  her  arms  :ibout  his  neck. 
He  bent  low  and  kissed  her  brow.  Th<-n  h<-  dn--.v  himvlf  up 
quickly  and  resumed  his  broken  talk. 

"I  believed  at  first  that  my  salvation  lay  in  you.  And  so 
it  did,  for  from  your  clear  thought  I  gleaned  my  first  satisfying 
knowledge  of  the  great  principle*  God.  But  alas!  I  could  not 
seem  to  realize  that  between  recognizing  righteousness  as 
'right-thinking'  and  daily  practicing  it  so  as  to  'prove*  God 
there  was  a  great  difference.  And  so  I  rested  easy  in  my  first 
gleams  of  truth,  expecting  that  they  would  so  warm  my  on  I 
that  it  would  expand  of  itself  out  of  all  error." 

She  made  as  if  to  reply,  but  he  checked  her. 

"I  learned  enough,  I  r<-\>':r,i\,  thosf:  fir.t  f <••/.•  rnontln  h<-r<- 
to  have  enabled  me  to  work  out  my  salvation,  even  though 
with  fear  and  trembling,  hut  I  procrastinated;  1  vacillated;  I 

352 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


still  clung  lo  efTele  beliefs  and  forms  of  thought  which  I  knew 
were  bound  to  manifest  in  unhappiness  later.  I  was  afraid 
to  boldly  throw  myself  upon  my  thought.  I  was  mesmerized. 
Yes,  the  great  Paul  was  at  times  under  the  same  mesmeric 
spell  of  human  belief,  even  after  be  had  seen  the  vision  of  the 
Christ.  Bui  he  worked  bis  way  steadily  out.  And  now  I  see 
thai  1  must  do  likewise,  for  salvation  is  an  individual  expe 
rience.  No  vicarious  effort,  even  of  the  Christ  himself,  can  save 
a  man.  The  principle  is  already  given  us.  We  must  apply  it 
to  our  problems  ourselves.  My  unfinished  task — scarcely  even 
begun! — lies  still  before  me.  My  environment  is  what  I  have 
made  it  by  my  own  thought.  I  believe  you,  that  I  can  enter 
another  only  as  I  externalize  it  through  righteousness,  right- 
thinking,  and  'proving'  dod." 

He  paused  and  bent  over  the  silent  little  figure  nestling  so 
(juicily  at  his  side.  His  throat  filled.  But  he  caught  his 
breath  and  went  on. 

"You,  Carmen,  though  but  a  child  in  years,  have  risen 
beyond  me,  and  beyond  this  lowly  encompassment.  Why, 
when  you  were  a  mere  babe,  you  should  have  grasped  your 
padre  Hosendo's  casual  statement  that  'God  is  everywhere,* 
and  shaped  your  life  to  accord  with  it,  1  do  not  know.  Nor 
do  you.  That  must  remain  one  of  the  hidden  mysteries  of 
God.  Bui  Ihe  fact  stands  that  you  did  grasp  it,  and  that  with 
it  as  a  light  unto  your  feet  you  groped  your  way  out  of  this 
environment,  avoiding  all  pitfalls  and  evil  snares,  until  to-day 
you  stand  at  the  threshold  of  another  and  higher  one.  So  prog 
ress  must  ever  be,  1  now  realize.  Up  we  must  rise  from  one 
plane  of  human  mentality  to  another,  sifting  and  sorting  the 
thoughts  that  come  lo  us,  clinging  to  these,  discarding  those, 
until,  even  as  you  have  said,  we  learn  at  last  instantly  to  accept 
those  that  mirror  forth  God,  infinite,  divine  mind,  and  to  re 
ject  those  thai  bear  the  stamp  of  supposition." 

"Padre,"  the  girl  said,  lifting  her  beautiful  face  to  his,  "I 
have  told  you  so  often — when  a  thought  comes  to  me  that  I 
think  is  not  from  dod,  or  does  not  relied  Him,  I  turn  right  on 
it  and  kill  it.  You  could  do  the  same,  if  you  would." 

"Assuredly,  child — if  I  would!"  he  replied  in  bitterness  of 
heart.  "So  could  all  mankind.  And  then  the  millennium 
would  be  with  us.  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven  revealed.  The 
mesmeric  belief  in  evil  as  an  entity  and  a  power  opposed  to 
good  alone  prevents  that.  Destroy  this  belief,  and  the  curtain 
will  instantly  rise  on  eternity." 

His  eyes  struggled  with  hers,  as  he  gazed  long  and  wist 
fully  into  them.  Lost  in  his  impassioned  speech,  he  had  for 
the  moment  seemed  to  be  translated.  Then  a  surge  of  fear- 

353 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


thoughts  swept  him,  and  left  him  dwelling  on  the  hazardous 
journey  that  awaited  her.  He  wildly  clutched  her  again  to 
his  side. 

"Carmen — child — how  can  I  let  you  go!  So  young,  so  ten 
der!  And  that  awful  journey — two  hundred  miles  of  unkno\vn 
jungle,  to  the  far-off  Nechi !  And  then  the  burning  river,  to 
Cartagena,  where — where  he  is!  And  the  States — God,  what 
awaits  you  there!" 

"Padre,"  she  answered  softly,  "I  shall  not  go  unless  it  is 
right.  If  it  is  right,  then  God  will  take  care  of  me — and  of 
you." 

Again  she  saw  only  the  "right-best"  thought,  while  he  sat 
trembling  before  its  opposite.  And  the  opposite  was  as  yet  a 
supposition! 

"Padre  dear,  there  is  no  separation,  you  know.  God  is 
everywhere,  and  so  there  is  no  separation  from  good — is 
there?" 

"Not  in  your  thought,  dearest  child,"  he  murmured 
huskily. 

"Well,  Padre  dear,  I  am  still  with  you,  am  I  not?  Can't  you 
live  one  day  at  a  time?  That  is  what  Jesus  taught  us.  You 
are  borrowing  from  to-morrow,  and  you  have  no  right  to  do  it. 
That's  stealing.  God  says,  'Thou  shalt  not  steal,'  even  from 
to-morrow." 

Yes,  she  was  still  at  his  side.  Perhaps  she  would  not  go, 
after  all.  He  was  borrowing,  and  borrowing  supposition.  The 
thought  seemed  to  lighten  his  load  momentarily. 

"Padre  dear." 

"Yes,  chiquita." 

"You  have  been  thinking  so  many  bad  thoughts  of  late — I 
don't  suppose  you  have  had  any  good  thoughts  at  all  about 
Anita's  little  babe?" 

"The  babe?"  in  a  tone  of  astonishment. 

"Yes.  You  know,  it  is  not  blind.  You  promised  me  that 
every  day  you  would  just  know  that." 

The  rebuke  smote  him  sore.  Aye,  his  crowning  sin  was 
revealed  again  in  all  its  ugly  nakedness.  Egoism!  His  thought 
was  always  of  his  own  troubles,  his  own  longings,  his  own 
fears.  Self-centeredness  had  left  no  room  for  thoughts  of 
Ana's  blind  babe.  And  why  was  he  now  straining  this  beauti 
ful  girl  to  himself?  Was  it  fear  for  her,  or  for  himself?  Yet 
she  gave  but  little  heed  to  her  own  needs.  Always  her  concern 
was  for  others,  others  who  stumbled  and  drooped  because  of 
the  human  mind's  false,  unreal,  undemonstrable  beliefs  and 
ignorance  of  the  allness  of  God. 

"Ah,   child,"   he    exclaimed   penitently,    "such   love!     How 

354 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


could  I  dare  to  hope  ever  to  claim  it!  How  can  you  say  that 
you  love  me?" 

"Why,  Padre,  I  love  the  real  'y°u»'  the  'y°u'  that  is  going 
to  be  brought  out,  and  that  will  become  more  and  more  clear, 
until  at  last  it  stands  as  the  perfect  reflection  of  God.  Haven't 
I  told  you  that,  time  and  time  again?" 

"Yes,  child.  You  love  the  ideal.  But — to  live  with  me — 
to  be  my — " 

"Well,  Padre,  if  we  were  not  still  human  we  would  not  be 
thinking  that  we  were  on  earth.  We  have  got  to  work  out  of 
this  human  way  of  thinking  and  living.  And  it  has  seemed 
to  me  that  you  and  I  could  work  out  of  it  so  much  better  to 
gether,  you  helping  me,  manifesting  God's  protection  and  care, 
and  I  helping  you,  as  you  say  I  can  and  do.  And  how  can  we 
live  together  and  work  together  unless  we  marry?  Ages  make 
no  difference!  And  time  is  only  a  human  concept." 

He  would  not  try  to  explain  her  reasoning,  her  contempt 
for  convention.  It  would  be  gratuitous.  As  for  him,  women 
had  never  constituted  a  temptation.  He  knew  that  he  loved 
this  simple,  ingenuous  girl  with  a  tenderness  of  passion  that 
was  wholly  free  from  the  dross  of  mesmerism.  With  that  he 
remained  content. 

"Padre,  if  you  think  you  must  stay  here  for  a  little  while, 
to  work  out  your  problem,  why,  I  shall  just  know  that  evil 
can  not  separate  us.  I  don't  like  to  even  seem  to  go  away  with 
out  you.  But — it  will  be  only  seeming,  after  all,  won't  it? 
God's  children  can  not  really  be  separated — never!" 

She  was  still  paying  faithful  tribute  to  her  vision  of  the 
spiritual  universe.  And  how  her  words  comforted  him!  How 
like  a  benison  they  flowed  over  his  drooping  spirits! 

"And  now,  Padre  dear,"  she  said,  rising  from  the  bench, 
"we  have  done  all  we  could — left  everything  with  God — haven't 
we?  I  must  go  now,  for  madre  Maria  told  me  to  come  back 
soon.  She  needs  me." 

"Don't — no,  not  yet!  Wait — Carmen!  Sing  for  me — just 
once  more!  Sing  again  the  sweet  melody  that  I  heard  when 
I  awoke  from  the  fever  that  day  long  ago!" 

He  drew  her  unresisting  to  his  side.  Nestling  close  against 
him,  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder  and  her  hand  in  his,  she 
sang  again  the  song  that  had  seemed  to  lift  him  that  distant 
day  far,  far  above  the  pitiful  longings  and  strivings  of  poor 
humanity,  even  unto  the  gates  of  the  city  of  eternal  harmony. 

She  finished,  and  the  last  clear,  sweet  note  echoed  through 
the  musty  room  and  died  among  the  black  rafters  overhead.  A 
holy  silence  fell  upon  them  as  they  sat,  hand  in  hand,  facing 
the  future.  Hot  tears  were  streaming  down  the  man's  cheeks. 

355 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


They  fell  sparkling  like  drops  of  dew  upon  her  brown  curls. 
But  he  made  no  complaint.  The  girl,  obedient  to  the  vision, 
was  reaping  her  reward.  He,  timid,  wavering,  doubting,  was 
left,  still  pecking  at  the  shell  of  his  dreary  environment.  It 
was  but  the  working  of  the  infinite  law  of  cause  and  effect. 
But  did  he  imagine  that  out  in  the  world  she  would  not  still 
find  tribulation,  even  as  the  Saviour  had  said?  Aye,  she 
would,  in  abundance!  But  she  leaned  on  her  sustaining  God. 
Her  Christ  had  overcome  the  world.  And  so  should  she.  She 
had  already  passed  through  such  fiery  trials  that  he  knew  no 
contrary  belief  in  evil  now  could  weaken  or  counterbalance 
her  supreme  confidence  in  immanent  good. 

"Padre  dear." 

"Chiquita." 

"If  I  have  to  go  and  leave  you,  will  you  promise  me  that 
you  will  act  your  knowledge  of  the  Christ-principle  and  work 
out  your  problem,  so  that  you  may  come  to  me  soon?" 

The  tug  at  his  heartstrings  brought  a  moan  to  his  lips.  He 
smothered  it.  "Yes,  chiquita." 

"And — you  will  keep  your  promise  about  Anita's  babe?" 

"Yes." 

She  rose  and,  still  holding  his  hand,  led  him  down  the  hill 
and  to  Rosendo's  house. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  that  feverishly  busy  day  the 
priest  clung  to  the  girl  like  a  shadow.  They  talked  together 
but  little,  for  she  was  in  constant  demand  to  help  her  foster- 
mother  in  the  preparations  for  the  long  journey.  But  Jose 
was  ever  at  her  side.  Again  and  again  he  would  seize  her  hand 
and  press  it  to  his  burning  lips.  Again  and  again  he  would 
stroke  her  soft  hair,  or  stretch  out  his  hand  to  touch  her  dress 
as  she  passed  him.  Always  when  she  glanced  up  at  him  the 
same  sweet,  compassionate  smile  glowed  on  her  face.  When 
she  left  the  house,  he  followed.  When  she  bent  over  the  ash- 
strewn  fireplace,  or  washed  the  few  plain  dishes,  he  sought  to 
share  her  employment;  and,  when  gently,  lovingly  repulsed, 
sat  dully,  with  his  yearning  eyes  riveted  upon  her.  Rosendo 
saw  him,  and  forgot  his  own  sorrow  in  pity  for  the  suffering 
priest. 

The  preparations  carried  the  toilers  far  into  the  night.  But 
at  length  the  last  bundle  was  strapped  to  its  siete,  the  last  plan 
discussed  and  agreed  upon,  and  the  two  Americans  had  thrown 
themselves  upon  their  cots  for  a  brief  rest  before  dawn.  Ro 
sendo  took  Jose  aside,  while  Dona  Maria  and  Carmen  sought 
their  beds. 

"Fernando  sends  Juan  to  Bodega  Central  at  daybreak,"  the 
old  man  said.  "All  has  been  kept  secret.  No  one  suspects  our 

356 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


plans.  Maria  remains  here  with  you  until  I  return.  Then  we 
may  go  to  the  hacienda  of  Don  Nicolas,  on  the  Boque.  I  shall 
tell  him  to  have  it  in  readiness  on  my  return.  I  shall  probably 
not  get  back  to  Simiti  for  two  months.  If,  as  you  say,  you 
still  think  best  not  to  go  with  the  Americans  and  the  girl,  what 
will  you  do  here?  The  people  are  much  divided.  Some  say 
they  intend  to  ask  the  Bishop  to  remove  you.  Bien,  will  you 
not  decide  to  go?" 

Jose  could  not  make  audible  reply.  He  shook  his  head,  and 
waved  Rosendo  away.  Then,  taking  a  chair,  he  went  into  the 
sleeping  room  and  sat  down  at  the  bedside  of  the  slumbering 
girl.  Reaching  over,  he  took  her  hand. 

What  was  it  that  she  had  said  to  him  that  day,  long  gone, 
when  Diego  claimed  her  as  his  child?  Ah,  yes: 

"Don't  feel  badly,  Padre  dear.  His  thoughts  have  only  the 
minus  sign — and  that  means  nothing,  you  know." 

And  later,  many  weeks  later: 

"Padre,  you  can  not  think  wrong  and  right  thoughts  to 
gether,  you  know.  You  can  not  be  happy  and  unhappy  at  the 
same  time.  You  can  not  be  sick  and  well  together."  In  other 
words,  the  wise  little  maid  was  trying  to  show  him  that  Paul 
spoke  directly  to  such  as  he  when  he  wrote:  Know  ye  not, 
that  to  whom  ye  yield  yourselves  servants  to  obey,  his  servants 
ye  are — ? 

"You  can  not  have  both  good  and  evil,  Padre,"  she  had  so 
often  insisted.  "You  must  want  good — want  it  more  than  any^ 
thing  else.  And  then  you  must  prepare  for  it  by  thinking 
right  thoughts  and  un-thinking  wrong  ones.  And  as  you  pre 
pare  for  good,  you  must  know  that  it  is  coming.  But  you 
must  not  say  how  it  shall  come,  nor  what  it  shall  look  like. 
You  must  not  say  that  it  shall  be  just  as  you  may  think  you 
would  like  to  have  it.  Leave  the — the  externalization  to  God. 
Then  it  will  meet  all  your  needs. 

"You  see,  Padre  dear" — oh,  how  the  memory  of  her  words 
smote  him  now! — "you  see,  the  good  Jesus  told  the  people  to 
clean  their  window-panes  and  let  in  the  light — good  thoughts 
—for  then  these  would  be  externalized  in  health,  happiness, 
and  all  good,  instead  of  the  old,  bad  thoughts  being  externalized 
longer  in  sickness  and  evil.  Don't  you  see?" 

Aye,  he  saw.  He  saw  that  the  Christ-idea  found  expression 
and  reflection  in  the  pure  mentality  of  this  girl.  He  saw  that 
that  mentality  was  unsullied,  uneducated  in  the  lore  of  human 
belief,  and  untrained  to  fear.  He  saw  that  the  resurrection  of 
the  Christ,  for  which  a  yearning  world  waits,  was  but  the  rising 
of  the  Christ-idea  in  the  human  mentality.  And  he  saw,  too, 
that  ere  the  radiant  resurrection  morn  can  arrive  there  must  be 

357 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  crucifixion,  a  world-wide  crucifixion  of  human,  carnal 
thought.  Follow  Christ!  Aye,  follow  him!  But  will  ye  not 
learn  that  following  him  means  thinking  as  he  did?  And  his 
thoughts  were  God's. 

But  Jose  had  tried  to  think  aright  during  those  years  in 
Simiti.  True,  but  the  efforts  had  been  spasmodic.  From 
childhood  he  had  passed  through  doubt,  fear,  scepticism,  and 
final  agnosticism.  Then  he  had  started  anew  and  aright.  And 
then  had  come  the  "day  of  judgment,"  the  recurrent  hours  of 
sore  trial — and  he  had  not  stood.  Called  upon  to  prove  God, 
to  prove  the  validity  of  his  splendid  deductions,  he  had  vacil 
lated  between  the  opposing  claims  of  good  and  evil,  and  had 
floundered  helplessly.  And  now  he  stood  confronting  his  still 
unsolved  problem,  realizing  as  never  before  that  in  the  solving 
of  it  he  must  unlearn  the  intellectual  habits  of  a  lifetime. 

There  were  other  problems  which  lay  still  unsolved  before 
him  as  he  sat  there  that  night.  The  sable  veil  of  mystery 
which  hung  about  Carmen's  birth  had  never  been  penetrated, 
even  slightly.  What  woman's  face  was  that  which  looked  out 
so  sadly  from  the  little  locket?  "Dolores" — sorrowful,  indeed! 
What  tragedy  had  those  great,  mournful  eyes  witnessed?  No, 
Carmen  did  not  greatly  resemble  her.  He  used  to  think  so, 
but  not  of  late.  Did  she,  he  wondered,  resemble  the  man? 
And  had  the  mother's  kisses  and  hot  tears  blurred  the  portrait 
beneath  which  he  had  so  often  read  the  single  inscription, 
"Guillermo"?  If  so,  could  not  the  portrait  be  cleaned?  But 
Jose  himself  had  not  dared  attempt  it.  Perhaps  some  day  that 
could  be  done  by  one  skilled  in  such  art. 

And  did  Carmen  inherit  any  of  her  unique  traits  from 
either  of  her  parents?  Her  voice,  her  religious  instinct,  her 
keen  mentality — whence  came  they?  "From  God,"  the  girl 
would  always  answer  whenever  he  voiced  the  query  in  her 
presence.  And  he  could  not  gainsay  it. 

Seven  years  had  passed.  And  Jose  found  himself  sitting 
beside  the  sleeping  girl  and  dumbly  yielding  to  the  separation 
which  now  had  come.  Was  his  work  finished?  His  course 
run?  And,  if  he  must  live  and  solve  his  problem,  could  he 
stand  after  she  had  left?  He  bent  closer  to  her,  and  listened 
to  the  gentle  breathing.  He  seemed  again  to  see  her,  as  he 
was  wont  in  the  years  past,  flitting  about  her  diminutive  rose 
garden  and  calling  to  him  to  come  and  share  her  boundless 
joy.  "Come!"  he  heard  her  call.  "Come,  Padre  dear,  and  see 
my  beautiful  thoughts!"  And  then,  so  often,  "Oh,  Padre!" 
bounding  into  his  arms,  "here  is  a  beautiful  thought  that  came 
to  me  to-day,  and  I  caught  it  and  wouldn't  let  it  go!"  Lonely, 
isolated  child,  having  nothing  in  common  with  the  children  of 

358 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


her  native  heath,  yet  dwelling  ever  in  a  world  peopled  with 
immaculate  concepts! 

Jose  shook  his  head  slowly.  He  thought  of  the  day  when 
he  had  approached  Rosendo  with  his  great  question.  "Ro- 
sendo,"  he  had  said  in  deep  earnestness,  "where,  oh,  where 
did  Carmen  get  these  ideas?  Did  you  teach  them  to  her?" 

"No,  Padre,"  Rosendo  had  replied  gravely.  "When  she  was 
a  little  thing,  just  learning  to  talk,  she  often  asked  about  God. 
And  one  day  I  told  her  that  God  was  everywhere — what  else 
could  I  say?  Bien,  a  strange  light  came  into  her  eyes.  And 
after  that,  Padre,  she  talked  continually  about  Him,  and  to 
Him.  And  she  seemed  to  know  Him  well — so  well  that  she 
saw  Him  in  every  thing  and  every  place.  Padre,  it  is  very 
strange — very  strange!" 

No,  it  was  not  strange,  Jose  had  thought,  but  beautifully 
natural.  And  later,  when  he  came  to  teach  her,  his  constant 
endeavor  had  been  to  impart  his  secular  knowledge  to  the 
girl  without  endangering  her  marvelous  faith  in  her  immanent 
God.  In  that  he  had  succeeded,  for  in  that  there  had  been  no 
obstructing  thoughts  of  self  to  overcome. 

And  now — 

"For  a  small  moment  have  I  forsaken  thee;  but  with  great 
mercies  will  I  gather  thee — 

The  night  shadows  iled.  Day  dawned.  Jose  still  sat  at  the 
girl's  bedside,  dumb  and  motionless.  Carmen  awoke,  and 
threw  her  arms  about  him.  But  Rosendo  appeared  and  hur 
ried  her  out  to  the  light  morning  repast,  for  they  must  lose  no 
time  in  starting.  Every  moment  now  was  precious.  By  ten 
o'clock  the  savannas  would  be  too  hot  to  cross,  and  they  lay 
some  distance  from  Simiti.  Reed  and  Harris  were  bustling 
about,  assembling  the  packers  and  cracking  jokes  as  they 
strapped  the  chairs  to  the  men's  backs.  Doria  Maria's  eyes  were 
red  with  weeping,  but  she  kept  silence.  Jose  wandered  about 
like  a  wraith.  Don  Jorge  grimly  packed  his  own  kit  and  pre 
pared  to  set  out  for  the  Magdalena,  for  he  had  suddenly  an 
nounced  his  determination  not  to  accompany  Rosendo  and  his 
-party,  but  to  go  back  and  consult  with  Don  Carlos  Norosi  in 
regard  to  the  future.  An  hour  later  he  left  Simiti. 

At  last  Rosendo's  voice  rang  out  in  a  great  shout: 

"Ya  estd!     Vdmonos!" 

"Bully-bueno!"   responded   Harris,   waving  his  long  arms. 

The  cargadores  moved  forward  in  the  direction  of  the 
Boque  traiL  The  Americans,  with  a  final  adios  to  Dona  Maria 
and  the  priest,  swung  into  line  behind  them.  Rosendo  again 
tenderly  embraced  his  weeping  spouse,  and  then  turned  to 
Jose. 

359 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"The  Virgin  watch  over  you  and  Maria,  Padre!  I  leave 
her  in  your  care.  If  the  war  comes,  flee  with  her  to  the  Boque." 

He  threw  an  arm  about  the  priest  and  kissed  him  on  both 
cheeks.  Then,  calling  to  Carmen,  he  turned  and  started  after 
the  others. 

The  girl  rushed  into  Jose's  arms.     Her  tears  flowed  freely. 

"Padre,"  she  murmured,  clinging  to  him  and  showering 
him  with  kisses,  "I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you!  I  will  wait 
for  you  up  there.  You  will  come — or  I  will  come  back  to  you. 
And  I  will  work  for  you  every  day.  I  will  know  that  you  are 
God's  child,  and  that  you  will  solve  your  problem!" 

Rosendo,  half  way  down  the  road,  turned  and  called  sharply 
to  her.  The  girl  hurried  after  him.  But  again  she  stopped, 
turned  around,  and  flew  back  to  Jose,  as  he  knelt  in  the  dust 
and,  with  tongue  cleaving  to  his  mouth,  held  out  his  trembling 
arms. 

"Padre,  dearest,  dearest  Padre,"  she  sobbed,  "I  love  you,  I 
love  you!  And — I  had  forgotten — this — it  is  for  you  to  read 
every  day — every  day!"  She  thrust  a  folded  paper  into  his 
hand.  Again  she  tore  herself  away  and  ran  after  the  impatient 
Rosendo.  In  a  moment  they  were  out  of  sight. 

A  groan  of  anguish  escaped  the  stricken  priest.  He  rose 
from  his  knees  and  followed  stumbling  after  the  girl.  As  he 
reached  the  shales  he  saw  her  far  in  the  distance  at  the  mouth 
of  the  trail.  She  turned,  and  waved  her  hand  to  him.  Then 
the  dark  trail  swallo\ved  her,  and  he  saw  her  no  more. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  like  a  statue,  striving  with  futile 
gaze  to  penetrate  that  black  opening  in  the  dense  bush  that 
had  engulfed  his  very  soul.  His  bloodshot  eyes  were  wild. 
His  lips  fluttered.  His  hand  closed  convulsively  over  the  paper 
which  the  girl  had  left  with  him.  Mechanically  he  opened  it 
and  read: 

"Dearest,  dearest  Padre,  these  four  little  Bible  verses  I  leave  with 
you;  and  you  will  promise  your  little  girl  that  you  will  always  live  by 
them.  Then  your  problem  will  be  solved. 

"1.     Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me. 

"2.     Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself. 

"3.  Be  ye  therefore  perfect,  even  as  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven 
is  perfect. 

"4.    Whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die. 

"And,  Padre,  my  dearest,  dearest  Padre,  God  is  everywhere." 

His  hand  fell.  His  brain  reeled,  and  he  swayed  like  a 
drunken  man.  He  turned  about,  muttering  incoherently. 
Dona  Maria  stood  behind  him.  Tenderly  taking  his  arm,  she 
led  him  back  to  the  forlorn  little  house.  Its  ghastly  emptiness 
smote  him  until  his  reason  tottered.  He  sank  into  a  chair 

360 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


and  gazed  with  dull,  stony  eyes  out  over  the  placid  lake,  where 
the  white  beams  of  the  rising  sun  were  breaking  into  myriad 
colors  against  the  brume. 


CHAPTER  37 

THE  two  hundred  miles  which  lay  before  Rosendo  and  his 
little  band  stretched  their  rugged,  forbidding  length 
through  ragged  canons,  rushing  waters,  and  dank,  vir 
ginal  forest.  Only  the  old  man,  as  he  trudged  along  the  worn 
trail  between  Simiti  and  the  Inanea  river,  where  canoes 
waited  to  transport  the  travelers  to  the  little  village  of  Boque, 
had  any  adequate  conception  of  what  the  journey  meant.  Even 
the  cargadores  were  unfamiliar  with  the  region  which  they 
were  to  penetrate.  Some  of  them  had  been  over  the  Guamoco 
trail  as  far  as  Culata;  a  few  had  ascended  the  Boque  river  to 
its  farthest  navigable  point.  But  none  had  penetrated  the  in 
most  reaches  of  the  great  canon  through  which  the  head 
waters  tumbled  and  roared,  and  none  had  ever  dreamed  of 
making  the  passage  over  the  great  divide,  the  Barra  Principal, 
to  the  Tigui  beyond. 

To  the  Americans,  fresh  from  the  luxury  and  convention 
of  city  life,  and  imbued  with  the  indomitable  Yankee  spirit  of 
adventure,  the  prospect  was  absorbing  in  its  allurements. 
Especially  to  the  excitable,  high-strung  Harris,  whose  great 
eyes  almost  popped  from  his  head  at  the  continuous  display  of 
tropical  marvels,  and  whose  exclamations  of  astonishment  and 
surprise,  enriched  from  his  inexhaustible  store  of  American 
slang  and  miner's  parlance,  burst  from  his  gaping  mouth  at 
every  turn  of  the  sinuous  trail.  From  the  outset,  he  had  con 
stituted  himself  Carmen's  special  protector,  although  much  to 
Rosendo's  consternation,  for  the  lank,  awkward  fellow,  whose 
lean  shoulders  bent  under  the  weight  of  some  six-feet-two  of 
height,  went  stumbling  and  tripping  along  the  way,  swaying 
against  every  tree  and  bush  that  edged  the  path,  and  constantly 
giving  noisy  vent  to  his  opinions  regarding  trails  in  general, 
and  those  of  the  tropics  in  particular.  His  only  accouterment 
was  a  Winchester  rifle  of  tremendous  bore,  which  he  insisted 
on  carrying  in  constant  readiness  to  meet  either  beasts  of  prey 
or  savage  Indians,  but  which,  in  his  absent-mindedness  and 
dreamy  preoccupation,  he  either  dragged,  muzzle  up,  or  car 
ried  at  such  dangerous  angles  that  the  natives  were  finally 
obliged,  in  self-protection,  to  insist  that  he  hand  the  weapon 
over  to  Rosendo.  To  Carmen,  as  the  days  passed  and  she 

33  361 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


gradually  recognized  his  sterling  qualities,  he  became  a  source 
of  delight.  Hour  after  hour  she  trotted  along  after  him,  chat 
ting  merrily  in  her  beloved  English  tongue,  poking  fun  at  his 
awkwardness,  and  laughing  boisterously  over  his  quaint  slang 
and  naive  Yankee  expressions.  She  had  never  heard  such  things 
from  Jose;  nor  had  the  priest,  despite  his  profound  knowledge, 
ever  told  her  such  exciting  tales  as  did  Harris,  when  he  drew 
from  his  store  of  frontier  memories  and  colored  his  narratives 
with  the  rich  tints  furnished  by  his  easy  imagination. 

The  first  day  out  had  been  one  of  mental  struggle  for  the 
girl.  She  had  turned  into  the  trail,  after  waving  a  last  farewell 
to  Jose,  with  a  feeling  that  she  had  never  experienced  before. 
For  hours  she  trudged  along,  oblivious  of  her  environment, 
murmuring,  "It  isn't  true — it  isn't  true!"  until  Harris,  his 
curiosity  aroused  by  the  constant  repetition  which  floated  now 
and  then  to  his  ears,  demanded  to  know  what  it  was  that  was 
so  radically  false. 

"It  isn't  true  that  we  can  be  separated,"  she  answered,  look 
ing  at  him  with  moist  eyes. 

"We?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  God's  children — people — people — who — love  each 
other,"  she  replied.  Then  she  dropped  her  eyes  in  evident 
embarrassment,  and  refused  to  discuss  the  topic  further. 

"Lord  Harry!"  ejaculated  Harris,  pondering  the  cryptical 
remark,  "you  surely  are  a  queer  little  dud!" 

But  the  girl  turned  from  him  to  Rosendo.  He  understood 
her.  Nor  would  she  permit  the  old  man  to  leave  her  until, 
late  that  night,  exhausted  by  the  excitement  of  the  day,  she 
dropped  asleep  in  the  house  of  Don  Nicolas,  on  the  muddy 
margin  of  the  river  Boque,  still  clinging  to  Rosendo's  hand. 

Despite  the  protestations  of  Don  Nicolas  and  the  pleading 
of  the  cargadores,  Rosendo  stolidly  refused  to  spend  a  day  at 
Boque.  Apprehension  lashed  him  furiously  on.  They  were 
still  within  reach  of  the  federal  authorities.  He  dared  not  rest 
until  the  jungle  had  swallowed  them. 

"Ah,  compadre,"  said  Don  Nicolas,  in  disappointment,  "I 
would  like  much  for  you  to  enjoy  my  house  while  it  is  still 
clean.  For  the  ants  have  visited  me.  Hombre!  they  swrarmed 
down  upon  us  but  a  day  ago.  They  came  out  of  the  bush  in 
millions,  straight  for  the  house.  We  fled.  Caramba!  had  we 
remained,  we  should  have  been  eaten  alive.  But  they  swept 
the  house — Hombre!  no  human  hands  could  have  done  so  well. 
Every  spider,  every  rat,  beetle,  flea,  every  plague,  was  instantly 
eaten,  and  within  a  half  hour  they  had  disappeared  again,  and 
we  moved  back  into  a  thoroughly  cleaned  house!" 

Harris  stood  with  mouth  agape  in  mute  astonishment  when 

362 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Carmen,  whom  he  had  constituted  his  interpreter,  translated 
to  him  the  story. 

That  evening,  after  they  had  eaten  out  in  the  open  before 
the  house,  and  the  Americans  had  tickled  the  palates  of  the 
villagers  with  some  tinned  beef  of  uncertain  quality,  Don 
Nicolas  approached  Reed.  "Senor,"  he  said,  "my  mother, 
now  very  aged,  is  sick,  and  we  think  she  can  not  recover.  But 
you  Americanos  are  wonderfully  skilled,  and  your  medicines 
powerful.  Have  you  not  some  remedy  in  your  pack  that  will 
alleviate  the  good  woman's  sufferings?  They  are  severe, 
sefior." 

Reed  knew  how  great  was  the  faith  of  these  simple  people 
in  the  wisdom  of  the  American,  and  he  had  reason  to  wish  to 
preserve  it.  But  he  had  come  into  that  country  illy  prepared 
to  cope  with  disease,  and  his  medical  equipment  contained 
nothing  but  quinine.  He  reflected  a  moment,  then  turned  to 
Harris. 

"Did  you  smuggle  any  of  your  beloved  root-beer  extract 
into  the  equipment?"  he  inquired,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

Harris  looked  sheepish,  but  returned  a  sullen  affirmative. 

"Well,"  continued  Reed,  "dig  out  a  bottle  and  we'll  fix  up  a 
dose  of  pain-killer  for  our  worthy  host's  mother." 

Then  he  turned  to  Don  Nicolas.  "Cierto,  senor,"  he  said 
with  an  air  of  confidence.  "I  have  a  remedy  which  I  know  to 
be  unfailing  for  any  disease." 

He  disappeared  into  the  house,  from  which  he  emerged 
again  in  a  few  moments  with  an  empty  cola  bottle.  Washing 
this  clean  in  the  river,  he  partly  filled  it  with  water.  Then  he 
poured  in  the  small  bottle  of  root-beer  extract  which  Harris 
handed  him,  and  added  a  few  grains  of  quinine.  Shaking  the 
mixture  thoroughly,  he  carried  it  to  Don  Nicolas. 

"Be  very  careful,  senor,"  he  admonished,  giving  him  the 
bottle.  "It  is  a  medicine  extremely  powerful  and  immediate 
in  its  action.  Give  the  seiiora  a  small  teaspoonful  every  hour. 
By  morning  you  will  notice  a  marked  change." 

Don  NicolaVs  eyes  lighted  with  joy,  and  his  gratitude 
poured  forth  in  extravagant  expressions. 

With  the  first  indications  of  approaching  day  Rosendo  was 
abroad,  rounding  up  his  cargadores,  who  were  already  bicker 
ing  as  to  their  respective  duties,  and  arranging  the  luggage  in 
the  canoes  for  the  river  trip.  Additional  boats  and  men  had 
been  secured;  and  Don  Nicolas  himself  expressed  his  inten 
tion  of  accompanying  them  as  far  as  his  hacienda,  Maria  Rosa, 
a  day's  journey  up-stream. 

"It  was  there  that  I  hid  during  the  last  revolution,"  he 
said,  "when  the  soldiers  burned  the  village  and  cut  off  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


ears  and  fingers  of  our  women  for  their  rings.  Ah,  sefiores, 
you  can  not  know  how  we  suffered!  All  my  goods  stolen  or 
burned — my  family  scattered — my  finca  destroyed!  We  lived 
two  years  at  Maria  Rosa,  not  daring  to  come  down  the  river 
again.  We  wore  the  skins  of  animals  for  clothing.  Caramba!" 
His  eyes  burned  fiercely  as  he  spoke,  and  his  hands  opened 
and  closed  convulsively.  He  was  a  representative  of  that  large 
class  of  rurales  upon  whom  the  heaviest  burdens,  the  greatest 
suffering,  and  the  most  poignant  sorrow  attending  a  political 
revolution  always  fall. 

"But,  sefior!"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  turning  to  Reed,  "I 
had  all  but  forgotten!  My  mother,  she  sends  for  you.  She 
would  see  the  kind  American  whose  remedies  are  so  wonder 
ful.  For,  sefior,  she  rose  from  her  bed  this  morning  restored! 
And  you  must  leave  us  another  bottle  of  the  remedy — at  what 
ever  price,  senor!" 

Reed  gazed  at  the  man  uncomprehendingly,  until  at  length 
the  truth  dawned  upon  him.  His  root-beer  remedy  had  done 
its  work!  Then  a  broad  grin  mantled  his  face;  but  he  quickly 
suppressed  it  and  went  with  Don  Nicolas  to  receive  in  person 
his  patient's  effusive  thanks.  When  he  returned  and  took  his 
place  in  the  waiting  boat,  he  shook  his  head.  "It's  past  all 
understanding,"  he  muttered  to  Harris,  "what  faith  will  do! 
I  can  believe  now  that  it  will  remove  mountains." 

Throughout  the  long,  interminably  long,  hot  day  the  per 
spiring  men  poled  and  paddled,  urged  and  teased,  waded  and 
pushed  against  the  increasing  current,  until,  as  the  shadows 
began  to  close  around  them,  they  sighted  the  scarcely  visible 
opening  in  the  bush  which  marked  the  trail  to  the  hacienda  of 
Maria  Rosa.  It  was  a  desperately  lonely  clearing  on  the  verge 
of  the  jungle;  but  there  were  two  thatch-covered  sheds,  and 
to  the  exhausted  travelers  it  gave  assurance  of  rest  and  protec 
tion.  Before  they  made  the  landing  Rosendo's  sharp  eyes  had 
spied  a  large  ant-eater  and  her  cub,  moving  sluggishly  through 
the  bush;  and  Reed's  quick  shots  had  brought  them  both  down. 
The  men's  eyes  dilated  when  the  animals  were  dragged  into 
the  canoes.  It  meant  fresh  meat  instead  of  salt  bagre  for  at 
least  two  days. 

Early  next  morning  the  travelers  bade  farewell  to  Don 
Nicolas  and  set  their  course  again  up-stream.  They  would  now 
see  no  human  being  other  than  the  members  of  their  own  little 
party  until  they  reached  Llano,  on  the  distant  Nechi. 

"Remember,"  called  Don  Nicolas,  as  the  canoes  drifted 
out  into  the  stream,  "the  quebrada  of  Caracoli  is  the  third  on 
the  right.  An  old  trail  used  to  lead  from  there  across  to  the 
Tiguicito — but  I  doubt  if  you  find  even  a  trace  of  it  now. 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


There  is  no  water  between  that  point  and  the  Tiguicito. 
Conque,  adios,  scnores,  adios!" 

The  hallooing  of  farewells  echoed  along  the  river  and  died 
away  in  the  dark  forest  on  either  hand.  Harris  and  Reed 
settled  back  in  their  canoe  and  yielded  to  the  fascination  of  the 
slowly  shifting  scene.  Carmen  chose  to  occupy  the  same  canoe 
with  them,  and  perforce  Rosendo  acted  as  patron.  They 
therefore  took  the  lead.  Between  his  knees  Reed  held  the 
rifle  upright,  in  readiness  for  any  animal  whose  curiosity  might 
bring  it  to  the  water's  edge  to  view  the  rare  pageant  passing 
through  that  unbroken  solitude. 

The  river  was  now  narrowing,  and  there  were  often  rapids 
whose  ascent  necessitated  disembarking  from  the  canoes, 
while  the  bogas  strained  and  teased  the  lumbering  dugouts  up 
over  them.  In  places  the  stream  was  choked  by  fallen  trees 
and  tangled  driftwood,  until  only  a  narrow,  tortuous  opening 
was  left,  through  which  the  waters  raced  like  a  mill-course, 
making  a  heavy  draft  on  the  intuitive  skill  of  the  bogas.  Often 
slender  islets  rose  from  the  river;  and  then  heated,  chattering, 
often  acrimonious  discussions  ensued  among  the  men  as  to  the 
proper  channel  to  take.  Always  on  either  side  rose  the  matted, 
tangled,  impenetrable  forest  wall  of  dense  bush  and  giant  trees, 
from  which  innumerable  trailers  and  bcjuco  vines  dropped 
into  the  waters  beneath.  From  the  surface  of  the  river  to  the 
tops  of  the  great  trees,  often  two  hundred  feet  above,  hung  a 
drapery  of  creeping  plants,  of  parasitical  growths,  and  diver 
sified  foliage,  of  the  most  vivid  shades  of  green,  inextricably 
laced  and  interwoven,  and  dotted  here  and  there  with  orchide- 
ous  flowers  and  strange  blossoms,  while  in  the  tempered  sun 
light  which  sifted  through  it  sported  gorgeous  insects  and 
butterflies  of  enormous  size  and  exquisite  shades,  striped  and 
spotted  in  orange,  blue,  and  vivid  red.  Scarcely  a  hand's 
breadth  of  the  jungle  wall  but  contained  some  strange,  eerie 
animal  or  vegetable  form  that  brought  expressions  of  wonder 
and  astonishment  from  the  enraptured  Americans.  At  times, 
too,  there  were  grim  tragedies  being  enacted  before  them.  In 
one  spot  a  huge,  hairy  spider,  whose  delicate,  lace-like  web 
hung  to  the  water's  edge,  was  viciously  wrapping  its  silken 
thread  about  a  tiny  bird  that  had  become  entangled.  Again, 
a  shriek  from  beyond  the  river's  margin  told  of  some  careless 
monkey  or  small  animal  that  had  fallen  prey  to  a  hungry 
jaguar.  Above  the  travelers  all  the  day  swung  the  ubiquitous 
buzzards,  with  their  watchful,  speculative  eyes  ever  on  the 
slowly  moving  cavalcade. 

Carmen  sat  enthralled.  If  her  thought  reverted  at  all  to 
the  priest,  she  gave  no  hint  of  it.  But  once,  leaning  back  and 

365 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


gazing  off  into  the  opalescent  sky  overhead,  she  murmured: 
"And  to  think,  it  is  only  the  way  the  human  mind  translates 
God's  ideas!  How  wonderful  must  they  be!  And  some  day  I 
shall  see  those  ideas,  instead  of  the  mortal  mind's  interpreta 
tions  of  them!" 

Harris  heard  her,  and  asked  her  to  repeat  her  comments  in 
English.  But  she  refused.  "You  would  not  understand,"  she 
said  simply.  And  no  badinage  on  his  part  could  further  in 
fluence  her. 

Rosendo,  inscrutable  and  silent,  showed  plainly  the  weight 
of  responsibility  which  he  felt.  Only  twice  that  day  did  he 
emerge  from  the  deep  reserve  into  which  he  had  retired;  once 
when,  in  the  far  distance,  his  keen  eye  espied  a  small  deer, 
drinking  at  the  water's  edge,  but  which,  scenting  the  travelers, 
fled  into  cover  ere  Reed  could  bring  the  rifle  to  his  shoulders; 
and  again,  when  they  were  upon  a  jaguar  almost  before  either 
they  or  the  astonished  animal  realized  it. 

In  the  tempered  rays  of  the  late  afternoon  sun  the  flower- 
bespangled  walls  of  the  forest  became  alive  with  gaily  painted 
birds  and  insects.  Troops  of  chattering  monkeys  awoke  from 
their  midday  siesta  and  scampered  noisily  through  the  tree- 
tops  over  the  aerial  highways  formed  by  the  liana  vines,  whose 
great  bush-ropes,  often  a  foot  and  more  in  thickness,  stretched 
their  winding  length  long  distances  through  the  forest,  and 
bound  the  vegetation  together  in  an  intricate,  impenetrable 
network.  Yellow  and  purple  blossoms,  in  a  riot  of  ineffable 
splendor,  bedecked  the  lofty  trees  and  tangled  parasitical  creep 
ers  that  wrapped  around  them,  constituting  veritable  hanging 
gardens.  Great  palms,  fattened  by  the  almost  incessant  rains 
in  this  hot-house  of  Nature,  rose  in  the  spaces  unoccupied  by 
the  buttressed  roots  of  the  forest  giants.  Splendidly  tailored 
kingfishers  swooped  over  the  water,  scarce  a  foot  above  its  sur 
face.  Quarreling  parrots  and  nagging  macaws  screamed  their 
inarticulate  message  to  the  travelers.  Tiny  forest  gems,  the 
infinitely  variegated  colibri,  whirred  across  the  stream  and 
followed  its  margins  until  attracted  by  the  gorgeous  pendent 
flowers.  On  the  playas  in  the  hazy  distance  ahead  the  travel 
ers  could  often  distinguish  tall,  solemn  cranes,  dancing  their 
grotesque  measures,  or  standing  on  one  leg  and  dreaming 
away  their  little  hour  of  life  in  this  terrestrial  fairy-land. 

Darkness  fell,  almost  with  the  swiftness  of  a  snuffed  candle. 
For  an  hour  Rosendo  had  been  straining  his  eyes  toward  the 
right  bank  of  the  river,  and  as  he  gazed  his  apprehension  in 
creased.  But,  as  night  closed  in,  a  soft  murmur  floated  down 
to  the  cramped,  toil-worn  travelers,  and  the  old  man,  with  a 
glad  light  in  his  eyes,  announced  that  they  were  approaching 

366 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  quebrada  of  Caracoli.  A  half  hour  later,  by  the  weird, 
flickering  light  of  the  candles  which  Reed  and  Harris  held  out 
on  either  side,  Rosendo  turned  the  canoe  into  a  brawling 
stream,  and  ran  its  nose  into  the  deep  alluvial  soil.  Plunging 
fearlessly  through  the  fringe  of  delicate  ferns  which  lined  the 
margin  of  the  creek,  he  cut  a  wide  swath  with  his  great 
machete  and  uncovered  a  dim  trail,  which  led  to  a  ramshackle, 
thatch-covered  hut  a  few  yards  beyond.  It  was  the  tumbled 
vestige  of  a  shelter  which  Don  Nicolas  had  erected  years  be 
fore  while  hunting  wild  pigs  through  this  trackless  region.  An 
hour  later  the  little  group  lay  asleep  on  the  damp  ground, 
wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  the  great  forest. 

The  silvery  haze  of  dawn  was  dimming  the  stars  and  deep 
ening  into  ruddier  hues  that  tinged  the  fronds  of  the  mighty 
trees  as  with  streaks  of  blood  wrhen  Rosendo,  like  an  implaca 
ble  Nemesis,  prodded  his  little  party  into  activity.  Their  first 
day's  march  through  the  wilderness  was  to  begin,  and  the  old 
man  moved  with  the  nervous,  restless  energy  of  a  hunted 
jaguar.  The  light  breakfast  of  coffee  and  cold  arepa  over,  he 
dismissed  the  bogas,  who  wrere  to  return  to  Boque  with  the 
canoes,  and  set  about  arranging  the  cargo  in  suitable  packs 
for  the  cargadores  who  were  to  accompany  him  over  the  long 
reaches  of  jungle  that  stretched  between  them  and  Llano. 
Two  macheteros  were  sent  on  ahead  of  the  main  party  to 
locate  and  open  a  trail.  The  rest  followed  an  hour  later.  Be 
fore  the  shimmering,  opalescent  rays  which  overspread  the 
eastern  sky  had  begun  to  turn  downward,  the  little  cavalcade, 
led  by  Rosendo,  had  taken  the  narrow',  newly-cut  trail  and 
plunged  into  the  shadows  of  the  forest — 

"the  great,  dim,  mysterious  forest,  where  uncertainty  wavers  to  an  inter 
rogation  point." 


CHAPTER  38 

THE  emotion  of  the  jungle  is  a  direct  function  of  human 
temperament.  Where  one  sees  in  it  naught  but  a  "grim, 
green  sepulcher,"  teeming  with  malignant,  destructive 
forces,  inimical  to  health,  to  tranquillity,  to  life,  another — per 
haps  a  member  of  the  same  party — will  find  in  the  wanton 
extravagance  of  Nature,  her  prodigious  luxury,  her  infinite  va 
riety  of  form,  of  color,  and  sound,  such  stimuli  to  the  imagina 
tion,  and  such  invitation  to  further  discovery  and  development, 
as  to  constitute  a  lure  as  insidious  and  unescapable  as  the 
habit  which  too  often  follows  the  first  draft  of  the  opium's 
fumes.  There  are  those  who  profess  to  have  journeyed 

367 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


through  vast  stretches  of  South  American  selva  without  en 
countering  a  wild  animal.  Others,  with  sight  and  hearing 
keener,  and  with  a  sense  of  observation  not  dulled  by  futile 
lamentations  over  the  absence  of  the  luxuries  of  civilized 
travel,  will  uncover  a  wealth  of  experiences  which  feed  the 
memory  throughout  their  remaining  years,  and  mold  an  irre 
sistible  desire  to  penetrate  again  those  vast,  teeming,  baffling 
solitudes. 

It  is  true,  the  sterner  aspect  of  the  South  American  jungle 
affords  little  invitation  to  repose  or  restful  contemplation.  And 
the  charm  which  its  riotous  prodigality  exerts  is  in  no  sense 
idyllic.  For  the  jungle  falls  upon  one  with  the  force  of  a  blow. 
It  grips  by  its  massiveness,  its  awful  grandeur.  It  does  not 
entice  admiration,  but  exacts  obeisance  by  brute  force.  Its 
silence  is  a  dull  roar.  Its  rest  is  continuous  motion,  incessant 
activity.  The  garniture  of  its  trackless  wastes  is  that  of  great 
daubs  of  vivid  color,  laid  thick  upon  the  canvas  with  the  knife 
—never  modulated,  never  worked  into  delicate  shading  with  the 
brush,  but  attracting  by  its  riot,  its  audacity,  its  immensity,  its 
disdain  of  convention,  its  utter  disregard  of  the  canons  cher 
ished  by  the  puny  mind  that  contemplates  it.  The  forest's  ap 
peal  is  a  reflex  of  its  own  infinite  complexity.  The  sensations 
which  it  arouses  within  the  one  who  steps  from  civilization  into 
its  very  heart  are  myriad,  and  often  terrible.  The  instinct  of 
self-preservation  is  by  it  suddenly,  rudely  aroused  and  kept 
keenly  alive.  Its  inhospitality  is  menacing.  The  roar  of  its 
howling  monkeys  strikes  terror  to  the  timid  heart.  The  plain 
tive  calls  of  its  persecuted  feathered  denizens  echo  through  the 
mysterious  vastnesses  like  despairing  voices  from  a  spirit  world. 
The  crashing  noises,  the  strange,  weird,  unaccountable  sounds 
that  hurtle  through  its  dimly  lighted  corridors  blanch  the  face 
and  cause  the  hand  to  steal  furtively  toward  the  loosely  sheathed 
weapon.  The  piercing,  frenzied  screams  which  arise  with 
blood-curdling  effect  through  the  awful  stillness  of  noonday  or 
the  dead  of  night,  turn  the  startled  thought  with  sickening 
yearning  toward  the  soft  charms  of  civilization,  in  which  the 
sense  of  protection  is  greater,  even  if  actual  security  is  fre 
quently  less. 

Because  of  Nature's  utter  disregard  of  the  individual,  life 
is  everywhere.  And  that  life  is  sharply  armed  and  on  the 
defensive.  The  rising  heat-waves  hum  with  insects.  The 
bush  swarms  with  them.  Their  droning  murmur  crowds  the 
air.  The  trunks  of  trees,  the  great,  pendent  leaves  of  plants, 
the  trailing  vines,  slimy  with  dank  vegetation,  afford  footing 
and  housing  to  countless  myriads  of  them,  keenly  alert,  fero 
ciously  resistive.  The  decaying  logs  fester  with  scorpions. 

368 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  ground  is  cavernous  with  the  burrows  of  lizards  and  crawl 
ing  forms,  with  centipedes  and  fierce  formicidae.  Death  and 
terror  stalk  hand  in  hand.  But  life  trails  them.  Where  one 
falls,  countless  others  spring  up  to  fill  the  gap.  The  rivers  and 
pantanos  yield  their  quota  of  variegated  forms.  The  flat 
perania,  the  dreaded  electric  eel,  infests  the  warm  streams, 
and  inflicts  its  torture  without  discrimination  upon  all  who 
dare  invade  its  domain.  Snakes  lurk  in  the  fetid  swamps  and 
lagoons,  the  brilliant  coral  and  the  deadly  mdpina.  Beneath 
the  forest  leaves  coils  the  brown  adder,  whose  sting  proves 
fatal  within  three  days. 

To  those  who  see  only  these  aspects  of  the  jungle,  a  journey 
such  as  that  undertaken  by  Rosendo  and  his  intrepid  little 
band  would  prove  a  terrifying  experience,  a  constant  repeti 
tion  of  nerve-shocks,  under  which  the  "centers"  must  ulti 
mately  give  way.  But  to  the  two  Americans,  fresh  from  the 
mining  camps  of  the  West,  and  attuned  to  any  pitch  that 
Nature  might  strike  in  her  marvelous  symphony,  the  expe 
rience  was  one  to  be  taken  in  the  same  spirit  as  all  else  that 
pertained  to  their  romantic  calling.  Rosendo  and  his  men  ac 
cepted  the  day's  stint  of  toil  and  danger  with  dull  stolidity. 
Carmen  threw  herself  upon  her  thought,  and  saw  in  her  shift 
ing  environment  only  the  human  mind's  interpretation  of  its 
mixed  concept  of  good  and  evil.  The  insects  swarmed  around 
her  as  around  the  others.  The  tantalizing  jejenes  urged  their 
insidious  attacks  upon  her,  as  upon  the  rest.  Her  hands  were 
dotted  with  tiny  blood-blisters  where  the  ravenous  gnats  had 
fed.  But  she  uttered  no  complaint;  nor  would  she  discuss  the 
matter  when  Harris  proffered  his  sympathy,  and  showed  his 
own  red  hands. 

"It  isn't  true,"  she  wyould  say.  "But  you  have  no  religion, 
and  you  don't  understand — as  yet." 

"Don't  understand?  And  it  isn't  true,  eh?  Well,  you  have 
mighty  strange  beliefs,  young  lady!" 

"But  not  as  strange  and  illogical  as  those  you  hold,"  she 
replied. 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  anything,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders.  "I'm  an  agnostic,  you  know." 

"There  is  just  wrhere  you  mistake,  Mr.  Harris,"  she  returned 
gravely.  "For,  instead  of  not  believing  anything,  you  firmly 
believe  in  the  presence  and  power  of  evil.  It  is  just  those  very 
people  who  boast  that  they  do  not  believe  in  anything  who  be 
lieve  most  thoroughly  in  evil  and  its  omnipotence  and  omni 
presence." 

Yes,  even  the  animals  which  she  saw  about  her  were  but 
the  human  mind's  concepts  of  God's  ideas — not  real.  Adam 

3G9 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


had  named  them.  In  the  Bible  allegory,  or  dream,  the  human, 
mortal  mind  names  all  its  own  material  concepts. 

The  days  wore  on  \vith  dull  regularity.  From  the  rippling 
Tiguicito,  which  they  reached  choking  with  thirst  and  utterly 
exhausted,  they  dropped  down  again  to  the  Boque,  where  they 
established  camps  and  began  to  prospect  the  Molino  company's 
"near-mines,"  as  Harris  called  them  after  the  first  few  unsuc 
cessful  attempts  to  get  "colors"  out  of  the  barren  soil.  At 
certain  points,  where  there  seemed  a  more  likely  prospect, 
they  remained  for  days,  until  the  men,  under  Rosendo's  guid 
ance,  could  sink  pits  to  the  underlying  bedrock.  Such  work 
was  done  with  the  crudest  of  tools — an  iron  bar,  wooden  scrap 
ers  in  lieu  of  shovels,  and  wooden  bateas  in  which  the  men 
handed  the  loosened  dirt  up  from  one  stage  to  another  and 
out  to  the  surface.  It  was  slow,  torturing  work.  The  men 
grew  restive.  The  food  ran  low,  and  they  complained. 

Then  Harris  one  evening  stumbled  upon  a  tapir,  just  as 
the  great  animal  had  forded  the  river  and  was  shambling  into 
the  bush  opposite.  He  emptied  his  rifle  magazine  into  the 
beast.  It  fell  with  a  broken  hip,  and  the  men  finished  it  with 
their  machetes.  Its  hide  was  nearly  a  half  inch  in  thickness, 
and  covered  with  garrapatas — fierce,  burrowing  vermin,  with 
hooked  claws,  W7hich  came  upon  the  travelers  and  caused  them 
intense  annoyance  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  journey. 

Then  Reed  shot  a  deer,  a  delicate,  big-eyed  creature  that 
had  never  seen  a  human  being  and  was  too  surprised  to  flee. 
Later,  Fidel  Avila  felled  another  with  a  large  stone.  And, 
finally,  monkeys  became  so  plentiful  that  the  men  all  but  re 
fused  to  eat  them  any  longer. 

Two  weeks  were  spent  around  the  mouth  of  the  Tiguicito 
and  the  Boque  canon.  Then  Reed  gave  the  order  to  advance. 
The  little  party  shouldered  their  packs  and  began  the  ascent 
of  the  ragged  gorge.  For  days  they  clambered  up  and  down 
the  jagged  walls  of  the  cut,  or  skirted  its  densely  covered  mar 
gin.  Twice  Harris  fell  into  the  brawling  stream  below,  and 
was  fished  out  by  Rosendo,  his  eyes  popping,  and  his  mouth 
choked  with  uncomplimentary  opinion  regarding  mountain 
travel  in  the  tropics.  Once,  seizing  a  slender  vine  to  aid  him 
in  climbing,  he  gave  a  sudden  lurch  and  swung  out  unexpect 
edly  over  the  gorge,  hundreds  of  feet  deep.  Again  Rosendo, 
who  by  this  time  had  learned  to  keep  one  eye  on  the  ground 
and  the  other  on  the  irresponsible  Harris,  rescued  him  from 
his  perilous  position. 

"Why  don't  you  watch  where  you  are  going?"  queried  the 
laughing  Carmen. 

"I  might,"  sputtered  Harris,  "if  I  could  keep  my  eyes  off 

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of  you."  Whereat  Carmen  pursed  her  lips  and  told  him  to 
reserve  his  compliments  for  those  who  knew  how  to  appraise 
them  rightly. 

They  camped  where  night  overtook  them,  out  in  the  open, 
often  falling  asleep  without  waiting  to  build  a  fire,  but  eating 
soggy  corn  arepa  and  tinned  food,  and  drinking  cold  coffee 
left  from  the  early  morning  repast.  But  sometimes,  when  the 
fatigue  of  day  was  less,  they  would  gather  about  their  little 
fire,  chilled  and  dripping,  and  beg  Carmen  to  sing  to  them 
while  they  prepared  supper.  Then  her  clear  voice  would  ring 
out  over  the  great  canon  and  into  the  vast  solitudes  on  either 
hand  in  strange,  vivid  contrast  to  the  cries  and  weird  sounds 
of  the  jungle;  and  the  two  Americans  would  sit  and  look  at 
her  as  if  they  half  believed  her  a  creature  from  another  world. 
Sometimes  Harris  would  draw  her  into  conversation  on  topics 
pertaining  to  philosophy  and  religion,  for  he  had  early  seen 
her  bent  and,  agnostic  that  he  was,  delighted  to  hear  her  ex 
press  her  views,  which  to  him  were  so  childishly  impossible. 
But  as  often  he  would  voluntarily  retire  from  the  conflict, 
sometimes  shaking  his  head  dubiously,  sometimes  muttering 
his  impatience  with  a  mere  child  whose  logic  he,  despite  his 
collegiate  training,  could  not  refute.  He  was  as  full  of  philo 
sophical  theories  as  a  nut  with  meat;  but  when  she  asked  for 
proofs,  for  less  human  belief  and  more  demonstration,  he 
hoisted  the  white  flag  and  retired  from  the  field.  But  his  ad 
miration  for  the  child  became  sincere.  His  respect  for  her 
waxed  daily  stronger.  And  by  the  time  they  had  reached  the 
great  divide  through  which  the  Rosario  fell,  he  was  dimly 
aware  of  a  feeling  toward  the  beautiful  creature  who  walked 
at  his  side  day  after  day,  sharing  without  complaint  hardship 
and  fatigue  that  sorely  taxed  his  own  endurance,  that  was 
something  more  than  mere  regard,  and  he  had  begun  to  specu 
late  vaguely  on  a  possible  future  in  which  she  became  the 
central  figure. 

At  Rosario  creek  they  left  the  great  canon  and  turned  into 
the  rugged  defile  which  wound  its  tortuous  course  upward  into 
the  heights  of  the  Barra  Principal.  They  were  now  in  a  re 
gion  where,  in  Rosendo's  belief,  there  was  not  one  human  being 
in  an  area  of  a  hundred  square  miles.  He  himself  was  in  sore 
doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  quebrada  which  they  were  follow 
ing.  But  it  tallied  with  the  brief  description  given  him  by 
Don  Nicolas.  And,  moreover,  which  was  even  more  impor 
tant,  as  they  began  its  ascent  there  came  to  him  that  sense  of 
conviction  which  every  true  son  of  the  jungle  feels  when  he  is 
following  the  right  course.  He  might  not  say  how  he  knew  he 
was  right;  but  he  followed  the  leading  without  further  ques 
tion. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


Up  over  the  steep  talus  at  the  base  of  the  canon  wall  they 
clambered,  up  into  the  narrowing  arroyo,  cutting  every  foot 
of  the  way,  for  the  macheteros  were  now  no  longer  keeping 
ahead  of  them — the  common  danger  held  the  band  united. 
Often  they  believed  they  discovered  traces  of  ancient  trails. 
But  the  jealous  forest  had  all  but  obliterated  them,  and  they 
could  not  be  certain.  In  the  higher  and  drier  parts  of  the 
forest,  where  they  left  the  creek  and  followed  the  beds  of  dead 
streams,  slender  ditches  through  which  the  water  raced  in 
torrents  during  the  wet  season,  they  were  set  upon  by  count 
less  swarms  of  bees,  a  strange,  stingless  variety  that  covered 
them  in  a  buzzing,  crawling  mass,  struggling  and  fighting  for 
the  salt  in  the  perspiration  which  exuded  from  the  human 
bodies.  Harris  swore  he  would  cease  to  eat,  for  he  could  not 
take  even  a  mouthful  of  food  without  at  the  same  time  taking 
in  a  multitude  of  bees.  Often,  too,  their  machetes  cut  into 
great  hornet  nests.  Then,  with  the  shrill  cry,  "Avispas!"  Ro- 
sendo  would  tear  recklessly  through  the  matted  jungle,  fol 
lowed  by  his  slapping,  stumbling  companions,  until  the  mad 
dened  insects  gave  up  the  chase.  Frequently  they  walked 
into  huge  ant  nests  before  they  realized  it,  sometimes  the  great 
tucanderas,  so  ferociously  poisonous.  "Ah,  seiiores,"  com 
mented  Rosendo,  as  he  once  stopped  to  point  out  the  marvelous 
roadway  cut  by  these  insects  for  miles  straight  through  the 
jungle,  "in  the  days  of  the  Spaniards  the  cruel  taskmasters 
would  often  tie  the  weak  and  sick  slaves  to  trees  in  the  depths 
of  the  forest  and  let  these  great  ants  devour  them  alive! 
Senores,  you  can  never  know  the  terrible  crimes  committed  by 
the  Spaniards!" 

"And  they  were  Christians!"  murmured  Harris,  eying  Car 
men  furtively. 

But  she  knew,  though  she  voiced  it  not,  that  the  Spaniard 
had  never  known  the  Christ. 

Night  was  spent  on  the  summit  of  the  divide.  Then,  with 
out  further  respite,  Rosendo  urged  the  descent.  Down  through 
ravines  and  gullies;  over  monster  bowlders;  waist  deep  through 
streams;  down  the  sheer  sides  of  gorges  on  natural  ladders 
formed  by  the  hanging  mora  vines;  skirting  cliffs  by  the  aid  of 
tangled  and  interlaced  roots  of  rank,  wet  vegetation;  and  then 
down  again  into  river  bottoms,  where  the  tenacious  mud  chal 
lenged  their  every  step,  and  the  streams  became  an  interminable 
morass,  through  which  passage  was  possible  only  by  jumping 
from  root  to  root,  where  the  gnarled  feeders  of  the  great  trees 
projected  above  the  bottomless  ooze.  The  persecution  of  the 
jejenes  became  diabolical.  At  dawn  and  sunset  the  raucous 
bellow  of  the  red-roarer  monkeys  made  the  air  hideous.  The 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


flickering  lights  of  the  forest  became  dismally  depressing.  The 
men  grew  morose  and  sullen.  Reed  and  Harris  quarreled  with 
each  other  on  the  slightest  provocation. 

Then,  to  increase  their  misery,  came  the  rain.  It  fell  upon 
them  in  the  river  bottoms  in  fierce,  driving  gusts;  then  in  sheets 
that  blotted  out  the  forest  and  wet  their  very  souls.  The 
heavens  split  with  the  lightning.  The  mountains  roared  and 
trembled  with  the  hideous  cannonade  of  thunder.  The  jungle- 
matted  hills  ran  with  the  flood.  An  unvaried  pall  of  vapor  hung 
over  the  steaming  ground,  through  which  uncanny,  phantas 
magoric  shapes  peered  at  the  struggling  little  band. 

Again  the  sun  burst  forth,  and  a  fiery  vapor  seethed  above 
the  moist  earth.  The  reek  of  their  damp  clothing  and  the  acrid 
odor  of  the  \vet  soil  increased  the  enervation  of  their  hard 
travel.  Again  and  again  the  peevish  Harris  accused  Rosendo 
of  having  lost  the  way.  The  old  man  patiently  bore  the  abuse. 
Reed  chided  Harris,  and  at  length  quarreled  violently  with  him, 
although  his  own  apprehension  waxed  continually  greater. 
Carmen  said  little.  Hour  after  hour  she  toiled  along,  flounder 
ing  through  the  bogs,  fording  the  deeper  streams  on  Rosendo's 
broad  back,  whispering  softly  to  him  at  times,  often  seizing 
and  pressing  his  great  horny  hand,  but  holding  her  peace. 
In  vain  at  evening,  when  gathered  about  the  damp,  smudging 
firewood,  Harris  would  bring  up  to  her  the  causes  of  her  flight. 
In  vain  he  would  accuse  the  unfortunate  Alcalde,  the  Bishop, 
the  soldiers.  Carmen  refused  to  lend  ear  to  it,  or  to  see  in  it 
anything  more  than  a  varied  expression  of  the  human  mind. 
Personality  was  never  for  a  moment  considered.  She  saw,  not 
persons,  not  things,  but  expressions  of  thought  in  the  phe 
nomena  which  had  combined  to  urge  her  out  of  her  former 
environment  and  cast  her  into  the  trackless  jungle. 

At  length,  one  day,  when  it  seemed  to  the  exhausted  travel 
ers  that  human  endurance  could  stand  no  more,  Rosendo,  who 
had  long  been  straining  his  ears  in  the  direction  straight  ahead, 
announced  that  the  singing  noise  which  floated  to  them  as 
they  descended  a  low  hill  and  plunged  into  a  thicket  of  tall 
lush  grass,  undoubtedly  came  from  the  river  Tigui.  Another 
hour  of  straining  and  plunging  through  the  dense  growth 
followed;  and  then,  with  a  final  effort,  which  manifested  in  a 
sort  of  frenzied  rush,  the  little  band  emerged  suddenly  upon 
the  east  bank  of  the  crystal  stream,  glittering  and  shimmering 
in  the  bright  morning  sun  as  it  sang  and  rippled  on  its  solitary 
way  through  the  great  jungle. 

The  men  threw  off  their  packs  and  sprawled  full  length 
upon  the  ground.  Rosendo  pointed  across  the  river. 

"La  Colorado,"  he  said,  indicating  what  the  Americans  at 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


length  made  out  to  be  a  frame  house,  looming  above  the  high 
grass.  "And  there,"  pointing  to  the  north,  "is  Pozo  Cayman, 
where  the  trail  begins  that  leads  to  La  Libertad." 

That  night,  as  they  lay  on  the  rough  board  floor  of  the 
house  at  La  Colorado,  Rosendo  told  them  the  story  of  the  mis 
guided  Frenchmen  who,  years  before,  had  penetrated  this  wild 
region,  located  a  barren  quartz  vein,  then  floated  a  company 
and  begun  developments.  A  considerable  colony  settled  here. 
The  soil  was  fertile;  the  undeveloped  country  ceaselessly  rich 
in  every  resource,  the  water  pure  and  sparkling,  and  abound 
ing  in  fish.  The  climate,  too,  was  moderate  and  agreeable. 
It  seemed  to  the  foreigners  a  terrestrial  paradise.  But  then 
came  the  insidious  fever.  It  crept  out  of  the  jungle  like  a  thief 
in  the  night.  One  by  one  the  Frenchmen  fell  sick  and  died. 
Panic  seized  upon  them.  Those  unafflicted  fled — all  but  one. 
He  remained  to  protect  the  company's  property.  But  he,  too, 
fell  a  victim  to  the  plague.  One  day,  as  he  lay  burning  upon 
his  bed,  he  called  feebly  to  his  one  remaining  servant,  the 
native  cook,  to  bring  him  the  little  package  of  quinine.  She 
hastened  to  comply;  but,  alas!  she  brought  the  packet  of  strych 
nine  instead,  and  soon  he,  too,  had  joined  his  companions  in 
that  unknown  country  which  awaits  us  all.  The  old  woman 
fled  in  terror;  and  the  evil  spirits  descended  upon  the  place. 
They  haunt  it  yet,  and  no  man  approaches  it  but  with  trembling. 

Reed  and  Harris  listened  to  the  wreird  story  with  strange 
sensations.  The  clouds  above  had  broken,  and  the  late  moon 
streamed  through  the  night  vapor,  and  poured  through  the 
bamboo  walls  of  the  house.  The  giant  frogs  in  the  near-by 
creek  awoke,  and  through  the  long  night  croaked  their  mourn 
ful  plaint  in  a  weird  minor  cadence  that  seemed  to  the  awed 
Americans  to  voice  to  the  shimmering  moon  the  countless 
WTongs  of  the  primitive  Indians,  who,  centuries  before,  had 
roamed  this  marvelous  land  in  happy  freedom,  until  the 
Spaniard  descended  like  a  dark  cloud  and,  with  rack  and 
stake,  fastened  his  blighting  religion  upon  them. 

A  day's  rest  at  La  Colorado  sufficed  to  revive  the  spirits  of 
the  party  and  prepare  them  for  the  additional  eight  or  ten 
hour  journey  over  boggy  morass  and  steep  hill  to  La  Libertad. 
For  this  trip  Rosendo  would  take  only  the  Americans  and 
Carmen.  The  cargadores  wrere  not  to  know  the  nature  of  this 
expedition,  wrhich,  Rosendo  announced,  was  undertaken  that 
the  Americans  might  explore  for  two  days  the  region  around 
the  upper  Tigui.  The  men  received  this  explanation  with 
grunts  of  satisfaction. 

Trembling  with  suppressed  excitement,  oblivious  now  of 
fatigue,  hunger,  or  hardship,  Reed  and  Harris  followed  the  old 

374 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


man  that  day  over  the  ancient,  obliterated  trail  to  the  forgotten 
mine  of  Don  Ignacio  de  Rincon.  They  experienced  all  the 
sensations  of  those  who  find  themselves  at  last  on  the  course 
that  leads  to  buried  treasure.  To  Harris,  the  romance  attach 
ing  to  the  expedition  obliterated  all  other  considerations.  But 
Reed  was  busy  with  the  practical  end  of  it,  with  costs,  with  the 
problems  of  supplies,  of  transportation,  and  trail.  Carmen 
saw  but  one  vision,  the  man  in  far-off  Simiti,  whose  ancestor 
once  owned  the  great  mine  which  lay  just  ahead  of  them. 

When  night  fell,  the  four  stood,  silent  and  wondering,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  crumbling  tunnel,  where  lay  a  rusted  shovel 
bearing  the  scarce  distinguishable  inscription,  "I   de  R." 
****** 

Two  weeks  later  a  group  of  natives,  sitting  at  a  feast  of 
baked  alligator  tail,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Amaceri,  near  the 
dirty,  straggling  riverine  towrn  of  Llano,  rose  in  astonishment  as 
they  saw  issuing  from  the  clayey,  wallowing  Guamoco  trail  a 
staggering  band  of  travelers,  among  them  two  foreigners, 
whose  clothes  were  in  shreds  and  whose  beards  and  unkempt 
hair  were  caked  with  yellow  mud.  With  them  came  a  young 
girl,  lightly  clad  and  wearing  torn  rope  alpargates  on  her  bare 
feet.  The  heat  was  descending  in  torrents.  From  the  neighbor 
ing  town  floated  a  brawling  bedlam  of  human  voices.  It  was 
Sunday,  and  the  villagers  were  celebrating  a  religious  fiesta. 

"Compadres,"  said  Rosendo,  approaching  the  half-intoxi 
cated  group.  "The  boat — which  way?" 

One  of  the  group,  his  mouth  too  full  to  speak,  pointed  in 
expressive  pantomime  up-stream.  Rosendo  murmured  a  fer 
vent  "Loado  sea  Dios"  and  sank  upon  the  ground. 

"It  will  be  down  to-morrow — to-day,  perhaps,"  gurgled  an 
other  of  the  rapidly  recovering  feasters,  his  eyes  roving  from 
one  member  to  another  of  the  weird-looking  little  band. 

"Lord  Harry!"  exclaimed  Harris,  as  he  squatted  upon  the 
damp  ground  and  mopped  his  muddy  brow.  "I'm  a  sala 
mander  for  heat,  that's  certain!" 

"Senor,"  said  Rosendo,  addressing  Reed,  "it  would  be  well 
to  pay  the  men  at  once,  for  the  boat  may  appear  at  any  time, 
and  it  will  not  wait  long." 

While  the  curious  group  from  the  village  crowded  about  and 
eagerly  wratched  the  proceedings,  Reed  unstrapped  his  pack 
and  drew  out  a  bundle  of  Colombian  bills,  with  which  he  began 
to  pay  the  cargadores,  according  to  the  reckoning  which  Ro 
sendo  had  kept.  As  the  last  man,  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction, 
received  his  money,  Harris  exclaimed:  "And  to  think,  one 
good  American  dollar  is  worth  a  bushel  of  that  paper  stuff!" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  a  shrill 

375 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


whistle  came  echoing  down  the  river.  A  cloud  of  smoke 
above  the  distant  treetops  heralded  the  approach  of  the  steam 
er.  The  little  party  had  escaped  a  wait  of  a  month  in  the 
drenching  heat  of  Llano  by  the  narrow  margin  of  an  hour. 

Rosendo  hastened  to  Reed  and  drew  him  aside.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  words  failed  him.  Reed  took  his  hand.  "I  under 
stand,  my  friend,"  he  said  gently.  "Have  no  fear.  The  mine 
is  all  I  had  anticipated.  My  wife  and  I  will  care  for  the  girl 
until  we  hear  from  you.  And  we  will  keep  in  touch  with  you, 
although  it  will  take  two  months  for  a  letter  to  reach  us  and 
our  reply  to  get  back  again  to  Simiti.  The  development  com 
pany  will  be  formed  at  once.  Within  six  months  you  may 
expect  to  see  the  work  started.  It  is  your  fortune — and  the 
girl's." 

Carmen  drew  close  to  Rosendo.  "Padre,  I  am  coming  back 
to  you — yes?" 

"Cierto,  chiquita!"  The  old  man  would  not  permit  him 
self  to  say  more.  The  girl  had  known  for  some  time  that  he 
was  not  to  accompany  her  to  the  States,  and  that  she  should 
not  see  Ana  in  Cartagena.  To  this  she  had  at  length  accus 
tomed  herself. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  lumbering  boat  had  swung  around  and 
thrown  out  its  gang  plank.  A  hurried  embrace;  a  struggle 
with  rushing  tears;  another  shriek  from  the  boat  whistle;  and 
the  Americans,  with  Carmen  standing  mute  and  motionless 
between  them,  looked  back  at  the  fading  group  on  shore,  where 
Rosendo's  tall  figure  stood  silhouetted  against  the  green  back 
ground  of  the  forest.  For  a  moment  he  held  his  arm  extended 
toward  them.  Carmen  knew,  as  she  looked  at  the  great-hearted 
man  for  the  last  time,  that  his  benediction  was  following  her 
— following  her  into  that  new  world  into  which  he  might  not 
enter. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Reed  lifted  the  silent,  wondering,  big-eyed  girl  from  the 
dinkey  train  which  pulled  into  Cartagena  from  Calamar  ten 
days  later,  and  took  her  to  the  Hotel  Mariana,  where  his 
anxious,  fretting  wife  awraited.  Their  boat  had  hung  on  a 
hidden  bar  in  the  Cauca  river  for  four  interminable,  torturing 
days. 


376 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  39 

ON  the  day  that  Carmen  arrived  in  Cartagena,  Rosendo  stag 
gered  down  the  Guamoco  trail  into  Simiti.    On  that  same 
momentous  day  the  flames  of  war  again  flared  up  through 
out  the  country.     The  Simiti  episode,  in  which  the  President 
had  interfered,  brought  Congress  to  the  necessity  of  action.  t  A 
few  days   of  fiery  debate   followed;    then   the  noxious    meas 
ure    was    taken    from    the   table   and    hastily   enacted   into    a 
law. 

But  news  travels  slowly  in  Latin  America,  and  some  time 
was  required  for  this  act  of  Congress  to  become  generally 
known.  The  delay  saw  Carmen  through  the  jungle  and  down 
to  the  coast.  There  Reed  lost  no  time  in  transacting  what  busi 
ness  still  remained  for  him  in  Cartagena,  and  securing  trans 
portation  for  his  party  to  New  York. 

Jose,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self,  clung  pitiably  to  Ro- 
sendo's  hand,  imploring  the  constant  repetition  of  the  old 
man's  narrative.  Then  came  Juan,  flying  to  the  door.  He 
had  seen  and  talked  with  the  returned  cargadores.  The  girl 
had  not  come  back  with  them.  He  demanded  to  know  why. 
He  became  wild.  Neither  Jose  nor  Rosendo  could  calm  him. 
At  length  it  seemed  wise  to  them  both  to  tell  him  that  she 
had  gone  to  the  States  with  the  Americans,  and  would  return 
to  Simiti  no  more. 

The  blow  almost  crushed  the  lad.  He  rushed  about  the 
town  half  dazed.  He  gathered  groups  of  companions  about 
him  and  talked  to  them  excitedly.  He  threatened  Rosendo  and 
Jose.  Then,  evidently  acting  on  the  advice  of  some  cooler  head, 
he  rushed  to  his  canoe  and  put  off  across  the  lake  toward  the 
carlo.  He  did  not  return  for  several  days.  But  when  he  did, 
the  town  knew  that  he  had  been  to  Bodega  Central,  and  that 
the  country  was  aflame  with  war. 

****** 

Reed's  wife  had  not  received  Carmen  in  an  amiable  frame 
of  mind.  "For  heaven's  sake,  Charles,"  she  had  cried,  turning 
from  his  embrace  to  look  at  the  wondering  girl  who  stood 
behind  him,  "what  have  you  here?" 

"Oh,  that,"  he  laughingly  replied,  "is  only  a  little  Indian  I 
lassoed  back  in  the  jungle."  And,  leaving  the  girl  to  the  not 
very  tender  graces  of  his  wife,  he  hurried  out  to  arrange  for 
the  return  voyage. 

At  noon,  when  Harris  appeared  at  Reed's  room,  Carmen 
rushed  to  him  and  begged  to  be  taken  for  a  stroll  through  the 

34  377 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


town.  Yielding  to  her  husband's  insistence,  Mrs.  Reed  had 
outfitted  the  girl,  so  that  she  presented  a  more  civilized  ap 
pearance.  At  first  Carmen  had  been  delighted  with  her  new 
clothes.  They  were  such,  cheap  as  they  were,  as  she  had  never 
seen  in  Simiti.  But  the  shoes — "Ah,  senora,"  she  pleaded,  "do 
not  make  me  \vear  them,  they  are  so  tight !  I  have  never  worn 
shoes  before."  She  was  beginning  her  education  in  the  con 
ventions  and  trammels  of  civilization. 

As  Carmen  and  Harris  stood  that  afternoon  in  the  public 
square,  while  the  girl  gazed  enraptured  at  an  equestrian  statue 
of  Simon  Bolivar,  a  ragged  little  urchin  approached  and 
begged  them  to  buy  an  afternoon  paper.  Harris  humored  him 
and  bade  Carmen  ask  him  his  name. 

"Rincon,"  the  lad  answered,  drawing  himself  up  proudly. 

The  girl  started.  "Rincon!"  she  repeated.  "Why — where 
do  you  live?" 

"In  the  Calle  Lozano,"  he  replied,  wondering  why  these 
people  seemed  interested  in  him. 

Carmen  translated  the  conversation  to  Harris.  "Ask  him 
who  his  father  is,"  suggested  the  latter. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  little  fellow,  shaking  his  head. 
"I  never  saw  him.  He  lives  far  away,  up  the  great  river,  so 
Tia  Catalina  says.  And  she  says  he  is  a  priest." 

The  color  suddenly  left  Carmen's  cheeks.  "Come  with  me 
to  your  home,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand. 

The  boy  led  them  willingly  through  the  winding  streets  to 
the  little  upper  room  where,  years  before,  he  had  first  seen  the 
light. 

"Tia  Catalina,"  he  cried  to  the  shabby  woman  who  rose  in 
amazement  as  the  visitors  entered,  "see,  some  strangers!" 

Carmen  lost  no  time,  but  went  at  once  to  the  heart  of  her 
question. 

"The  little  fellow's  father — he  is  a  Rincon?  And — he  lives 
up  the  great  river?" 

The  woman  eyed  her  suspiciously  for  some  moments  with 
out  replying.  But  the  boy  answered  for  her.  "Yes,  senorita," 
he  said  eagerly,  "in  Simiti.  And  his  name — I  am  named  for 
him — it  is  Jose.  And  I  am  going  to  visit  him  some  day.  Tia 
Catalina  said  I  should,  no,  Tia?" 

Harris  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  some  money, 
which  he  handed  to  the  woman.  Her  eyes  lighted,  and  a  cav 
ernous  smile  spread  over  her  wrinkled  face. 

"Ah,  gracias,  senor,"  she  murmured,  bending  over  his 
hand;  "we  need  it.  The  boy's  father  has  sent  us  but  little  of 
late." 

Carmen's  heart  wras  fluttering  wildly.    "Tell  me,"  she  said  in 

378 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


a  cold  voice,  "the  boy's  father  is  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon,  of 
Simiti?  You  need  not  fear  to  speak.  We  have  just  come  from 
Simiti,  and  have  seen  him.  We  are  leaving  to-morrow  for  the 
States." 

"Yes,  senorita,"  replied  the  woman  in  a  thin,  cracking 
voice,  now  completely  disarmed  of  her  suspicion.  "The  little 
fellow  was  born  here  some  seven  years  ago.  Ah,  well  I  re 
member  the  day!  And  his  mother,  poor  little  lamb!  She 
died  the  same  night.  But  the  good  Padre  has  sent  us  money 
ever  since  to  care  for  him,  until  of  late.  Senorita,  why  is  it, 
think  you,  that  he  sends  us  so  little  now?" 

"I — do — not — know,"  murmured  Carmen  abstractedly, 
scarce  hearing  the  woman.  Then  she  turned  to  the  boy.  She 
bent  over  him  and  looked  long  and  wistfully  into  his  eyes. 
He  was  a  bright,  handsome  little  fellow;  and  though  her  heart 
was  crushed,  she  took  him  into  it.  Swallowing  the  lump  which 
had  come  into  her  throat,  she  drew  him  to  the  window  and 
sat  down,  holding  him  before  her. 

"Your  father — I  know  him — well.  He  is  a — a  good  man. 
But — I  did  not  know — I  never  knew  that  he  had  a  son."  She 
stopped,  choking. 

"Tia  Catalina  says  he  is  a  fine  man,"  proudly  answered  the 
boy.  "And  she  wants  me  to  be  a  priest,  too.  But  I  am  going 
to  be  a  bull-fighter." 

"It  is  true,  senorita,"  interposed  the  woman.  "We  cannot 
keep  him  from  the  arena  now.  He  hangs  about  it  all  day,  and 
about  the  slaughter-house.  We  can  hardly  drag  him  back  to 
his  meals.  What  can  we  do,  senorita?  But,"  with  a  touch  of 
pride  as  she  looked  at  him,  "if  he  becomes  a  bull-fighter,  he 
will  be  the  best  of  them  all!" 

Carmen  turned  again  to  the  woman.  Her  question  carried 
an  appeal  which  came  from  the  depths  of  her  soul.  "Senora, 
is  there  no  doubt — no  doubt  that  Padre  Rincon  is  the  father 
of  the  boy?" 

"We  think  not,  senorita.  The  lad's  mother  died  in  the 
good  Padre's  arms.  She  would  not  say  positively  who  was  the 
boy's  father.  We  thought  at  first — it  was  some  one  else.  Mar- 
celena  insisted  on  it  to  her  dying  day.  But  now — now  we 
know  that  it  was  Padre  Jose.  And  he  was  sent  to  Simiti  for 
it.  But — ah,  senorita,  the  little  mother  was  so  beauti 
ful,  and  so  good !  She— but,  senorita,  you  are  not  leaving 
so  soon?" 

Carmen  had  risen.  "Yes,  my  good  senora,"  she  said  weari 
ly.  "We  must  now  return  to  the  hotel.  But — here  is  more 
money  for  the  boy.  And,  senora,  when  I  reach  the  States  I 
will  send  you  money  every  month  for  him." 

379 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


She  took  Harris's  hand.  "Come,"  she  said  simply,  "I  have 
seen  enough  of  the  city." 

****** 

At  noon  the  next  day  a  message  from  Bodega  Central  was 
put  into  the  hand  of  the  acting-Bishop  of  Cartagena,  as  he  sat 
in  his  study,  wrapped  in  the  contemplation  of  certain  papers 
before  him.  Hostilities  had  begun  along  the  Magdalena  river 
the  day  before.  The  gates  of  Cartagena  were  to  be  barricaded 
that  day,  for  a  boatload  of  rebels  was  about  to  leave  Barran- 
quilla  to  storm  the  city  and  seize,  if  possible,  the  customs. 
When  he  had  read  the  message  he  uttered  an  exclamation. 
Had  not  the  Sister  Superior  of  the  Convent  of  Our  Lady  re 
ported  the  arrival  of  the  daughter  of  Rosendo  Ariza  some  days 
before?  He  seized  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

Hastening  to  the  Department  of  Police,  he  had  a  short 
interview  with  the  chief.  Then  that  official  despatched  police 
men  to  the  office  of  the  steamship  company,  and  to  the  dock. 
Their  orders  w7ere  to  arrest  two  Americans  who  were  abducting 
a  young  girl.  They  returned  a  half  hour  later  with  sheepish 
faces.  "Your  Excellency,"  they  announced  to  their  chief, 
"the  vessel  sailed  from  the  port  an  hour  ago,  with  the  Ameri 
cans  and  the  girl  aboard." 

The  announcement  aroused  in  Wenceslas  the  fury  of  a 
tiger.  Exacerbation  succeeded  surprise;  and  that  in  turn  gave 
way  to  a  maddening  thirst  for  sanguinary  vengeance.  He  has 
tened  out  and  despatched  a  telegraphic  message  to  Bogota. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  study  to  await  its  effect. 

Two  days  later  a  river  steamer,  impressed  by  the  federal 
authorities,  stopped  at  the  mouth  of  the  Boque,  and  a  squad  of 
soldiers  marched  over  the  unfrequented  trail  to  Simiti,  where 
they  arrived  as  night  fell.  Their  orders  were  to  take  into 
custody  the  priest,  Jose  de  Rincon,  who  was  accused  of  com 
plicity  in  the  recent  plot  to  overthrow  the  existing  govern 
ment. 

At  the  same  time,  on  a  vessel  plowing  its  way  into  the  North, 
a  young  girl,  awkwardly  wearing  her  ill-fitting  garments,  hung 
over  the  rail  and  gazed  wistfully  back  at  the  Southern  Cross. 
The  tourists  who  saw  her  heterogeneous  attire  laughed.  But 
when  they  looked  into  her  beautiful,  sad  face  their  mirth  died, 
and  a  tender  pity  stirred  their  hearts. 


380 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


BOOK  3 

AID  while  within  myself  I  trace 
The  greatness  of  some  future  race, 
Aloof  with  hermit-eye  I  scan 
The  present  works  of  present  man, — 
A  wild  and  dream-like  trade  of  blood  and  guile, 
Too  foolish  for  a  tear,  too  wicked  for  a  smile! 

— Coleridge. 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


CHAPTER  1 

THE  blanket  of  wet  fog  which  had  hung  over  the  harbor 
with  such  exasperating  tenacity  lifted  suddenly,  late 
in  the  raw  fall  afternoon,  and  revealed  to  the  wondering 
eyes  of  the  girl  who  stood  alone  at  the  rail  of  the  Joachim  a 
confusion  of  mountainous  shadows,  studded  with  myriad 
points  of  light  which  glittered  and  shimmered  beneath  the 
gray  pall.  Across  the  heaving  waters  came  the  dull,  ominous 
breathing  of  the  metropolis.  Clouds  of  heavy,  black  smoke 
wreathed  about  the  bay.  Through  it  shrieking  water  craft 
darted  and  wriggled  in  endless  confusion.  For  two  days  the 
port  of  New  York  had  been  a  bedlam  of  raw  sound,  as  the 
great  sirens  of  the  motionless  vessels  roared  their  raucous 
warnings  through  the  impenetrable  veil  which  enveloped  them. 
Their  noise  had  become  acute  torture  to  the  impatient  tourists, 
and  added  bewilderment  to  the  girl. 

The  transition  from  the  primitive  simplicity  of  her  tropical 
home  had  not  been  one  of  easy  gradation,  but  a  precipitate 
plunge.  The  convulsion  which  ensued  from  the  culmination 
of  events  long  gathering  about  little  Simiti  had  hurled  her 
through  the  forest,  down  the  scalding  river,  and  out  upon  the 
tossing  ocean  with  such  swiftness  that,  as  she  now  stood  at 
the  portal  of  a  new  world,  she  seemed  to  be  wandering  through 
the  mazes  of  an  intricate  dream.  During  the  ocean  voyage  she 
had  kept  aloof  from  the  other  passengers,  partly  because  of 
embarrassment,  partly  because  of  the  dull  pain  at  her  heart  as 
she  gazed,  day  after  day,  at  the  two  visions  which  floated  always 
before  her:  one,  the  haggard  face  of  the  priest,  when  she  tore 
herself  from  his  arms  in  far-off  Simiti;  the  other,  that  of  the 
dark-faced,  white-haired  old  man  who  stood  on  the  clayey  river 
bank  at  wretched  Llano  and  watched  her,  with  eager,  straining 
eyes,  until  the  winding  stream  hid  her  from  his  earthly  sight — 
forever.  She  wondered  dully  now  why  she  had  left  them,  why 
she  had  so  easily  yielded  to  the  influences  which  had  caused 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  separation.  They  might  have  fled  to  the  jungle  and  lived 
there  in  safety  and  seclusion.  The  malign  influences  which 
beset  them  all  in  Simiti  never  could  have  reached  them  in  the 
trackless  forest.  And  yet,  she  knew  that  had  not  Rosendo  and 
Jose  held  out  to  her,  almost  to  the  last  moment,  assurances  of 
a  speedy  reunion,  she  would  not  have  yielded  to  the  pressure 
which  they  had  exerted,  and  to  the  allurements  of  life  in  the 
wonderful  country  to  which  they  had  sent  her.  Her  embar 
rassment  on  the  boat  was  due  largely  to  a  sense  of  awkward 
ness  in  the  presence  of  women  who,  to  her  provincial  sight, 
seemed  visions  of  beauty.  To  be  sure,  the  priest  had  often 
shown  her  pictures  of  the  women  of  the  outside  world,  and 
she  had  some  idea  of  their  dress.  But  that  such  a  vast  differ 
ence  existed  between  the  illustrations  and  the  actualities,  she 
had  never  for  a  moment  imagined.  Their  gowns,  their  jewels, 
their  coiffures  held  her  in  open-mouthed  marvel,  until  Mrs. 
Reed,  herself  annoyed  and  embarrassed,  remanded  her  to  her 
cabin  and  bade  her  learn  the  impropriety  of  such  manners. 

Nor  had  the  conduct  of  this  lady  throughout  the  voyage 
conduced  to  Carmen's  happiness.  Mrs.  Reed  showed  plainly 
that  the  girl  was  an  awkward  embarrassment  to  her;  that  she 
was  tolerated  because  of  reasons  which  pertained  solely  to  her 
husband's  business;  and  she  took  pains  to  impress  upon  her 
fellow-travelers  that,  in  view  of  the  perplexing  servant  prob 
lem,  this  unmannered  creature  was  being  taken  to  the  States 
to  be  trained  as  a  maid,  though,  heaven  knew!  the  training 
would  be  arduous,  and  the  result  uncertain. 

Reed,  though  measurably  kind,  gave  Carmen  scant  atten 
tion.  Harris  alone  saved  the  girl  from  almost  complete  neglect. 
He  walked  the  deck  with  her,  regardless  of  the  smiles  of  the 
other  passengers.  He  taught  her  to  play  shuffle-board,  check 
ers,  and  simple  card  games.  He  conducted  her  over  the  boat 
and  explained  the  intricate  machinery  and  the  numberless 
wonders  of  the  great  craft.  He  sat  with  her  out  on  the  deck 
at  night  and  told  her  marvelous  stories  of  his  experiences  in 
frontier  camps.  And  at  the  table  he  insisted  that  she  occupy 
the  seat  next  to  him,  despite  the  protestations  of  the  chief 
steward,  who  would  have  placed  her  apart  with  the  servants. 

Carmen  said  little,  but  she  clung  to  the  man  with  an  ap 
peal  which,  though  mute,  he  nevertheless  understood.  At 
Kingston  he  took  her  on  a  drive  through  the  town,  and  bought 
post  cards  for  her  to  send  back  to  Jose  and  Rosendo.  It  con 
soled  her  immeasurably  when  he  glowingly  recounted  the 
pleasure  her  loved  ones  would  experience  on  receiving  these 
cards;  and  thereafter  the  girl  daily  devoted  hours  to  the  prepa 
ration  of  additional  ones  to  be  posted  in  New  York. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  lifting  of  the  fog  was  the  signal  for  a  race  among  the 
stalled  craft  to  gain  the  harbor  entrance.  The  enforced  reten 
tion  of  the  vessels  in  the  bay  had  resulted  in  much  confusion  in 
docking,  and  the  Joachim  was  assigned  to  a  pier  not  her  own. 
The  captain  grumbled,  but  had  no  choice.  At  the  pier  oppo 
site  there  docked  a  huge  liner  from  Havre;  and  the  two  boats 
poured  their  swarming  human  freight  into  the  same  shed. 
When  the  gang  plank  dropped,  Harris  took  charge  of  Carmen, 
while  Reed  and  his  wife  preceded  them  ashore,  the  latter  giving 
a  little  scream  of  delight  as  she  spied  her  sister  and  some 
friends  with  a  profusion  of  flowers  awaiting  her  on  the  pier. 
She  rushed  joyfully  into  their  arms,  while  Reed  hastened  to 
his  equipage  with  a  customs  officer. 

But  as  Harris  and  the  bewildered  Carmen  pushed  into  the 
great  crowd  in  the  shed,  the  absent-minded  man  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  had  left  a  bundle  of  Panama  hats  under 
neath  his  bunk.  Dropping  the  girl's  hand,  the  impetuous 
fellow  tore  back  up  the  gang  plank  and  dived  into  the  boat. 

For  a  moment  Carmen  stood  in  confusion,  bracing  herself 
against  the  swarming  multitude,  and  clinging  tenaciously  to 
the  small,  paper-wrapped  bundle  which  she  carried.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  follow  Harris.  But  the  eager,  belated  crowd 
almost  swept  her  off  her  feet,  and  she  turned  again,  drifting 
slowly  with  it  toward  the  distant  exit.  As  she  moved  uncer 
tainly,  struggling  the  while  to  prevent  being  crushed  against 
the  wall,  she  felt  some  one  grasp  her  hand. 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  sounded  a  gentle  voice  close  to  her 
ear.  "Well,  how  fortunate!  We  thought  we  had  lost  you! 
Come,  they  are  waiting  for  us  up  ahead." 

Carmen  looked  up  at  the  speaker.  It  was  a  woman,  comely 
of  feature,  and  strikingly  well  dressed.  The  girl  thought  her 
beautiful.  The  anxious  fears  of  a  moment  before  vanished. 
"Is  he  up  there — Mr.  Reed?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"He?  Oh,  yes — Mr.  Reed  and  the  others  are  waiting  for  us. 
They  sent  me  back  to  find  you.  The  automobiles  came  for  you 
all;  but  I  presume  the  others  have  gone  by  this  time.  How 
ever,  you  and  I  will  follow  in  mine.  I  am  Auntie." 

"His  aunt?"  the  girt  asked  eagerly,  as  the  woman  forced  a 
way  for  them  through  the  mass  of  humanity. 

"Yes,  dear.  And  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  I  have  heard  all 
about  you." 

"Did  he  write  to  you — from  Simiti?" 

"Yes,  long  letters.  And  he  told  all  about  his  little  girl.  He 
said  your  name  was — " 

"Carmen,"  interrupted  the  girl,  with  a  great  surge  of  glad 
ness,  for  here  wras  one  woman  who  did  not  avoid  her. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Yes,  Carmen.     It  is  a  sweet  name." 

"But — Mr.  Harris!"  cried  Carmen,  suddenly  stopping  as  she 
remembered. 

"Oh,  did  he  wait?  Well,  he  will  come.  He  knows  where 
to  find  the  automobiles.  I  will  leave  word  with  the  pier-master 
to  tell  him." 

By  this  time  they  had  wormed  their  way  clear  of  the  crowd 
and  gained  the  street.  The  woman,  still  retaining  Carmen's 
hand,  went  directly  to  a  waiting  automobile  and  pushed  the 
unresisting  girl  through  the  open  door.  Carmen  had  never 
seen  a  conveyance  like  this,  and  her  thought  was  instantly 
absorbed.  She  looked  wonderingly  for  the  horses.  And  then, 
sinking  into  the  luxurious  cushions,  she  fell  to  speculating  as 
to  how  the  thing  was  moved. 

As  the  chauffeur  reached  back  to  close  the  door  a  police 
man,  who  had  been  eying  the  party  since  they  came  out  of  the 
shed,  stepped  up  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  car. 

"Er — little  girl,"  he  said,  looking  in  and  addressing  Carmen, 
"you — you  know  this  lady,  do  you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Carmen,  looking  up  confidently  into  the 
woman's  smiling  face.  "She  is  Auntie,  Mr.  Reed's  aunt."  She 
thought  his  blue  uniform  and  shining  buttons  and  star  gor 
geously  beautiful. 

The  officer  stood  hesitant  a  moment.  Suspicion  lurked  in 
his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the  woman  and  then  back  again  at 
the  girl. 

"She  is  a  little  girl  who  came  up  from  the  South  with  my 
nephew,  Mr.  Reed,"  the  woman  explained  easily.  "But  I  don't 
wronder  you  asked.  I  \vill  give  you  my  card,  if  you  wish." 

Her  air  was  supremely  confident.  The  chauffeur,  too,  as  he 
got  out  and  leisurely  examined  his  engine,  served  further  to 
disarm  suspicion.  The  officer  raised  up  and  removed  his  hand 
from  the  machine.  The  chauffeur  slowly  mounted  the  box  and 
threw  on  his  lever.  As  the  car  moved  gently  into  the  night  the 
officer  glanced  at  its  number.  "Hell!"  he  muttered,  turning 
away.  "What's  the  use?  The  number  would  be  changed  any 
way.  What's  a  fellow  going  to  do  in  a  case  like  this,  I'd  like 
to  know — go  with  'em?" 

Some  minutes  later,  Harris,  wrild  and  disheveled,  followed 
by  Reed  and  his  party,  emerged  hurriedly  into  the  street. 

"What  you  looking  for?"  asked  the  officer,  planting  him 
self  in  front  of  Harris,  and  becoming  vaguely  apprehensive. 

"Girl!"  sputtered  Harris,  his  eyes  protruding  and  his  long 
arms  pawing  the  air.  "Girl — so  high — funny  dress — big  straw 
hat!  Seen  her?" 

The  officer  gasped.  "She's  gone!  Aunt  took  her  just  now 
in  an  auto!" 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Aunt!"  yelled  Harris.  "She's  got  no  aunt!  She's  from  the 
jungle!" 

For  a  moment  they  all  stood  silent,  big-eyed  and  gaping. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Officer,"  said  Reed,  interposing.  "My 
name's  Reed.  The  girl  came  up  from  South  America  with  me. 
Describe  the  woman— 

"Reed!"  cried  the  policeman  excitedly,  his  eyes  lighting. 
"That's  it!  Said  she  was  your  aunt!" 

"Lord  Harry!  You  great,  blundering  boob!"  cried  the  dis 
tracted  Harris,  menacing  the  confused  officer.  "And  you  let 
her  nab  the  kid?" 

Night  had  fallen,  and  a  curious  crowd  was  gathering  around 
the  excited,  noisy  group.  Reed  quickly  signaled  a  taxicab  and 
hustled  the  bewildered  officer  into  it.  "You,  Harris,  get  the 
women  folks  home,  and  wait  for  me!  I'll  go  to  central  with 
this  officer  and  report  the  case!" 

"Not  I!"  exclaimed  Harris  wildly.  "I'm  going  to  visit  every 
dance  hall  and  dive  in  this  bloomin'  town  before  I  go  home! 
I'm  going  to  find  that  girl!  And  you,  you  blithering  idiot," 
shaking  a  fist  at  the  officer,  "you're  going  to  lose  your  star 
for  this!" 

Meantime,  the  car,  in  which  Carmen  lay  deep  in  the  soft 
cushions,  sped  through  the  dusk  like  a  fell  spirit.  A  confused 
jumble  of  shadows  Hew  past,  and  strange,  unfamiliar  noises 
rose  from  the  animated  streets.  The  lights  shimmered  on  the 
moist  glass.  It  wras  confusing.  The  girl  ceased  trying  to  read 
any  meaning  in  it.  It  all  fused  into  a  blur;  and  she  closed  her 
eyes  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  novel  sensations  stimulated  by 
her  first  ride  in  a  carriage  propelled — she  knew  not  how. 

At  length  came  a  creaking,  a  soft,  skidding  motion,  and 
the  big  car  rolled  up  against  a  curb  and  stopped. 

"We  are  home  now,"  said  the  woman  softly,  as  she  de 
scended  and  again  took  Carmen's  hand.  They  hurriedly 
mounted  the  white  stone  steps  of  a  tall,  gloomy  building  and 
entered  a  door  that  seemed  to  open  noiselessly  at  their  ap 
proach.  A  glare  of  light  burst  upon  the  blinking  eyes  of  the 
girl.  A  negro  woman  softly  closed  the  door  after  them.  With 
a  wondering  glance,  Carmen  looked  about  her.  In  the  room 
at  her  right  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  women — beautiful,  they 
seemed  to  her — clad  in  loose,  low-cut,  gaily  colored  gowns. 
There  were  men  there,  too;  and  some  one  sat  at  a  piano  playing 
sprightly  music.  She  had  seen  pianos  like  that  in  Cartagena, 
and  on  the  boat,  and  they  had  seemed  to  her  things  bewitched. 
In  the  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall  men  and  women  were  dan 
cing  on  a  floor  that  seemed  of  polished  glass.  Loud  talk,  laugh 
ter,  and  singing  floated  through  the  rooms,  and  the  air  was 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


warm  and  stuffy,  heavy  with  perfume.  The  odor  reminded 
her  of  the  roses  in  her  own  little  garden  in  Simiti.  It  was  all 
beautiful,  wonderful,  fairy-like. 

But  she  had  only  a  moment  for  this  appraisal.  Seizing  her 
hand  again,  the  woman  whisked  her  up  the  flight  of  stairs 
before  them  and  into  a  warm,  light  room.  Then,  without 
speaking,  she  went  out  and  closed  the  door,  leaving  the  girl 
alone. 

Carmen  sank  into  a  great,  upholstered  rocking  chair  and 
tried  to  grasp  it  all  as  she  swayed  dreamily  back  and  forth. 
So  this  was  his  home,  Mr.  Reed's.  It  was  a  palace!  Like  those 
Jose  had  described.  She  wondered  if  Harris  dwelt  in  a  place 
of  such  heavenly  beauty;  for  he  had  said  that  he  did  not  live 
with  Reed.  What  would  the  stupid  people  of  Simiti  think 
could  they  see  her  now!  She  had  never  dreamed  that  such 
marvels  existed  in  the  big  world  beyond  her  dreary,  dusty, 
little  home  town!  Jose  had  told  her  much,  ah,  wonderful 
things!  And  so  had  Harris.  But  how  pitifully  inadequate  now 
seemed  all  their  stories!  She  still  wondered  what  had  made 
that  carriage  go  in  which  she  had  come  up  from  the  boat. 
And  what  would  one  like  it  cost?  Would  her  interest  in  La 
Libertad  suffice  to  buy  one?  She  speculated  vaguely. 

Then  she  rose  and  wandered  about  the  room.  She  passed 
her  hand  over  the  clean,  white  counterpane  of  the  bed.  "Oh," 
she  murmured,  "how  beautiful!"  She  went  dreamily  to  the 
bureau  and  took  up,  one  by  one,  the  toilet  articles  that  lay 
there  in  neat  array.  "Oh,  oh,  oh!"  she  murmured,  again  and 
again.  She  glanced  into  the  clear  mirror.  The  little  figure 
reflected  there  contrasted  so  oddly  with  the  gorgeously  beautiful 
ones  she  had  glimpsed  below  that  she  laughed  aloud.  Then 
she  went  to  the  window  and  felt  of  the  soft  curtains.  "It  is 
heaven,"  she  murmured,  facing  about  and  sweeping  the  room, 
"just  heaven!  Oh,  how  beautiful  even  the  human  mind  can 
be!  I  never  thought  it,  I  never  thought  it!" 

Again  she  sat  down  in  the  big  rocker  and  gave  herself  up 
to  the  charm  of  her  surroundings.  Her  glance  fell  upon  a  vase 
of  flowers  that  stood  on  a  table  near  another  window.  She 
rose  and  went  to  them,  bending  over  to  inhale  their  fragrance. 
"How  strange!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  felt  them  crackle  in  her 
fingers.  Poor  child,  they  were  artificial !  But  she  would  learn, 
ere  long,  that  they  fittingly  symbolized  the  life  of  the  great  city 
in  which  she  was  now  adrift. 

Time  passed.  She  began  to  wonder  why  the  woman  did 
not  return.  Were  not  the  Reeds  anxious  to  know  of  her  safe 
arrival?  But  perhaps  they  had  visitors.  Surely  that  was  the 
case.  It  was  a  ball — but  so  different  from  the  simple,  artless 

8 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


baile  of  her  native  town.  Stray  snatches  of  music  drifted  into 
the  room  from  the  piano  below.  It  stimulated  a  hunger  for 
more.  She  went  to  the  door,  thinking  to  open  it  a  little  and 
listen.  The  door  was  locked! 

For  a  moment  she  stood  reflecting.  Then  apprehension  be 
gan  to  steal  over  her.  She  went  hastily,  instinctively,  to  a 
window  and  raised  the  curtain.  There  were  iron  bars  in  front 
of  it!  She  remembered  suddenly  that  prison  windows  were 
like  that.  She  hurried  to  the  other.  It  was  likewise  barred. 
Terror's  clammy  hand  gripped  at  her  heart.  Then  she  caught 
herself — and  laughed.  "How  silly!"  she  exclaimed,  sinking 
again  into  the  rocker.  "God  is  everywhere — right  here!" 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  noiselessly  and  a  woman 
entered.  She  was  younger  than  the  one  who  had  met  the  boat. 
When  she  saw  the  girl  she  uttered  an  exclamation.  "Lord! 
where  did  you  get  those  clothes?" 

Carmen  glanced  down  at  her  odd  attire  and  then  smiled 
up  at  the  woman.  "Cartagena,"  she  said  simply.  "Mrs.  Reed 
bought  them  for  me.  But  are  you  her  sister?  You  don't  look 
like  her." 

The  woman  laughed,  a  sharp,  unmusical  laugh.  The  dry 
cosmetic  plastered  thick  upon  her  cheeks  cracked.  She  was  not 
beautiful  like  the  others,  thought  Carmen.  Her  cheeks  were 
sunken,  and  her  low-cut  gown  revealed  great,  protruding  collar 
bones.  "Come,"  she  said  abruptly,  "get  out  of  those  rags  and 
into  something  modern."  She  opened  a  closet  door  and  selected 
a  gown  from  a  number  hanging  there.  It  was  white,  and  there 
was  a  gay  ribbon  at  the  waist. 

"It'll  have  to  be  pinned  up,"  she  commented  to  herself, 
holding  it  out  before  her  and  regarding  Carmen  critically. 

The  girl's  eyes  danced.  "Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "am  I  to 
wear  that?  How  beautiful!  Did  Mrs.  Reed  give  it  to  me?  And 
is  there  a  party  down  stairs?" 

The  woman  returned  no  answer,  but  opened  a  bureau 
drawer  and  took  from  it  several  other  garments,  which  she 
threw  upon  a  chair,  together  with  the  dress. 

"Into  the  whole  lot  of  'em,"  she  said  sharply,  indicating 
the  garments.  "And  move  lively,  for  supper's  waitin'  and 
there'll  be  callers  soon — gentlemen  callers,"  she  added,  smiling 
grimly. 

She  turned  and  faced  Carmen.  Their  eyes  met.  The 
woman  stopped  abruptly  and  stood  with  arms  akimbo,  re 
garding  the  girl.  Carmen  gazed  up  at  her  with  a  smile  of 
happy,  trustful  assurance. 

The  woman  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Where  did  you  come 
from?"  she  demanded  hoarsely. 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Carmen  told  her.  She  mentioned  Simiti,  Padre  Jose,  and 
Rosendo.  Her  voice  quavered  a  little;  but  she  brightened  up 
and  concluded:  "And  Mr.  Reed's  Auntie,  she  met  us — that  is, 
me.  Oh,  isn't  she  a  beautiful  lady!" 

The  woman  seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  the  child's  gaze. 
Then,  suddenly,  as  if  something  had  given  way  under  great 
strain,  she  cried:  "For  God's  sake,  don't  look  at  me  that  way! 
Who  are  you?"  She  dropped  into  a  chair  and  continued  to 
stare  at  the  girl. 

"Well,  I've  told  you,"  replied  Carmen.  "But,"  she  con 
tinued,  going  quickly  to  the  woman  and  taking  her  hand, 
"you  haven't  told  me  your  name  yet.  And  we  are  going  to  be 
such  good  friends,  aren't  we?  Yes,  we  are.  And  you  are  going 
to  tell  me  all  about  this  beautiful  house,  and  that  wonderful 
carriage  I  came  here  in.  What  did  make  it  go,  anyway?  Do 
you  ride  often?  Oh,  I  hope  Mrs.  Reed  will  take  me  out  in  it 
every  day!" 

The  woman's  hand  tightened  over  Carmen's.  She  seemed 
to  struggle  with  herself.  Then,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Your  mother — is  she  living?" 

"Madre  Maria  is,"  returned  Carmen.  "But  my  mother,  my 
own  real  mother,  she  died,  long,  long  ago,  on  the  banks  of  the 
great  river.  My  father  left  her,  and  she  was  trying  to  follow 
him.  Then  I  was  born — 

"The  same  old  story!"  muttered  the  woman  fiercely.  "I've 
been  there,  girl,  and  know  all  about  it.  I  followed  the  man — 
but  it  was  my  kid  that  died !  God,  if  I  could  have  laid  my  hands 
on  him!  And  now  you  have  come  here — 

She  stopped  abruptly  and  swallowed  hard.  Carmen  gently 
stole  an  arm  about  her  neck.  "It  isn't  true,"  she  murmured, 
laying  her  soft  cheek  against  the  woman's  painted  one.  "No 
one  can  desert  us  or  harm  us,  for  God  is  everywhere.  And  no 
one  really  dies.  We  have  got  to  know  that.  Padre  Jose  said 
I  had  a  message  for  the  people  up  here;  and  now  you  are  the 
first  one  I've  told  it  to.  But  that's  it:  God  is  everywhere.  And 
if  we  know  that,  why,  nothing  bad  can  ever  happen  to  us.  But 
you  didn't  know  it  when  your  husband  left  you,  did  you?" 

"Husband!"  ejaculated  the  woman.  Then  she  looked  up 
into  the  girl's  deep,  wondering  eyes  and  checked  herself. 
"Come,"  she  said  abruptly,  rising  and  still  holding  her  hand. 
"Never  mind  the  clothes."  A  grim  look  settled  over  her  fea 
tures.  "We'll  go  down  to  supper  now  as  you  are." 

Carmen's  companion  led  her  down  the  stairs  and  through 
the  hall  to  a  brightly  lighted  room  at  the  rear,  where  about  a 
long  table  sat  a  half  dozen  women.  There  were  places  for  as 
many  more,  but  they  were  unoccupied.  The  cloth  was  white, 

10 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


the  glass  shone,  the  silver  sparkled.  And  the  women,  who 
glanced  up  at  the  girl,  were  clad  in  gowns  of  such  gorgeous 
hues  as  to  make  the  child  gasp  in  amazement.  Over  all  hung 
the  warm,  perfumed  air  that  she  had  thought  so  delicious 
when  she  had  first  entered  the  house. 

The  noisy  chatter  at  once  ceased.  The  woman  led  her  to  a 
chair  next  to  the  one  she  herself  took.  Carmen  looked  around 
for  the  lady  who  had  met  her  at  the  boat.  She  was  not  there. 
The  silence  and  the  steady  scrutiny  of  the  others  began  to 
embarrass  her.  "Where — where  is  Auntie?"  she  asked  timidly, 
looking  up  at  her  faded  attendant. 

A  titter  ran  around  the  table.  One  of  the  women,  who 
swayed  slightly  in  her  chair,  looked  up  stupidly.  "Who's 
Auntie?"  she  muttered  thickly.  A  burst  of  laughter  followed 
this  remark,  and  Carmen  sat  down  in  confusion. 

"Where's  the  Madam,  Jude?"  asked  one  of  the  younger 
women  of  Carmen's  attendant. 

"Dining  alone  in  her  room.  Headache,"  was  the  laconic 
reply. 

"She  landed  a  queen  this  time,  didn't  she?"  looking  ad 
miringly  at  Carmen.  "Gets  me,  how  the  old  girl  does  it! 
What's  your  name,  kiddo?" 

"Carmen,"  replied  the  girl  timidly,  looking  questioningly 
about  the  room. 

"That's  a  good  handle.  But  what's  the  rest?"  put  in  an 
other. 

"Carmen  Ariza,"  the  child  amended,  as  her  big,  wondering 
eyes  swept  the  group. 

"Wow!  That's  a  moniker  for  you!"  laughed  one.  "Where 
do  you  hail  from,  angel-face?" 

The  girl  looked  uncomprehendingly  at  her  interlocutor. 

"Your  home,  you  know.  I  see  your  finish,  all  right.  But 
where'd  you  begin?" 

"Tell  them  where  you  lived,  child,"  said  the  woman  called 
Jude  in  a  low  voice. 

"Simiti,"  replied  Carmen,  tears  choking  her  words. 

"Simiti!"  echoed  around  the  table.  "New  York?  Ohio? 
Or  Kansas?"  A  burst  of  mirth  punctuated  the  question. 

"Do  the  women  vote  there?" 

"Long  wray  from  Paris,  judging  by  the  fashions." 

"Where  is  Simiti,  kidlet?" 

Carmen  answered  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  "South 
America." 

Low  exclamations  of  astonishment  encircled  the  table, 
while  the  women  sat  regarding  the  girl  curiously. 

"But,"  continued  Carmen  in  a  trembling  voice,  "where  is 

11 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Mrs.  Reed?    And  isn't  Mr.  Harris  here?    Why  don't  they  come? 
Don't  they  know  I  am  here?" 

She  looked  appealingly  from  one  to  another.  Her  beautiful 
face  wore  such  an  expression  of  mingled  fear,  uncertainty,  and 
helplessness  as  to  throw  a  hush  upon  the  room.  One  of  the 
women  rose.  "God!"  she  muttered,  "it's  a  shame!"  She 
looked  for  a  moment  uncertainly  into  the  big,  deep  eyes  of  the 
girl,  and  then  turned  and  hastily  left  the  room. 

The  silence  which  followed  was  broken  by  a  pallid,  painted 
creature  at  the  end  of  the  table. 

"What  an  old  devil  the  Madam  is!  My  God!  One  look 
into  those  eyes  would  have  been  enough  for  me!" 

"What's  the  idea,  Jude?"  asked  another,  nodding  toward 
the  girl.  "Does  she  stay  here?" 

The  woman  addressed  as  Jude  shook  her  head.  "This  is 
only  a  recruiting  station  for  the  regular  army.  She'll  go  over 
to  French  Lucy's;  and  the  Madam  will  get  a  round  price  for 
the  job." 

"Old  Lucy'll  get  rich  off  of  her!  But  she  needs  the  money. 
Ames  owns  her  house,  too,  doesn't  he?" 

"Sure  thing!"  replied  Jude,  brightening  under  the  stimulus 
of  her  wine.  "He  owns  every  house  in  this  block,  they  say. 
Got  long  leases  for  'em  all.  And  the  rents — suffering  Moses! 
The  Madam  rolls  on  the  floor  and  cusses  for  a  week  straight 
every  time  she  pays  hers.  But  just  the  same,  if  you've  ever 
noticed,  the  houses  that  Ames  owns  are  never  raided  by  the 
coppers.  Ames  whacks  up  with  the  mayor  and  the  city  hall 
gang  and  the  chief  of  police.  That  means  protection,  and  we 
pay  for  it  in  high  rents.  But  it's  a  lot  better'n  being  swooped 
down  on  by  the  cops  every  few  weeks,  ain't  it?  We  know 
what  we're  expected  to  pay,  that  way.  And  we  never  do  when 
we  keep  handin'  it  out  to  the  cops." 

"That's  right,"  approved  some  one. 

"It  sure  is.  That's  what  the  collector  says.  And  he's 
got  a  new  collector,  fellow  from  the  Ketchim  Realty  Company. 
They're  the  old  man's  agents  now  for  his  dive-houses.  He  can't 
get  anybody  else  to  handle  'em,  so  the  collector  tells  me." 

"Belle  Carey's  place  was  pulled  last  night,  I  hear,"  said 
one  of  the  women,  pushing  back  her  plate  and  lighting  a 
cigarette. 

"Yes,"  returned  Jude,  "and  why?  Cause  the  house  is  owned 
by  Gannette — swell  guy  livin'  up  on  Riverside  Drive — and  he 
don't  divvy  with  the  city  hall.  Belle  don't  pay  no  such  rent  as 
the  Madam  does — at  least  so  old  Lucy  tells  me." 

The  half-intoxicated  woman  down  the  table,  who  had  stirred 
their  laughter  a  few  minutes  before,  now  roused  up  heavily. 

12 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Ol'  Lucy — huh!  Used  to  work  for  her  m'self.  Caught  a 
pippin  for  her  once — right  off  the  train — jus'  like  this  li'l 
hussy.  Went  to  th'  depot  in  a  hack.  Saw  th'  li'l  kid  comin' 
an'  pretended  to  faint.  Li'l  kid  run  to  me  an'  asked  could 
she  help.  Got  her  to  see  me  safe  home — tee!  hee!  She's 
workin'  f'r  ol'  Lucy  yet,  sound's  a  dollar." 

She  fixed  her  bleared  eyes  upon  Carmen  and  lapsed  back 
into  her  former  state  of  sodden  stupidity. 

The  girl  rose  hastily  from  her  chair.  The  policeman's 
words  at  the  pier  were  floating  confusedly  through  her  thought. 
The  strange  talk  of  these  women  increased  the  confusion.  Per 
haps  a  mistake  had  been  made.  She  turned  beseechingly  to 
Jude.  "Isn't  this — Mr.  Reed's  house?"  she  asked. 

Another  of  the  women  got  up  hurriedly  and  left  the  table. 
"I  haven't  the  nerve  for  another  sob-scene,"  she  commented 
as  she  went  out. 

"Where  am  I?  Where  am  I?"  pleaded  Carmen,  turning 
from  one  to  another. 

Jude  reached  out  and  seized  her  hand  tightly.  "Pleasant 
job  for  me!"  she  commented  ironically,  looking  at  the  others. 
Then,  to  Carmen: 

"You  are  in  a— a  hotel,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Oh — then — then  it  was  a  mistake?"  The  girl  turned  her 
great,  yearning  eyes  upon  the  woman.  Jude  shrank  under 
them.  "Sit  down,  and  finish  your  supper,"  she  said  harshly, 
pulling  the  girl  toward  the  chair. 

"No!"  replied  Carmen  loudly.  "You  must  take  me  to  Mr. 
Reed!" 

The  maudlin  woman  down  the  table  chuckled  thickly.  The 
negro  waitress  went  quickly  out  and  closed  the  door.  Jude 
rose,  still  holding  the  girl's  hand.  "Come  up  stairs  with  me," 
she  said,  leading  her  away. 

"Poor  old  Jude!"  commented  one  of  the  women,  when  the 
two  had  left  the  room.  "She's  about  all  in.  This  sort  of  busi 
ness  is  getting  her  nerve.  But  she's  housekeeper,  and  that's 
part  of  her  job.  And — the  poor  little  kid!  But  ain't  she  a 
beauty!" 

Jude  took  the  girl  into  her  own  room  and  locked  the  door. 
Then  she  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  "God!"  she  cried,  "I'm 
sick  of  this — sick  of  the  whole  thing!" 

Carmen  went  quickly  to  her.  "Don't!"  she  said.  "Don't! 
It  was  all  a  mistake,  and  we  can  go." 

"Go!"   echoed  the   woman   bitterly.      "Where — and   how?" 

"Why,  you  said  this  was  a  hotel — " 

"Hotel!     God,  it's  hell!     And  you  are  in  forever!" 

Carmen  gazed  at  the  excited  woman  with  a  puzzled  ex 
pression  on  her  face. 

35  13 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Now  listen,"  said  Jude,  bracing  herself,  "I've  got  some 
thing  to  tell  you.  You  have  been — good  God!  I  can't — I  can't! 
For  God's  sake,  child,  don't  look  at  me  that  way!  Who  are 
you?  Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"I  told  you,"  replied  Carmen  quietly. 

"Your  face  looks  as  if  you  had  come  down  from  the  sky. 
But  if  you  did,  and  if  you  believe  in  a  God,  you  had  better  pray 
to  Him  now!" 

"Why — I  am  not  afraid.  God  is  everywhere — right  here. 
I  was  afraid — a  little — at  first.  But  not  now.  When  we  stop 
and  just  know  that  we  love  everybody,  and  that  everybody 
really  loves  us,  why,  we  can't  be  afraid  any  more,  can  we?" 

The  woman  looked  up  at  the  child  in  blank  amazement. 
Love!  That  warped,  twisted  word  conveyed  no  meaning  to 
her.  And  God — it  was  only  a  convenient  execrative.  But — 
what  was  it  that  looked  out  from  that  strange  girl's  eyes? 
What  was  it  that  held  her  fascinated  there?  What  was  emerg 
ing  from  those  unfathomable  depths,  twining  itself  about  her 
withered  heart  and  expanding  her  black,  shrunken  soul? 
Whence  came  that  beautiful,  white  life  that  she  was  going  to 
blast?  And  could  she,  after  all?  Then  what  stayed  her  now? 

"Look  here,"  she  cried  sharply,  "tell  me  again  all  about 
yourself,  and  about  your  friends  and  family  down  south,  and 
what  it  was  that  the  Madam  said  to  you!  And  be  quick!" 

Carmen  sat  down  at  her  feet,  and  taking  her  hand,  went 
again  over  the  story.  As  the  child  talked,  the  woman's  hard 
eyes  widened,  and  now  and  then  a  big  tear  rolled  down  the 
painted  cheek.  Her  thought  began  to  stray  back,  far  back, 
along  the  wreck-strewn  path  over  which  she  herself  had  come. 
At  last  in  the  dim  haze  she  saw  again  the  little  New  England 
farm,  and  her  father,  stern,  but  honest  and  respected,  trudging 
behind  the  plow.  In  the  cottage  she  saw  her  white-haired 
mother,  every  lineament  bespeaking  her  Puritan  origin,  hover 
ing  over  her  little  household  like  a  benediction.  Then  night 
fell,  swiftly  as  the  eagle  swoops  down  upon  its  prey,  and  she 
awoke  from  a  terrible  dream,  stained,  abandoned,  lost — and 
seared  with  a  foul  oath  to  drag  down  to  her  own  level  every 
innocent  girl  upon  whom  her  hands  might  thereafter  fall ! 

"And  I  have  just  had  to  know,"  Carmen  concluded,  "every 
minute  since  I  left  Simiti,  that  God  was  everywhere,  and  that 
He  would  not  let  any  harm  come  to  me.  But  when  we  really 
know  that,  why,  the  way  always  opens.  For  that's  prayer, 
right  prayer;  the  kind  that  Jesus  taught." 

The  woman  sat  staring  at  the  girl,  an  expression  of  utter 
blankness  upon  her  pallid  face.  Prayer!  Oh,  yes,  she  had 
been  taught  to  pray.  Well  she  remembered,  though  the  mem- 

14 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ory  now  cut  like  a  knife,  how  she  knelt  at  her  beautiful 
mother's  knee  and  asked  the  good  Father  to  bless  and  protect 
them  all,  even  to  the  beloved  doll  that  she  hugged  to  her  little 
bosom.  But  God  had  never  heard  her  petitions,  innocent  though 
she  was.  And  He  had  let  her  fall,  even  with  a  prayer  on  her 
lips,  into  the  black  pit! 

A  loud  sound  of  male  voices  and  a  stamping  of  feet  rose 
from  below.  The  woman  sprang  to  the  door  and  stood  listen 
ing.  "It's  the  boys  from  the  college!"  she  cried  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

She  turned  and  stood  hesitant  for  a  moment,  as  if  striving 
to  formulate  a  plan.  A  look  of  fierce  determination  came  into 
her  face.  She  went  to  the  bureau  and  took  from  the  drawers 
several  articles,  which  she  hastily  thrust  into  the  pocket  of  her 
dress. 

"Now,"  she  said,  turning  to  Carmen  and  speaking  in  a  low, 
strained  voice,  "you  do  just  as  I  say.  Bring  your  bundle.  And 
for  God's  sake  don't  speak!" 

Leaving  the  light  burning,  she  stepped  quickly  out  with 
Carmen  and  locked  the  door  after  her.  Then,  bidding  the  girl 
wait,  she  slipped  softly  down  the  hall  and  locked  the  door  of 
the  room  to  which  the  girl  had  first  been  taken.  Both  keys  she 
dropped  into  her  pocket.  "Now  follow  me,"  she  said. 

Laughter  and  music  floated  up  from  below,  mingled  with  the 
clink  of  glasses.  The  air  was  heavy  with  perfume  and  tobacco 
smoke.  A  door  near  them  opened,  and  a  sound  of  voices 
issued.  The  woman  pulled  Carmen  into  a  closet  until  the  hall 
was  again  quiet.  Then  she  hurried  on  to  another  door  which 
she  entered,  dragging  the  girl  with  her.  Again  she  locked  the 
door  after  her.  Groping  through  the  darkness,  she  reached 
a  window,  across  which  stood  a  hinged  iron  grating,  secured 
with  a  padlock.  The  woman  fumbled  among  her  keys  and  un 
fastened  this.  Swinging  it  wide,  and  opening  the  window  be 
yond,  she  bade  the  girl  precede  her  cautiously. 

"It's  a  fire-escape,"  she  explained  briefly.  She  reached 
through  the  window  grating  and  fastened  the  padlock;  then 
closed  the  window;  and  quickly  descended  with  the  girl  to  the 
ground  below. 

Pausing  a  moment  to  get  her  breath,  she  seized  Carmen's 
hand  and  crept  swiftly  around  the  big  house  and  into  a  dark 
alley.  There  she  stopped  to  throw  over  her  shoulders  a  light 
shawl  which  she  had  taken  from  the  bureau.  Then  she  hurried 
on. 

Their  course  lay  through  the  muddy  alley  for  several  blocks. 
When  they  emerged  they  were  in  a  dimly  lighted  cross  street. 
The  air  was  chill,  and  the  thinly  clad  woman  shivered.  Car- 

15 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


men,  fresh  from  the  tropics,  felt  the  contrast  keenly.  A  few 
moments'  rapid  walking  down  the  street  brought  them  to  a 
large  building  of  yellow  brick,  surrounded  by  a  high  board 
fence.  The  woman  unfastened  the  gate  and  hurried  up  to  the 
door,  over  which,  by  the  feeble  light  of  the  street  lamp,  Carmen 
read,  "The  Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor." 

A  black-robed  woman  admitted  them  and  went  to  summon 
the  Sister  Superior.  Carmen  marveled  at  her  strange  attire. 
A  moment  later  they  were  silently  ushered  into  an  adjoining 
room,  where  a  tall  woman,  similarly  dressed,  awaited  them. 

"Sister,"  said  Jude  excitedly,  "here's  a  little  kid — you  got 
to  care  for  her  until  she  finds  her  friends!" 

The  Sister  Superior  instantly  divined  the  status  of  the 
woman.  "Let  the  child  wait  here  a  moment,"  she  said,  "and 
you  come  with  me  and  tell  your  story.  It  would  be  better  that 
she  should  not  hear." 

In  a  little  while  they  appeared  again.  Carmen  was  drows 
ing  in  her  chair. 

"She's  chock  full  of  religion,"  the  woman  was  saying. 

"But  you,"  the  Sister  replied,  "what  will  you  do?    Go  back?" 

"God,  no!"  cried  the  woman.    "They  would  murder  me!" 

"Then  you  will  stay  here  until — " 

"No,  no!  I  have  friends— others  like  myself — I  will  go  to 
them.  I — I  couldn't  stay  here — with  her,"  nodding  toward  the 
girl.  "But — you  will  take  care  of  her?" 

"Surely,"  returned  the  Sister  in  a  calm  voice. 

Jude  looked  at  Carmen  for  a  moment.  She  made  as  if  she 
would  speak.  Then  she  turned  abruptly  and  went  swiftly  out 
into  the  chill  night. 

"Come,"  said  the  Sister  to  Carmen,  extending  a  hand.  "Poor 
little  thing!"  she  murmured  as  they  mounted  the  stairs.  "Poor 
little  thing!" 


CHAPTER  2 

CARMEN  was  astir  next  morning  long  before  the  rising-bell 
sounded  its  shrill   summons  through  the  long  corridors. 
When  she  opened  her  eyes  she  gazed  at  the  ceiling  above  in 
perplexity.     She  still  seemed  to  feel  the  tossing  motion  of  the 
boat,  and  half  believed  the  bell  to  be  the  call  to  the  table,  where 
she  should  again  hear  the  cheery  voice  of  Harris  and  meet  the 
tolerant  smile  of  Mrs.  Reed.     Then  a  rush  of  memories  swept 
her,  and  her  heart  went  down  in  the  flood.     She  was  alone  in  a 
great  foreign  city!     She  turned  her  face  to  the  pillow,  and  for 
a  moment  a  sob  shook  her.    Then  she  reached  under  the  pillow 

16 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  drew  out  the  little  Bible,  which  she  had  taken  from  her 
bundle  and  placed  there  when  the  Sister  left  her  the  night 
before.  The  book  fell  open  to  Isaiah,  and  she  read  aloud: 

"I  the  Lord  have  called  thee  in  righteousness,  and 
will  hold  thine  hand,  and  will  keep  thee,  and  give  thee 
for  a  covenant  of  the  people,  for  a  light  of  the  Gentiles." 

She  snapped  the  book  shut  and  quickly  rose.  "That  means 
me,"  she  said  firmly.  "Padre  Jose  said  I  had  a  message  for 
the  world;  and  now  I  am  to  tell  it  to  these  people  up  here. 
God  has  called  me  in  righteousness.  That  means,  He  has  called 
me  to  do  right  thinking.  And  I  am  to  tell  these  people  how 
to  think  right.  They  don't  know  as  yet." 

Suddenly  her  thought  reverted  to  Cartagena,  and  to  the 
sturdy  little  lad  who  had  so  proudly  claimed  the  name  of 
Rincon.  For  a  moment  she  stood  still.  Then  she  burst  into 
tears  and  threw  herself  back  upon  the  bed. 

But  she  did  not  lie  there  long.  "I  must  think  only  God's 
thoughts,"  she  said,  struggling  to  her  feet  and  checking  her 
grief.  "If  it  is  right  for  the  little  boy  to  be  his  son,  then  I  must 
want  it  to  be  -so.  I  must  want  only  the  right — I  have  got  to 
want  it!  And  if  it  is  not  right  now,  then  God  will  make  it  so. 
It  is  all  in  His  hands,  and  I  must  not  think  of  it  any  more, 
unless  I  think  right  thoughts." 

She  dressed  herself  quickly,  but  did  not  put  on  the  shoes. 
"I  simply  can  not  wear  these  things,"  she  mourned,  looking  at 
them  dubiously;  "and  I  do  not  believe  the  woman  will  make 
me.  I  wonder  why  the  other  woman  called  her  Sister.  Why 
did  she  wear  that  ugly  black  bonnet?  And  wrhy  was  I  hurried 
away  from  that  hotel?  It  was  so  much  pleasanter  there,  so 
bright  and  warm;  and  here  it  is  so  cold."  She  shivered  as 
she  buttoned  her  thin  dress.  "But,"  she  continued,  "I  have 
got  to  go  out  now  and  find  Mr.  Reed  and  Mr.  Harris — I  have 
just  got  to  find  them — and  to-day!  But,  oh,  this  city  is  so 
much  larger  than  Simiti!" 

She  shook  her  head  in  perplexity  as  she  put  the  Bible  back 
again  in  the  bundle,  where  lay  the  title  papers  to  La  Libertad 
and  her  mother's  little  locket,  which  Rosendo  had  given  her 
that  last  morning  in  Simiti.  The  latter  she  drew  out  and  re 
garded  wistfully  for  some  moments.  "I  haven't  any  father  or 
mother  but  God,"  she  murmured.  "But  He  is  both  father  and 
mother  to  me  now."  With  a  little  sigh  she  tied  up  the  bundle 
again.  Holding  it  in  one  hand  and  carrying  the  much  despised 
shoes  in  the  other,  she  left  the  cheerless  room  and  started 
down  the  long,  cold  hall. 

When  she  reached  the  stairway  leading  to  the  floor  below 

17 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


she  stopped  abruptly.  "Anita's  babe!"  she  exclaimed  half- 
aloud.  "I  have  been  thinking  only  of  myself.  It  is  not  blind! 
It  sees!  It  sees  as  God  sees!  What  is  it  that  the  Bible  says? 
— 'And  I  will  bring  them  by  a  way  that  they  knew  not;  I  will 
lead  them  in  paths  that  they  have  n6t  known:  I  will  make 
darkness  light  before  them,  and  crooked  things  straight.'  I 
must  know  that — always!  And  Padre  Jose  said  he  would  re 
member  it,  too." 

Again  she  choked  back  the  tears  which  surged  up  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  priest,  and,  bracing  herself,  hastily  de 
scended  the  stairs,  murmuring  at  every  step,  "God  is  every 
where — right  here!" 

At  the  far  end  of  the  lower  hall  she  saw,  through  an  open 
door,  a  number  of  elderly  people  sitting  at  long  tables.  To 
ward  them  she  made  her  way.  When  she  reached  the  door, 
she  stopped  and  peered  curiously  within.  A  murmur  of  aston 
ishment  rose  from  the  inmates  when  they  caught  sight  of  the 
quaint  object  in  the  doorway,  standing  uncertainly,  with  her 
shoes  in  one  hand,  the  awkwardly  tied  bundle  in  the  other, 
and  garbed  in  the  chaotic  attire  so  hastily  procured  for  her  in 
Cartagena. 

A  Sister  came  quickly  forward  and,  taking  the  girl's  hand, 
led  her  into  a  smaller  adjoining  room,  where  sat  the  Sister 
Superior  at  breakfast.  The  latter  greeted  the  child  gently  and 
bade  her  be  seated  at  the  table.  Carmen  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  sat  staring  in  naive  wonder. 

"Well,"  began  the  Sister  at  length,  "eat  your  breakfast 
quickly.  This  is  Sunday,  you  know,  and  Mass  will  be  said  in 
the  chapel  in  half  an  hour.  You  look  frightened.  I  don't 
wonder.  But  you  are  with  friends  here,  little  girl.  What  is 
your  name?" 

Carmen  quickly  recovered  her  spirits,  and  her  nimble 
tongue  its  wonted  flexibility.  Without  further  invitation  or 
preface  she  entered  at  once  upon  a  lively  description  of  her 
wonderful  journey  through  the  jungle,  the  subsequent  ocean 
voyage,  and  the  mishap  at  the  pier,  and  concluded  with  the 
cryptical  remark:  "And,  you  know,  Senora,  it  is  all  just  as 
Padre  Jose  said,  only  a  series  of  states  of  consciousness,  after 
all!" 

The  Sister  stared  blankly  at  the  beaming  child.  What  man 
ner  of  being  was  this  that  had  been  so  strangely  wafted  into 
these  sacred  precincts  on  the  night  breeze!  The  abandoned 
woman  who  had  brought  her  there,  the  Sister  remembered, 
had  dropped  an  equally  cryptical  remark — "She's  chock  full  of 
religion." 

But  gratitude  quickly  mastered  her  wonder,  and  the  woman, 

18 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


pondering  the  child's  dramatic  recital,  murmured  a  sincere, 
"The  Virgin  be  praised!" 

"Oh,"  said  Carmen,  looking  up  quickly  as  she  caught  the 
words,  "you  people  up  here  talk  just  like  those  in  Simiti.  But 
Padre  Jose  said  you  didn't  know,  either.  You  ought  to,  though, 
for  you  have  had  so  many  more  ad — advantages  than  we  have. 
Senora,  there  are  many  big,  clumsy  words  in  the  English  lan 
guage,  aren't  there?  But  I  love  it  just  the  same.  So  did  Padre 
Jose.  We  used  to  speak  it  all  the  time  during  the  last  years 
we  were  together.  He  said  it  seemed  easier  to  talk  about  God 
in  that  language  than  in  any  other.  Do  you  find  it  so, 
Senora?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  child?"  asked  the  puzzled  Sister. 
"And  who  is  this  Jose  that  you  talk  so  much  about?" 

"He — taught  me — in  Simiti.     He  is  the  priest  there." 

"Well,"  replied  the  Sister  warmly,  "he  seems  to  have  taught 
you  queer  things!" 

"Oh,  no!"  returned  Carmen  quickly,  "he  just  taught  me 
the  truth.  He  didn't  tell  me  about  the  queer  things  in  the 
world,  for  he  said  they  wrere  not  real." 

Again  the  Sister  stared  at  the  girl  in  dumb  amazement. 
But  the  child's  thought  had  strayed  to  other  topics.  "Isn't  it 
cold  up  here!"  she  exclaimed,  shivering  and  drawing  her  dress 
about  her.  "I  guess  I'll  have  to  put  on  these  shoes  to  keep 
my  feet  warm." 

"Certainly,  child,  put  them  on!"  exclaimed  the  Sister. 
"Didn't  you  wear  shoes  in  your  country?" 

"No,"  replied  Carmen,  tugging  and  straining  at  the  shoes; 
"I  didn't  wear  much  of  anything,  it  was  so  warm.  Oh,  it  is 
beautiful  down  there,  Senora,  so  beautiful  and  warm  in  Simiti!" 
She  sighed,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  But  she  brushed 
them  away  and  smiled  bravely  up  at  the  Sister.  "I've  come 
here  because  it  is  right,"  she  said  with  a  firm  nod  of  her  head. 
"Padre  Jose  said  I  had  a  message  for  you.  He  said  you  didn't 
know  much  about  God  up  here.  Why,  I  don't  know  much  of 
anything  else!"  She  laughed  a  happy  little  laugh  as  she  said 
this.  Then  she  went  on  briskly: 

"You  know,  Senora,  Padre  Jose  isn't  really  a  priest.  But 
he  said  he  had  to  stay  in  the  Church  in  order  to  teach  me.  I 
never  could  understand  why.  I  am  sure  he  just  thought  wrong 
about  it.  But,  anyway,  he  will  not  have  to  be  a  priest  any 
more,  now  that  I  have  gone,  will  he?  You  know,  Don  Jorge 
said  priests  were  a  bad  lot;  but  that  isn't  so,  for  there  are  many 
good  priests,  aren't  there?  Yes,  there  are.  Only,  they  don't 
understand,  either.  Why,  Senora,"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly 
remembering  the  Sister's  previous  injunction,  "is  this  a  church? 
You  said  there  would  be  Mass  in  the  chapel — 

19 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"No,"  replied  the  Sister,  still  studying  the  girl  attentively, 
while  her  manner  became  more  severe;  "this  is  a  home  for  old 
people,  a  charitable  institution." 

"Oh,"  replied  Carmen,  with  a  very  vague  idea  of  what  that 
meant.  "Well,"  her  face  alight  and  her  eyes  dancing,  "I  don't 
belong  here  then,  do  I?  I  am  never  going  to  be  old,"  she  medi 
tated.  "Why,  God  never  grows  old!  And  we  are  His  children, 
you  know.  The  Bible  says  we  are  made  in  His  image  and  like 
ness.  •  Well,  if  that  is  so,  how  can  we  ever  grow  old?  Just  think 
of  God  hobbling  around  in  heaven  wTith  a  cane  and  saying: 
'Well,  I'm  getting  old  now!  I'll  soon  be  dying!'  Isn't  that 
awful !  We  wouldn't  grow  old  and  die  if  it  wrasn't  for  our 
wrong  way  of  thinking,  wrould  we?  When  we  think  His 
thoughts,  why,  we  will  be  like  Him.  But  not  until  then.  Padre 
Jose  says  this,  and  he  knows  it  is  true — only,  he  seems  to  have 
a  hard  time  proving  it.  But,  Senora,  we  have  all  got  to  prove 
it,  some  time,  every  one  of  us.  And  then  there  will  not  be  any 
places  like  this  for  old  people — people  who  still  believe  that 
two  and  two  are  seven,  you  know.  And  that's  my  message." 

The  woman  looked  at  her  blankly;  but  the  girl  rambled  on. 
"Padre  Jose  sometimes  talked  of  the  charitable  institutions  out 
in  the  world,  and  he  always  said  that  charity  was  a  crime 
against  the  people.  And  he  was  right,  for  that  is  just  the  way 
Jesus  looked  at  it,  isn't  it?  Jesus  did  not  give  money  to  beg 
gars,  but  he  did  better,  he  healed  them  of  the  bad  state  of  mind 
that  was  making  them  poor  and  sick.  Why  don't  the  priests 
do  that?  Can  you  heal  the  sick?  Jesus,  when  he  taught,  first 
said  a  thing,  and  then  he  turned  right  around  and  proved  it. 
Now  do  you  do  that?  I  try  to.  I've  tried  it  all  my  life.  And, 
why,  Senora,  I've  had  thousands  of  proofs!" 

The  Sister  did  not  reply;  and  Carmen,  stealing  a  covert 
glance  at  her,  continued: 

"You  know,  Senora,  it  is  just  as  wicked  to  be  sick  and  poor 
as  it  is  to  tell  a  lie,  because  being  sick  and  poor  is  just  the  ex— 
the  ex-ter-nal-i-zation  of  our  thought;  and  such  thought  is  not 
from  God;  and  so  to  hold  such  thoughts  and  to  believe  them 
real  is  to  believe  in  power  apart  from  God.  It  is  having  other 
gods  than  the  one  God;  and  that  is  breaking  the  very  first 
Commandment,  isn't  it?  Yes,  it  is;  and  you  can  prove  it,  just 
as  you  can  prove  the  principles  in  mathematics.  Senora,  do 
you  know  anything  about  mathematics?" 

The  astonished  woman  made  an  involuntary  sign  of  nega 
tion. 

"Oh,  Senora,"  cried  the  enthusiastic  girl,  "the  things  that 
Jesus  taught  can  be  proved  just  as  easily  as  we  prove  the  rules 
in  mathematics!  Why  not?  for  they  are  truth,  and  all  truth 

20 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


can  be  demonstrated,  you  know.  You  know,  Senora,  God  is 
everywhere — not  only  in  heaven,  but  right  here  where  we  are. 
Heaven,  Padre  Jose  used  to  say  so  often,  is  only  a  perfect  state 
of  mind;  and  so  it  is,  isn't  it?  God,  you  know,  is  mind.  And 
when  we  reflect  Him  perfectly,  why,  we  wrill  be  in  heaven. 
Isn't  it  simple?  But,"  she  went  on  after  catching  her  breath, 
"we  can't  reflect  Him  as  long  as  we  believe  evil  to  be  real  and 
powerful.  Evil  isn't  anything.  It  is  just  zero,  nothing — 

"I've  heard  that  before,"  interrupted  the  woman,  recover 
ing  somewhat  from  her  surprise.  "But  I  think  that  before  you 
get  out  of  New  York  you  will  reverse  that  idea.  There's  a 
pretty  fair  amount  of  evil  here,  and  it  is  quite  real,  we  find." 

"But  it  isn't!"  cried  Carmen.     "If  it  is  real,  then  God  mad 
it.     It  seems  real  to  you — but  that  is  only  because  you  give  it 
reality  in  your  consciousness.     You  believe  it  real,  and  so  it 
becomes  to  you." 

"Well,"  said  the  woman  dryly,  "on  that  basis  I  think  the 
same  may  be  said  of  good,  too." 

"No,"  answered  Carmen  eagerly,  "good  is — " 

"There,"  interrupted  the  Sister  coldly,  holding  up  an  ad 
monitory  hand,  "we  are  not  going  to  discuss  the  foolish  theo 
logical  notions  which  that  fallen  priest  put  into  your  poor  little 
head.  Finish  your  breakfast." 

The  child  looked  at  the  woman  in  mute  protest.  Jose  a 
fallen  priest!  Would  these  people  up  here  so  regard  him?  It 
was  a  new  thought,  and  one  that  she  would  not  accept. 

"Senora,"  she  began  again,  after  a  brief  interval,  "Padre 
Jose  is  a  good  man,  even  the  human  Padre  Jose.  And  he  is 
trying  to  solve  his  problem  and  know  God.  And  he  is  trying 
to  know  himself,  not  as  other  people  think  they  know  him,  but 
as  God  knows  him,  and  as  I  have  always  tried  to  know  him. 
You  have  no  right  to  judge  him — and,  anyway,  you  are  not 
judging  him,  but  only  your  wrong  idea  of  him.  And  that,"  she 
said  softly,  "is  nothing." 

The  Sister  did  not  answer.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  the 
spell  of  those  great  brown  eyes,  that  soft,  rich  voice,  and  the 
sparkling  expression  of  innocence,  purity,  and  calm  assurance 
that  bubbled  from  those  red  lips.  And  she  was  losing  her 
self  in  contemplation  of  the  girl's  luxuriant  beauty,  whose  rich 
profusion  her  strange,  foreign  attire  could  not  disguise. 

"Senora,"  said  Carmen  suddenly,  "the  people  on  the  boat 
laughed  at  my  clothes.  But  I  don't  think  them  half  as  funny 
as  that  great  black  bonnet  you  are  wearing.  Why  do  you 
wear  it?  I  never  saw  one  until  I  was  brought  here." 

It  was  said  innocently,  and  with  no  thought  of  offense.  But 
the  woman  instantly  roused  from  her  meditation  and  assumed 

21 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


an  attitude  of  severe  dignity.  "Finish  your  breakfast,"  she 
commanded  sharply.  "And  remember  after  this  that  children's 
manners  here  are  not  those  of  your  country." 

The  girl  fell  quiet  under  the  rebuke,  and  the  meal  ended  in 
silence.  As  they  were  rising  from  the  table  a  cheery  voice 
came  from  the  outer  room,  and  presently  a  priest  looked  in. 

"Good  morning,  Sister,"  he  cried  heartily.  "Well,  who's 
this?"  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Carmen.  He  was  a  young  man,  ap 
parently  still  in  the  twenties,  of  athletic  build,  inclined  rather 
to  stoutness,  and  with  a  round,  shining  face  that  radiated  health 
and  good  nature. 

The  Sister  quietly  returned  his  cordial  greeting.  "It  is  a 
little  waif,"  she  said  in  answer  to  his  query,  "who  strayed  in 
here  last  night." 

"Aha,"  said  the  priest,  "another  derelict!  And  will  you 
send  her  to  the  orphanage?" 

"I'm  afraid  if  I  do  the  little  heretic  will  corrupt  all  the 
other  children,"  replied  the  Sister.  "Father,"  she  continued 
seriously,  "I  want  you  to  examine  this  child,  and  then  tell  me 
what  you  think  should  be  done  with  her." 

"What  is  it — health?"  asked  the  priest,  studying  the  girl. 

"No,"  replied  the  Sister;  "but  another  priest  has  gone 
wrong,  and  this,"  pointing  to  Carmen,  "is  the  result  of  his 
pernicious  teachings." 

The  priest  did  not  reply  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
sighed  wearily.  "Very  well,  Sister,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  will  talk  with  her  after  the  service."  He  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  lost  his  cheerfulness,  as  he  continued  to  converse  with  the 
woman  on  matters  pertaining  to  the  institution. 

Carmen,  wondering  and  receptive,  took  the  place  assigned 
to  her  in  the  chapel  and  sat  quietly  through  the  service.  She 
had  often  seen  Jose  celebrate  Mass  in  the  rude  little  church  in 
Simiti,  but  with  no  such  elaboration  as  she  witnessed  here. 
Once  or  twice  she  joined  in  the  responses,  not  with  any  thought 
of  worship,  but  rather  to  give  vent,  even  if  slight,  to  the  im 
pelling  desire  to  hear  her  own  musical  voice.  She  thought  as 
she  did  so  that  the  priest  looked  in  her  direction.  She  thought 
others  looked  at  her  attentively  at  the  same  time.  But  they 
had  all  stared  at  her,  for  that  matter,  and  she  had  felt  confused 
and  embarrassed  under  their  searching  scrutiny.  Yet  the  old 
people  attracted  her  peculiarly.  Never  had  she  seen  so  many 
at  one  time.  And  never,  she  thought,  had  she  seen  such  phys 
ical  decrepitude  and  helplessness.  And  then  she  fell  to  won 
dering  what  they  were  all  there  for,  and  what  they  got  out  of 
the  service.  Did  the  Mass  mean  anything  to  them?  Did  they 
believe  that  thereby  their  sins  were  atoned?  Did  they  believe 

22 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


that  that  priest  was  really  changing  the  wafer  and  wine  into 
flesh  and  blood?  She  recalled  much  that  Jose  had  told  her  about 
the  people  up  in  the  States.  They  were  not  so  different,  men 
tally,  from  her  own,  after  all. 

The  Host  had  been  elevated.  The  people,  still  gossiping 
cheerfully,  had  prostrated  themselves  before  it.  The  sermon 
had  been  short,  for  the  old  people  waxed  impatient  at  long 
discourses.  Then  the  priest  descended  from  -the  pulpit  and 
came  to  Carmen.  "Now,  little  girl,"  he  said,  seating  himself 
beside  her,  "tell  me  all  about  yourself,  who  you  are,  where 
you  come  from,  and  what  you  have  been  taught.  And  do  not 
be  afraid.  I  am  your  friend."  Carmen  smiled  up  at  him;  then 
plunged  into  her  narrative. 

It  was  two  hours  later  when  the  Sister  Superior  looked  in 
and  saw  the  priest  and  girl  still  sitting  in  earnest  conversation. 
She  stood  listening.  "But,"  she  heard  the  priest  say,  "you  tell 
me  that  this  Father  Jose  taught  you  these  things?" 

"He  taught  me  English,  and  French,  and  German.  He 
taught  me  mathematics.  And  he  taught  me  all  I  know  of 
history,  and  of  the  world,"  the  girl  replied. 

"Yes,  yes,"  the  priest  went  on  hurriedly;  "but  these  other 
things,  these  religious  and  philosophical  notions,  who  taught 
you  these?" 

The  Sister  drew  closer  and  strained  her  ears  to  hear. 

The  girl  looked  down  as  she  answered  softly,  "God." 

The  priest's  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  He  reached  out 
and  laid  a  hand  on  hers.  "I  believe  you,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
scarcely  audible.  "I  believe  you — for  we  do  not  teach  such 
things." 

The  girl  looked  up  with  luminous  eyes.  "Then,"  she  said 
quizzically,  "you  are  not  really  a  priest." 

"Father  Waite!"  The  Sister's  voice  rang  sternly  through 
the  quiet  chapel.  The  priest  started  to  his  feet  in  confusion. 
"The  dinner-bell  will  ring  in  a  few  minutes,"  continued  the 
Sister,  regarding  the  man  severely. 

"Ah,  true,"  he  murmured,  hastily  glancing  at  the  clock. 
"The  time  passed  so  rapidly — a — a — this  girl — 

"Leave  the  girl  to  me,"  replied  the  Sister  coldly.  "Unless," 
she  added,  "you  consider  her  deranged.  Coming  from  that  hot 
country  suddenly  into  this  cold  climate  might — " 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  the  priest  hastily;  "she  seems  uncom 
monly  strong  mentally.  She  has  some  notions  that  are  a— 
somewhat  different  from  ours — that  is — but  I  will  come  and 
have  a  further  talk  with  her." 

He  raised  his  hand  in  silent  benediction,  while  the  Sister 
bowed  her  head  stiffly.  Then,  as  if  loath  to  take  his  eyes  from 
the  girl,  he  turned  and  went  slowly  out. 

23 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Come,"  said  the  woman  sharply.  Carmen  followed  her 
out  into  the  hall  and  down  a  flight  of  steps  to  the  kitchen  below. 

"Katherine,"  said  the  Sister  Superior,  addressing  an  elderly, 
white-haired  Sister  who  seemed  to  be  in  charge  of  the  culinary 
department,  "put  this  girl  to  work.  Let  her  eat  with  you  and 
sleep  in  your  room.  And  see  if  you  can't  work  some  of  the 
foolish  notions  out  of  her  head." 


CHAPTER  3 

"/^  ET  some  o'  th'  foolish  notions  out  of  your  head,  is  it? 
I  -T-  Och,  puir  bairn,  wid  yer  swate  face  an'  that  hivenly 
^^^  hair,  it's  welcome  ye  air  to  yer  notions!  But,  hist!  Ye 
have  talked  too  brash  to  the  Sister  Superior.  Ye  air  that  inno 
cent,  puir  thing!  But,  mind  your  tongue,  honey.  Tell  your 
funny  notions  to  old  Katie,  an'  they'll  be  safe  as  the  soul  of 
Saint  Patrick;  but  keep  mum  before  the  others,  honey." 

"But,  Senora,  don't  they  want  to  know  the  truth  up  here?" 
There  was  a  note  of  appeal  in  the  quavering  voice. 

"Now  listen,  honey;  don't  call  me  sich  heathen  names. 
Call  me  Sister.  I'm  no  Senora,  whativer  that  may  be.  And  as 
for  wantin'  to  know  the  truth,  God  bless  ye,  honey!  th'  good 
Fathers  know  it  all  now." 

"They  don't,  Sen— Sister!" 

"Well,  thin,  they  don't — an'  mebby  I'm  not  so  far  from 
agreein'  wid  ye.  But,  och,  it's  dead  beat  I  am,  after  the  Sun 
day's  work!  But  ye  air  a  right  smart  little  helper,  honey — 
only,  ye  don't  belong  in  th'  kitchen." 

"Sen — I  mean,  Sister — " 

"That's  better,  honey;  ye'll  get  it  in  time." 

"Sister,  I've  just  got  to  find  Mr.  Reed!     Do  you  know  him?" 

"No,  honey,  it's  few  I  know  outside  these  walls.  But  ye 
can  put  up  a  bit  of  a  prayer  when  ye  turn  in  to-night.  An' 
we'd  best  be  makin'  for  th'  bed,  too,  darlin',  for  we've  a  hard 
day's  work  to-morrow." 

It  was  Carmen's  second  night  in  New  York,  and  as  the  girl 
silently  followed  the  puffing  old  woman  up  the  several  long, 
dark  flights  of  stairs  to  the  little,  cheerless  room  under  the 
eaves,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  brain  must  fly  apart  with  the 
pressure  of  its  mental  accumulation.  The  great  building  in 
which  she  was  now  sheltered,  the  kitchen,  with  its  marvels 
of  equipment,  gas  stoves,  electric  lights,  annunciators,  and  a 
thousand  other  equally  wonderful  appliances  which  the  human 
mind  has  developed  for  its  service  and  comfort,  held  her  fasci- 

24 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nated,  despite  her  situation,  while  she  swelled  with  questions 
she  dared  not  ask.  Notwithstanding  the  anxiety  which  she  had 
not  wholly  suppressed,  her  curiosity,  naive,  eager,  and  insatia 
ble,  rose  mountain  high.  Sister  Katherine  had  been  kind  to 
her,  had  received  her  with  open  arms,  and  given  her  light  tasks 
to  perform.  And  many  times  during  the  long  afternoon  the 
old  woman  had  relaxed  entirely  from  her  assumed  brusque- 
ness  and  stooped  to  lay  a  large,  red  hand  gently  upon  the 
brown  curls,  or  to  imprint  a  resounding  kiss  upon  the  flushed 
cheek.  Now,  as  night  wras  settling  down  over  the  great,  roar 
ing  city,  the  woman  took  the  homeless  waif  into  her  big  heart 
and  wrapped  her  in  a  love  that,  roughly  expressed,  was  yet 
none  the  less  tender  and  sincere. 

"Ye  can  ask  the  Virgin,  honey,  to  send  ye  to  yer  frinds," 
said  the  woman,  as  they  sat  in  the  gloaming  before  the  window 
and  looked  out  over  the  kindling  lights  of  the  city. 

"What  good  would  that  do,  Sister?" 

"Not  much,  I  guess,  honey,"  answered  the  woman  frankly. 
"Troth,  an'  I've  asked  her  fer  iverything  in  my  time,  from 
diamonds  to  a  husband,  an'  she  landed  me  in  a  convint!  But 
I  ain't  complainin'." 

"You  didn't  ask  in  the  right  way,  Sister — " 

"Faith,  I  asked  in  ivery  way  I  knew  how!  An'  whin  I  had 
th'  carbuncle  on  me  neck  I  yelled  at  her!  Sure  she  may  have 
answered  me  prayer,  fer  th'  whoop  I  gave  busted  the  carbuncle, 
an'  I  got  well.  Ye  nivir  kin  tell,  honey.  An'  so  I  ain't  com 
plainin'." 

"But,  Sis — I  can't  call  you  Sister!"  pleaded  the  girl,  going 
to  the  woman  and  t\vining  her  arms  about  her  neck. 

"Och,  honey  darlin'  '  —tears  started  from  the  old  woman's 
eyes  and  rolled  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks — "honey  darlin', 
call  me  Katie,  just  old  Katie.  Och,  Holy  Virgin,  if  I  could  have 
had  a  home,  an'  a  beautiful  daughter  like  you — !"  She  clasped 
the  girl  in  her  great  arms  and  held  her  tightly. 

"Katie,  when  you  pray  you  must  pray  knowing  that  God 
has  already  given  you  what  you  need,  and  that  there  is  noth 
ing  that  can  keep  you  from  seeing  it." 

The  woman  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  sleeve.  "An'  so,  darlin', 
if  I  want  diamonds  I  must  know  that  I  have  'em,  is  it  that, 
honey?" 

"You  dear  thing!"  murmured  Carmen,  drawing  closer,  and 
laying  her  soft  cheek  against  the  leathery  visage  of  the  old 
woman. 

"Say  that  again,  honey — och,  say  it  again!  It's  words, 
darlin',  that's  nivir  been  said  to  old  Katie!" 

"Why,  hasn't  any  one  ever  been  kind  to  you?" 

25 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Kind!  Och,  ivirybody's  kind  to  me,  honey!  But  nobody 
has  ivir  loved  me — that  way.  The  good  Lord  made  me  a 
fright,  honey— ain't  ye  noticed?  I've  a  face  like  an  owl.  An' 
they  told  me  from  th'  cradle  up  I'd  nivir  land  a  man.  An'  I 
didn't,  honey;  they  all  ran  from  me — an'  so  I  become  a  bride 
o'  th'  Church.  But  I  ain't  complainin'." 

"But,  Katie,  the  face  is  nothing.  Why,  your  heart  is  as 
big — as  big  as  the  whole  world !  I  hadn't  been  with  you  an 
hour  before  I  knew  that.  And,  Katie  dear,  I  love  you." 

"Och,  darlin',"  murmured  the  woman,  "sure  th'  Virgin  be 
praised  fer  sendin'  ye  to  me,  a  lonely  old  woman!" 

"It  was  not  the  Virgin,  Katie,  but  God  who  brought  me 
here,"  said  the  girl  gently,  as  she  caressed  the  old  Sister's 
cheek. 

"It's  all  one,  honey;  the  Virgin's  th'  Mother  o'  God." 

"Why,  Katie!     You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying!" 

"Troth,  child,  she  has  th'  same  power  as  God!  Don't  we 
pray  to  her,  an'  she  prays  to  th'  good  God  to  save  us?  Don't 
she  have  influence  with  Him?" 

"No,  Katie,  no.  There  is  no  person  or  thing  that  persuades 
God  to  be  good  to  His  children.  There  is  nothing  that  influ 
ences  Him.  He  is  infinite — infinite  mind,  Katie,  and  infinite 
good.  Oh,  Katie,  w'hat  awful  things  are  taught  in  this  world 
as  truth !  How  little  we  know  of  the  great  God !  And  yet  how 
much  people  pretend  they  know  about  Him!  But  if  they  only 
knew — really  knew,  as  Jesus  did — why,  Katie,  there  wouldn't 
be  an  old  person,  or  a  sick  or  unhappy  one  in  the  whole  world! 
Katie,"  after  a  little  pause,  "I  know.  And  I'm  going  to  tell 
them." 

The  old  Sister  drew  the  child  closer.  "Air  these  more  o' 
yer  funny  notions,  darlin'?" 

"I  suppose  they  are  what  the  world  thinks  funny,  Katie," 
answered  the  girl. 

"An'  I  don't  wonder!  We  are  not  taught  such  things, 
honey.  But  then,  th'  world  moves,  girlie — even  old  Katie  sees 
that.  Only,  the  Church  don't  move  with  it.  An'  old  Katie  can 
see  that,  too.  An'  so,  I'm  thinkin',  does  Father  Waite." 

"I  know  he  does,  Katie." 

"Faith,  an'  how  do  ye  know  it,  child?" 

"He  talked  with  me — a  long  time,  this  morning.  He  said 
God  had  taught  me  what  I  know." 

"Aye,  is  it  so?  Thin  me  own  suspicions  air  right;  he's  out 
o'  tune!  Did  ye  say,  girlie  dear,  that  he  didn't  scold  ye  fer 
yer  funny  notions?" 

"No,  Katie,  he  said  they  were  right." 

"Did  he  so!     Thin,  lassie  dear,  things  is  goin'  to  happen. 

26 


An'  he's  a  good  man — troth,  they  make  no  better  in  this 
world!" 

The  old  Sister  lapsed  into  thought.  Carmen  looked  out 
wonderingly  over  the  city.  She  yearned  to  know  what  it  held 
for  her. 

"Katie,"  she  said  at  length,  bending  again  over  the  woman, 
"will  you  help  me  find  Mr.  Reed?" 

"Och,  lassie — what's  your  name  again?" 

"Carmen,"  replied  the  girl,  "Carmen  Ariza." 

"Cair-men  Aree — now  ain't  that  a  name  fer  ye!  An'  yer 
nationality,  girl?" 

"I'm  a  Colombian,  Katie." 

"Whist!     Where  is  it?    In  Afrikay?" 

"South  America,"  with  a  little  sigh. 

"Now  think  o'  that!  An'  I'm  Scotch-Irish,  honey;  an'  we're 
both  a  long  way  from  th'  ol'  sod!  Lassie  dear,  tell  me  about 
last  night.  But,  no;  begin  'way  back.  Give  us  th'  whole  tale. 
Old  Katie's  weak  in  th'  head,  girlie,  but  she  may  see  a  way  out 
fer  ye.  Th'  Virgin  help  ye,  puir  bairn!" 

Midnight  boomed  from  the  bell  in  a  neighboring  tower 
when  Carmen  finished  her  story. 

"Be  the  Saints  above!"  exclaimed  the  old  Sister,  staring  at 
the  girl  in  amazement.  "Now  do  ye  let  me  feel  of  ye  to  see 
that  ye  air  human;  fer  only  a  Saint  could  go  through  all  that 
an'  live  to  tell  it!  An'  the  place  ye  were  in  last  night!  Now 
be  Saint  Patrick,  if  I  was  rich  I'd  have  Masses  said  every  day 
fer  that  Jude  who  brung  ye  here!  Don't  tell  me  th'  good  Lord 
won't  forgive  her!  Och,  God!  she's  a  Saint  already." 

"She's  a  good  woman,  Katie;  and,  somehow,  I  felt  sorry 
for  her,  but  I  don't  know  why.  She  has  a  beautiful  home  in 
that  hotel— 

"Hotel,  is  it!  Hivins  above!  But — och,  sure,  it  was  a 
hotel,  honey.  Only,  ye  air  better  off  here  wi'  old  Katie." 

"And  now  you  will  help  me?" 

"Help  you,  lassie!  God  bless  ye,  yes!  But — unless  it's  wi' 
Father  Waite,  I  don't  know  W7hat  I  can  do.  Ye  air  in  bad  with 
th'  Sister  Superior  fer  yer  talk  at  th'  breakfast  table.  Ye're  a 
fresh  little  heathen,  honey.  An'  she's  suspicious  of  Father 
Waite,  too.  We  all  air.  An'  he  th'  best  man  on  airth!  But 
his  doctrine  ain't  just  sound,  swateheart.  Hivins,  doctrine!  It 
means  more'n  a  good  heart!  There,  honey,  lave  it  to  me.  But 
it's  got  to  be  done  quick,  or  th'  Sister  Superior  '11  have  ye  in 
an  orphan  asylum,  where  ye'll  stay  till  ye  air  soused  in  th' 
doctrine!  I  can  manage  to  get  word  to  Father  Waite  to 
morrow,  airly.  Jinny  will  run  over  fer  me.  A  bit  of  a  word 
wi'  him'll  fix  it,  lassie  dear.  An'  now,  honey  swate,  off  with 

27 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


them  funny  clothes  and  plump  into  bed.  Saints  above!  it's 
all  but  marnin'  now!" 

A  few  minutes  later  the  woman  turned  to  the  girl  who  lay 
so  quiet  at  her  side. 

"Honey,"  she  whispered,  "was  ye  tellin'  me  awhile  back  that 
ye  knew  the  right  way  to  pray?" 

"Yes,  Katie  dear,"  the  child  murmured. 

"Thin  do  you  pray,  lass,  an'  I'll  not  trouble  the  Virgin  this 

night." 

****** 

"Well,  Father,  what  do  you  think  now?"  The  Sister  Supe 
rior  looked  up  aggressively,  as  Father  Waite  slowly  entered  the 
room.  His  head  was  bowed,  and  there  was  a  look  of  deep 
earnestness  upon  his  face. 

"I  have  talked  with  her  again — an  hour,  or  more,"  he  said 
reflectively.  "She  is  a — a  remarkable  girl,  in  many  ways."  He 
stopped,  uncertain  how  to  proceed. 

The  Sister  eyed  him  keenly.  "She  attracts  and  repels  me, 
both,"  she  said.  "At  times  she  seems  positively  uncanny.  And 
she  appears  to  be  suffering  from  religious  dementia.  Do  you 
not  think  so?" 

It  was  a  compromising  question,  and  the  priest  weighed  his 
words  carefully  before  replying.  "She  does — seem  to — to  have 
rather — a — rather  unusual — religious  views,"  said  he  slowly. 

"Would  it  not  be  well  to  have  Dr.  Sullivan  examine  her?" 

"To  what  end?" 

"That  we  may  know  what  to  do  with  her.  If  she  is  mentally 
unsound  she  must  not  be  sent  to  the  orphanage." 

"She  should  be  taken — a — I  mean,  we  should  try  to  locate 
her  friends.  I  have  already  searched  the  city  directory;  but, 
though  there  are  many  Reeds,  there  are  none  listed  with  the 
initials  she  gave  me  as  his.  I  had  thought,"  he  continued 
hesitatingly,  "I  had  thought  of  putting  her  in  charge  of  the 
Young  Women's  Christian  Association— 

"Father  Waite!"  The  Sister  Superior  rose  and  drew  herself 
up  to  her  full  height.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  con 
templated  delivering  her  into  the  hands  of  heretics?"  she  de 
manded  coldly,  her  tall  figure  instinct  with  the  mortal  pride  of 
religious  superiority. 

"Why,  Sister,"  returned  the  priest  with  embarrassment, 
"would  it  not  be  wise  to  place  her  among  those  whose  views 
harmonize  more  closely  with  hers  than  ours  do?" 

"Father!     I  am  surprised — !" 

"But — she  is  not  a  Catholic!"  urged  the  man,  with  a  gesture 
of  impatience.  "And  she  will  never  be  one.  The  combined 
weight  of  all  the  centuries  of  church  authority  could  not  make 

28 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her  one — never!  I  must  take  her  to  those  with  whom  she 
rightfully  belongs." 

The  Sister  Superior's  eyes  narrowed  and  glittered,  and  her 
face  grew  dark.  "Never!"  she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "I  would 
rather  see  her  dead!  Father  Waite,  you  exceed  your  authority! 
I  am  in  charge  here,  and  I  shall  report  this  case  to  the 
Bishop!" 

The  priest  stood  hesitant  for  a  moment.  The  futility  of  his 
case  seemed  to  impress  him.  Taking  up  his  hat,  he  bowed 
without  speaking  and  went  out.  The  Sister  Superior  stepped 
to  the  telephone.  Outside  the  door  the  man  listened  until  he 
caught  the  number  she  called.  His  face  grew  dark  and  angry, 
and  his  hands  clenched  as  he  strode  down  the  hall. 

On  the  stairs  that  led  up  from  the  kitchen  stood  Sister 
Katherine. 

"Hist!     Father!" 

He  stopped  and  turned  to  the  woman.  Her  finger  went  up 
to  her  lips. 

"Wait  on  th'  corner — behind  the  church!  The  lassie  will 
meet  you  there!" 

Before  he  could  reply  the  woman  had  plunged  again  into 
the  dark  stairway.  Stopping  at  a  small  closet  below,  she  took 
out  a  bundle.  Then  she  hurried  to  the  kitchen  and  summoned 
Carmen,  who  was  sitting  at  a  table  peeling  potatoes. 

"Troth,  lazy  lass,"  she  commanded  sharply,  "do  you  take 
the  bucket  and  mop  and  begin  on  the  front  steps.  And  mind 
that  ye  don't  bring  me  heavy  hand  down  on  ye!  Och,  lassie 
darlin',"  she  added,  when  she  had  drawn  the  startled  girl  out 
of  hearing  of  the  others,  "give  yer  old  Katie  a  kiss,  and  then  be 
off!  Troth,  it  breaks  me  heart  to  see  ye  go — but  'twould  break 
yours  to  stay!  Go,  lassie  darlin',  an'  don't  fergit  old  Katie! 
Here,"  thrusting  the  girl's  bundle  and  a  dollar  bill  into  her 
hands,  "an'  God  bless  ye,  lass!  Ye've  won  me,  heart  an'  soul! 
Ye'll  find  a  frind  at  th'  nixt  corner!"  pointing  up  the  street.  She 
strained  the  girl  again  to  her  breast,  then  opened  the  door  and 
hastily  thrust  her  out  into  the  street. 

For  a  moment  Carmen  stood  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  it 
all.  She  looked  up  confusedly  at  the  great,  yellow  building 
from  which  she  had  been  ejected.  There  was  no  visible  sign 
of  life.  Then,  grasping  her  bundle  and  the  dollar  bill,  she 
hurried  out  through  the  gate  and  started  up  the  street. 

Around  the  corner  stood  Father  Waite.  The  man's  face 
was  furrowed,  and  his  body  trembled.  The  girl  went  up  to 
him  with  a  glad  smile.  The  priest  looked  up,  and  muttered 
something  incoherent  under  his  breath  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"Where  are  we  going,  Padre?"  she  asked. 

.so  29 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


He  drew  some  loose  change  from  his  pocket,  and  hailed  an 
approaching  street  car. 

"To  police  headquarters,"  he  replied,  "to  ask  them  to  help 
us  find  your  friends." 

CHAPTER  4 

FROM  the  mysterious  wastes  which  lie  far  out  on  the 
ocean,  the  fog  was  again  creeping  stealthily  across  the 
bay  and  into  the  throbbing  arteries  of  the  great  city. 
Through  half-opened  doors  and  windows  it  rolled  like  smoke, 
and  piled  like  drifted  snow  against  the  mountains  of  brick  and 
stone.  Caught  for  a  moment  on  a  transient  breeze,  it  swirled 
around  a  towering  pile  on  lower  Broadway,  and  eddied  up  to 
the  windows  of  the  Ketchim  Realty  Company,  where  it  sifted 
through  the  chinks  in  the  loose  frames  and  settled  like  a  pall 
over  the  dingy  rooms  within. 

To  Philip  O.  Ketchim,  junior  member  of  the  firm,  it 
seemed  a  fitting  external  expression  of  the  heavy  gloom  within 
his  soul.  Crumpled  into  the  chair  at  the  broad  table  in  his 
private  office,  \vith  his  long,  thin  legs  stretched  out  before  him, 
his  hands  crammed  into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers,  and  his 
bullet-shaped  head  sunk  on  his  flat  chest,  until  it  seemed  as  if 
the  hooked  nose  which  graced  his  hawk-like  visage  must  be 
penetrating  his  breast-bone,  the  man  was  the  embodiment  of 
utter  dejection.  On  the  littered  table,  where  he  had  just 
tossed  it,  lay  the  report  of  Reed  and  Harris  on  the  pseudo- 
mineral  properties  of  the  Molino  Company — the  "near-mines" 
in  the  rocky  canon  of  the  far-off  Boque.  Near  it  lay  the  cur 
rent  number  of  a  Presbyterian  review,  wherein  the  merits  of 
this  now  moribund  project  were  advertised  in  terms  whose 
glitter  had  attracted  swarms  of  eager,  trusting  investors. 

The  firm  name  of  Ketchim  Realty  Company  was  some 
thing  of  a  misnomer.  The  company  itself  was  an  experiment, 
whose  end  had  not  justified  its  inception.  It  had  been  launched 
a  few  years  previously  by  Douglass  Ketchim  to  provide  business 
careers  for  his  two  sons,  James  and  Philip.  The  old  gentleman, 
still  hale  and  vigorous,  was  one  of  those  sturdy  Englishmen 
who  had  caught  the  infection  of  '49  and  abruptly  severed  the 
ties  which  bound  them  to  their  Kentish  homes  for  the  allure 
ments  of  the  newly  discovered  El  Dorado  of  western  America. 
Across  the  death-haunted  Isthmus  of  Panama  and  up  the  in 
hospitable  Pacific  coast  the  indomitable  spirit  of  the  young  ad 
venturer  drove  him,  until  he  reached  the  golden  sands  of 
California.  There  he  toiled  for  many  years,  until  Fortune  at 

30 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


length  smiled  upon  his  quenchless  efforts.  Then  he  tossed  aside 
his  rough  tools  and  set  out  for  the  less  constricted  fields  of  the 
East. 

He  invested  his  money  wisely,  and  in  the  course  of  years 
turned  it  several  times.  He  became  a  banker.  He  aspired  to 
the  hand  of  a  sister  of  a  railway  president,  and  won  it.  He 
educated  his  sons  in  the  best  colleges  of  the  East,  and  then 
sent  them  to  Europe  on  their  honeymoons.  And  finally,  when 
the  burden  of  years  began  to  press  noticeably,  and  the  game 
became  less  attractive,  he  retired  from  the  field  of  business, 
cleared  off  his  indebtedness,  organized  the  Ketchim  Realty 
Company,  put  its  affairs  on  the  best  possible  basis,  and  then 
committed  the  unpardonable  folly  of  turning  it  over  to  the 
unrestricted  management  of  his  two  sons. 

The  result  was  chaos.  At  the  expiration  of  a  year  the  old 
gentleman  hurried  back  into  the  harness  to  save  the  remnant 
of  his  fortune,  only  to  find  it  inextricably  tied  up  in  lands  of 
dubious  value  and  questionable  promotional  schemes.  The 
untangling  of  the  real  estate  he  immediately  took  into  his  own 
hands.  The  schemes  he  left  to  his  sons. 

A  word  in  passing  regarding  these  sons,  for  they  typify  a 
form  of  parasitical  growth,  of  the  fungus  variety,  which  in 
these  days  has  battened  and  waxed  noxious  on  the  great  stalk 
of  legitimate  commercial  enterprise.  They  were  as  dissimilar, 
and  each  as  unlike  his  father,  as  is  possible  among  members  of 
the  same  family.  Both  sought,  with  diligent  consecration,  the 
same  goal,  money;  but  employed  wholly  different  means  to  gain 
that  end.  James,  the  elder,  was  a  man  of  ready  wit,  a  nimble 
tongue,  and  a  manner  which,  on  occasions  when  he  could  think 
of  any  one  but  himself,  was  affable  and  gracious.  He  was  a 
scoffer  of  religion,  an  open  foe  of  business  scruple,  and  the 
avowed  champion  of  every  sort  of  artifice  and  device  employed 
in  ancient,  mediaeval,  or  modern  finance  to  further  his  own 
selfish  desires,  in  the  minimum  of  time,  and  at  whatever  cost 
to  his  fellow-man.  In  his  cups  he  was  a  witty,  though  arrogant, 
braggart.  In  his  home  he  was  petulant  and  childish.  Of  real 
business  acumen  and  constructive  wisdom,  he  had  none.  He 
would  hew  his  way  to  wealth,  if  need  be,  openly  defiant  of 
God,  man,  or  the  devil.  Or  he  would  work  in  subtler  ways, 
through  deceit,  jugglery,  or  veiled  bribe.  But  he  generally 
wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve;  and  those  who  perforce  had  busi 
ness  relations  with  him  soon  discovered  that,  though  utterly 
unscrupulous,  his  character  was  continuously  revealed  through 
his  small  conceit,  which  caused  him  so  to  work  as  to  be  seen  of 
men  and  gain  their  cheap  plaudits  for  his  sharp,  mendacious 
practices. 

31 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Philip  retained  a  degree  of  his  father's  confidence — which 
James  wholly  lacked — and  he  spared  himself  no  pains  to  cul 
tivate  it.  Though  far  less  ready  of  wit  than  his  stubby,  bom 
bastic  brother,  he  was  a  tenacious  plodder,  and  was  for  this 
reason  much  more  likely  ultimately  to  achieve  his  sordid  pur 
poses.  His  energy  was  tireless,  and  he  never  admitted  defeat. 
He  never  worked  openly;  he  never  appeared  to  have  a  decided 
line  of  conduct;  and  no  one  could  ever  say  what  particular 
course  he  intended  to  pursue.  Apparently,  he  was  a  man  of 
exemplary  habits;  and  his  mild  boast  that  he  knew  not  the 
taste  of  tobacco  or  liquor  could  not  be  refuted.  He  was  an 
elder  in  the  Presbyterian  church  in  the  little  suburb  where  he 
lived,  and  superintendent  of  its  Sunday  school.  His  prayers 
were  beautiful  expressions  of  reverent  piety;  and  his  conver 
sation,  at  all  times  chaste  and  modest,  announced  him  a  man 
of  more  than  ordinary  purity  of  thought  and  motive.  While 
it  is  true  that  no  one  could  recall  any  pious  deed,  any  charitable 
act,  or  any  conduct  based  on  motives  of  self-abnegation  and 
brotherly  love  performed  by  him,  yet  no  one  could  ever  point 
to  a  single  coarse  or  mean  action  emanating  from  the  man.  If 
there  was  discord  in  company  affairs,  the  wanton  James  always 
bore  the  onus.  And  because  of  this,  relations  between  the 
brothers  gradually  assumed  a  condition  of  strain,  until  at 
length  James  openly  and  angrily  denounced  Philip  as  a  hypo 
crite,  and  refused  longer  to  work  with  him.  Thereupon  the 
milder  Philip  offered  the  other  cheek  and  installed  a  mediator, 
in  the  person  of  one  Rawlins,  a  sickly,  emaciated,  bearded,  but 
loyal  Hermes,  who  thenceforth  performed  the  multifold  func 
tions  of  pacificator,  go-between,  human  telephone,  and  bearer 
of  messages,  documents,  and  what-not  from  one  to  the  other 
for  a  nominal  wage  and  the  crumbs  that  dropped  from  the 
promoter's  table. 

The  fog  and  the  gloom  thickened,  and  Ketchim  sat  deeply 
immersed  in  both.  He  was  still  shaking  from  the  fright  which 
he  had  received  that  morning.  On  opening  the  door  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  his  house  to  take  the  train  to  the  city,  he  had 
confronted  two  bulky  policemen.  With  a  muffled  shriek  he  had 
slammed  the  door  in  their  astonished  faces  and  darted  back  into 
the  house,  his  heart  in  his  throat  and  hammering  madly.  How 
could  he  know  that  they  were  only  selling  tickets  to  a  Police 
men's  Ball?  Then  he  had  crept  to  the  window  and,  concealed 
in  the  folds  of  the  curtain,  had  watched  them  go  down  the 
street,  laughing  and  turning  often  to  glance  back  at  the  house 
that  held  such  a  queer-mannered  inmate. 

Rousing  himself  from  the  gloomy  revery  into  which  he  had 
lapsed,  Ketchim  switched  on  the  light  and  took  up  again  the 

32 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


report  of  Reed  and  Harris.  Sullenly  he  turned  its  pages,  while 
the  sallow  skin  on  his  low  forehead  wrinkled,  and  his  bird-like 
face  drew  into  ugly  contortions. 

"Fools!"  he  muttered.  "Didn't  they  see  that  clause  in  their 
contract,  providing  an  additional  fifty  thousand  in  stock  for 
them  in  case  they  made  a  favorable  report?" 

A  light  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  low  cough,  preceded  the 
noiseless  entrance  of  the  meek-souled  Rawlins. 

"A — a — this  is  the  list  which  Reverend  Jurges  sent  us — 
names  and  addresses  of  his  congregation.  I've  mailed  them  all 
descriptive  matter;  and  I  wrote  Mr.  Jurges  that  the  price  of  his 
stock  would  be  five  dollars,  but  that  we  couldn't  sell  to  his 
congregation  for  less  than  seven.  That's  right,  isn't  it?  I  told 
him  Molino  stock  would  go  up  to  par  next  month.  That's  what 
you  said,  I  believe." 

"How  much  stock  did  Jurges  say  he'd  take?"  demanded 
Ketchim,  without  looking  up. 

"Why,  he  said  he  could  only  get  together  two  thousand 
dollars  at  present,  but  that  later  he  would  have  some  endow 
ment  insurance  falling  due — " 

"How  soon?" 

"About  a  year,  I  think  he  said." 

"Well,  he  ought  to  be  able  to  borrow  on  that.  Did  you 
write  him  so?" 

"No— but  I  can." 

"Do  so — but  only  hint  at  it.  And  tell  him  to  send  his 
check  at  once  for  the  stock  he  has  agreed  to  take." 

"Why,  he  sent  that  some  days  ago.     I  thought  you — " 

"He  did?"  cried  Ketchim,  his  interest  now  fully  aroused. 
"Well,  where  is  it?" 

"Er — your  brother  James  received  the  letter,  and  I  believe 
he  put  the  check  in  his  pocket." 

Ketchim  gave  vent  to  a  snort  of  rage.  "You  tell  James,"  he 
cried,  pounding  the  desk  with  his  fist,  "that  as  president  and 
treasurer  of  the  Molino  Company  I  demand  that  check!" 

"Yes,  sir— and— " 

"Well?" 

"Mr.  Cass  'phoned  before  you  got  down  this  morning.  He 
said  the  bank  refused  to  extend  the  time  on  your  note." 

Ketchim  sank  back  limply  into  his  chair,  and  his  face  be 
came  ashen. 

"And  here  is  the  mail,"  pursued  the  gentle  Hermes,  handing 
him  a  bundle  of  letters. 

Ketchim  roused  himself  with  an  effort.  His  eyes  flashed 
angrily.  "Do  you  know  whether  James  has  been  selling  any 
of  his  own  Molino  stock?"  he  asked. 

33 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I — I  believe  he  has,  sir — a  little." 

"Humph!     And  how  much?" 

"He  sold  some  two  hundred  shares  yesterday — I  believe;  to 
a  Miss  Leveridge." 

"Leveridge?    Who's  she?    What  did  he  get  for  it?" 

"Why,  the  Leveridge  children — grown  men  and  women  now 
— have  just  sold  their  farm  down  state;  and  Mr.  James  saw 
the  sale  announced  in  the  papers.  So  he  got  in  touch  with 
Miss  Alvina  Leveridge.  I  believe  he  sent  Houghton  down  there; 
and  he  closed  a  deal.  Mr.  James  got  eight  dollars  a  share,  I 
believe." 

"You  believe!     You  know,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  meekly. 

Ketchim  gulped  down  his  wrath,  and  continued: 

"How  much  did  the  Leveridges  get  for  their  farm?  And 
why  didn't  you  inform  me  of  the  sale?"  he  demanded,  fixing 
the  humble  Rawlins  with  a  cold  eye. 

"A — a — twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  sir,  I  believe.  And  I 
didn't  see  the  notice  until— 

"As  usual,  James  saw  it  first!  An  excellent  scout  you  are! 
Twenty-five  thousand  dollars!  How  many  acres?" 

"A  hundred  and  eighty,  I  believe." 

Ketchim  reflected.  "James  is  still  dickering  with  Miss 
Leveridge,  I  suppose?" 

"I  believe  so,  sir." 

"Nezlett  got  back  last  night,  didn't  he?  Very  well,  call  him 
up  and  tell  him  to  get  ready  to  go  at  once  to — wherever  the 
Leveridges  live.  And — I  wrant  to  see  him  right  away!" 

He  abruptly  dismissed  the  factotum  and  turned  to  his  mail. 
As  his  glance  fell  upon  the  pile  he  gasped.  Then  he  quickly 
drew  out  a  letter  and  tore  it  open.  His  thin  lips  moved  rapidly 
as  his  eyes  roved  over  the  paper.  He  laid  the  letter  down  and 
looked  wildly  about.  Then  he  took  it  up  again  and  read  aloud 
the  closing  words: 

" — and,  having  bought  somewhat  heavily  of  Molino  stock,  and  believing 
that  your  representations  were  made  with  intent  to  deceive,  I  shall,  unless 
immediate  reparation  or  satisfactory  explanation  is  made,  take  such  steps 
as  my  counsel  may  advise.  Yours,  etc., 

"J.  WILTON  AMES." 

Congealing  with  fear,  Ketchim  took  his  stock  memorandum 
from  a  drawer  and  consulted  it.  "He  put  in  ten  thousand, 
cash,"  he  murmured,  closing  the  book  and  replacing  it.  "And 
I  always  wondered  why,  for  he  doesn't  go  into  things  that  he 
can't  control.  There's  where  I  was  a  fool!  He  shouldn't  have 
been  sold  a  dollar's  worth!  He  knows  we  can't  return  the 
money;  and  now  he's  tightening  the  screws!  He  has  some 
thing  up  his  sleeve;  and  we've  fallen  for  it!" 

34 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


He  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  groaned  aloud.  "Why  did 
he  buy?  Did  he  think  he'd  reach  Uncle  Ted  through  us?  By 
Jove!  that's  it!  For  a  year  or  more  he's  wanted  to  oust  Uncle 
from  the  C.  &  R.,  and  now  he  thinks  by  threatening  the  family 
with  disgrace,  and  us  fellows  with  the  pen,  he  can  do  it!  What 
fools  we've  been !  Oh,  if  I  ever  get  out  of  this  I'll  steer  clear  of 
these  deals  in  the  future!"  It  was  his  stock  resolution,  which 
had  never  borne  fruit. 

The  door  opened  slightly,  and  the  noiseless  Rawlins  timidly 
announced  the  arrival  of  Reed  and  Harris. 

"Show  them  in  at  once!"  cried  Ketchim,  jumping  up  and 
hastily  passing  his  hands  over  his  hair  and  face.  Then,  ad 
vancing  with  a  wan  smile,  he  courteously  greeted  the  callers. 

"Well,  fellows,"  he  began,  waving  them  to  seats,  "it  looks  a 
little  bad  for  Molino,  doesn't  it?  I've  just  been  reading  your 
report — although  of  course  you  told  me  over  the  'phone  yester 
day  that  there  was  no  hope.  But,"  he  continued  gravely,  and 
his  face  grew  serious,  "I'm  glad,  very  glad,  of  one  thing,  and 
that  is  that  there  are  men  in  the  world  to-day  who  are  above 
temptation." 

"Which  means — ?"  queried  Harris. 

"Why,"  continued  Ketchim,  smiling  pallidly,  "the  little 
joker  that  James  inserted  in  the  contract,  about  your  getting 
fifty  thousand  in  the  event  of  a  favorable  report.  I  told  him  it 
didn't  look  well — but  he  said  it  would  test  you.  He  would  be 
funny,  though,  no  matter  how  serious  the  business.  But  you 
shoxved  that  you  were  men." 

Harris  snickered;  but  Reed  turned  the  conversation  at 
once.  "We  have  been  studying  how  wre  could  help  you  pull 
the  thing  out  of  the  fire.  Suppose  you  give  us,"  he  suggested, 
"a  little  of  Molino's  history.  Then  perhaps  something  may 
occur  to  us." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  replied  Ketchim  gloomily.  "The 
mines  were  located  by  a  man  named  Lakes,  at  one  time  acting- 
Consul  at  Cartagena.  He  is  half  Colombian,  I  believe.  He  came 
up  to  New  York  and  interested  Bryan,  Westler,  and  some 
others,  and  they  asked  us  to  act  as  fiscal  agents." 

"But  you  never  had  title  to  the  property,"  said  Reed. 

"Certainly  we  have  the  title!     Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because,  on  our  way  down  the  Magdalena  river  we  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  certain  Captain  Final,  of  the  Colombian 
army.  When  he  learned  that  we  were  mining  men  he  told  us 
he  had  a  string  of  rich  properties  that  he  would  like  to  sell.  I 
inquired  their  location,  and  he  said  they  lay  along  the  Boque 
river.  And  I  learned  that  he  had  clear  title  to  the  property, 
too — Molino's  mines.  Now  you  have  sold  some  three  or  four 

35 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock  on  alleged  mines  to 
which  you  never  had  even  the  shadow  of  a  claim!" 

"But —  "  murmured  Ketchim  weakly,  "we  thought  we  had. 
We  acted  in  good  faith — we  took  Mr.  Lakes's  word — and  we 
showed  our  confidence  and  sincerity  by  purchasing  machinery 
to  operate — 

"Oh,  the  machinery  \vent  down  there,  all  right!"  ejaculated 
Harris  with  a  laugh.  "I  judge  it  was  designed  to  manufacture 
barrel  staves,  rather  than  to  extract  gold !  Lakes  had  it  shipped 
to  Cartagena;  rented  part  of  an  old  woman's  house;  dumped 
the  machinery  in  there;  and  now  she's  wild.  Can't  get  her  pay 
from  you  for  storing  the  machinery;  and  can't  sell  the  stuff, 
nor  move  it.  So  there  she  sits,  under  some  six  or  eight  tons  of 
iron  junk,  waiting  for  the  Lord  to  perform  a  miracle!" 

Ketchim  smiled  feebly.  "It's  too  bad!"  he  murmured.  "But 
Molino  has  no  funds — 

"You  are  still  selling  stock,  aren't  you?"  demanded  Reed. 

"Oh,  no!"  quickly  returned  Ketchim.  "We  would  not  sell 
any  more  stock  until  we  received  your  report — and  not  then, 
unless  the  report  were  favorable.  That  would  not  have  been 
right!" 

Reed  eyed  him  narrowly.  But  the  image  of  truth  sat  en 
throned  upon  Ketchim's  sharp  features. 

"It  is  unfortunate,  boys,"  the  promoter  continued  dejectedly. 
"But  I  care  nothing  for  my  own  losses;  it's  the  poor  stock 
holders  I  am  thinking  about.  I  would  do  anything  to  relieve 
them.  I've  prayed  to  be  led  to  do  right.  What  would  you 
suggest?" 

"I  suggest,"  blurted  out  Harris,  "that,  having  already  re 
lieved  them  considerably,  vou'll  soon  be  wearing  a  striped 
suit!" 

The  last  trace  of  color  faded  from  Ketchim's  face,  but  the 
sickly  smile  remained.  "I'd  wear  it,  willingly,  if  by  so  doing 
I  could  help  these  poor  people,"  he  mournfully  replied. 

"Well,"  pursued  Harris,  "it'll  help  some  when  they  learn 
that  you're  in  one." 

"Boys,"  said  Ketchim  suddenly,  quite  disregarding  the  in 
sinuation,  "to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  I  want  you  both  out  to 
dinner  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  this  all  over.  Then  in  the 
afternoon  I  want  you  to  come  over  and  see  my  little  Sunday 
school.  Fellows,"  he  continued  gravely,  "I've  prayed  for  you 
and  for  your  success  every  day  since  you  left.  And  my  faith 
in  my  Saviour  is  too  great  to  be  shattered  now  by  your  adverse 
report.  He  certainly  will  show  us  a  wray  out;  and  I  can  trust 
him  and  wait." 

Reed  and  Harris  looked  at  him  and  then  at  each  other  with 

36 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


puzzled  expressions  on  their  faces.  The  man  continued  ear 
nestly: 

"Colombia  is  a  rich  and  undeveloped  country,  you  have 
said.  There  must  be  other  mineral  properties  available  there. 
Did  you  see  none  on  your  travels?  Or  could  we  not  organize 
an  exploration  party  to  search  for  mines?" 

"Who'd  furnish  the  wherewithal?"  asked  Harris  bluntly. 

"Oh,  that  could  be  arranged." 

"Will  your  sheep  stand  for  further  shearing?"  queried  the 
grinning  Harris. 

"Fellows,"  said  Ketchim,  brightening  and  drawing  his  chair 
closer,  "you've  got  something — I  know  it!  You've  got  some 
thing  to  suggest  that  will  save  the  Molino  stockholders!" 

"But  not  yourself,  eh?"  taunted  Harris. 

"I  shall  sacrifice  myself,"  answered  Ketchim  deprecatingly. 
His  manner  had  now  become  animated,  and  he  leaned  expect 
antly  toward  them. 

Reed  and  Harris  again  looked  questioningly  at  each  other. 
"I  guess  we  might  as  well,"  said  Reed  in  a  low  voice.  "It  is 
bound  to  come  out,  anyway." 

"Sure,"  returned  Harris;  "drive  ahead." 

"Mr.  Ketchim,"  began  Reed,  turning  to  the  eager,  fidgeting 
man,  "when  I  came  to  New  York  a  year  ago,  looking  for  a 
business  opening,  my  friend  and  former  classmate  in  the  Uni 
versity,  Mr.  Cass,  put  me  in  touch  with  you.  At  that  time  you 
were  booming  the  Molino  company  hard,  and,  I  have  no  doubt, 
thought  you  really  had  something  down  in  Colombia.  But 
when  you  offered  to  lease  me  a  portion  of  your  properties  there, 
I  laughed  at  you.  And,  in  the  course  of  time,  I  succeeded  in 
convincing  you  that  you  knew  nothing  whatsoever  about  the 
properties  on  which  you  were  selling  so  much  stock.  Then, 
after  months  of  parley,  from  an  offer  to  permit  me  to  go  down 
to  Colombia  at  my  own  expense  to  examine  Molino's  mines,  to 
ascertain  whether  or  not  I  wished  to  operate  a  part  of  them  on 
a  royalty  basis,  you  adopted  my  own  view,  namely,  that  the 
time  had  come  for  you  to  know  whether  the  company  pos 
sessed  anything  of  value  or  not.  And  so  you  sent  my  asso 
ciate,  Mr.  Harris,  and  myself  down  there  to  examine  and  re 
port  on  Molino's  so-called  mines.  And  you  gave  us  each  a 
block  of  stock  as  part  compensation.  We  found  the  mines 
barren.  And  now  you  have  got  to  face  a  body  of  stockholders 
from  whom  you  have  lured  thousands  of  dollars  by  your  mis 
representations.  From  talks  with  your  salesmen,  I  am  con 
vinced  that  this  body  of  stockholders  is  made  up  chiefly  of 
widows  and  indigent  clergymen." 

"Which  of  my  salesmen  told  you  that?"  interrupted  Ketchim 
heatedly. 

37 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Let  us  waive  that,"  replied  Reed  calmly.  "The  fact  is,  you 
are  in  a  hard  way  just  at  present,  is  it  not  so?" 

"Fellows,"  said  Ketchim,  with  an  air  of  penitent  humility, 
"the  officers  and  stockholders  of  the  Molino  Company  have  been 
grossly  deceived  and  unfortunately — 

"All  right,"  interrupted  Reed,  "we'll  pass  that.  But  Harris 
and  I  have  played  square  with  you.  And  wre  are  going  to  con 
tinue  to  do  so,  and  to  offer  you  a  possible  opportunity  to  do 
something  for  your  poor  stockholders,  and  incidentally  for  your 
self  and  us.  The  fact  is,  we  do  know  of  another  property 
down  there,  but  we  haven't  the  title — 

"That  makes  no  difference!"  interrupted  Ketchim.  "I  mean, 
it  can  be  acquired —  "  striving  to  restrain  his  eagerness. 

"That's  just  the  question,"  replied  Reed.  "The  title  is  at 
present  vested  in  a  young  Colombian  girl,  \vho,  unfortunately, 
is  lost.  This  girl  came  up  to  the  States  with  us — 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Ketchim,  unable  longer  to  hold  himself. 
"Then  you  broke  your  contract,  for  that  stipulated  that  what 
ever  you  might  acquire  there  should  belong  to  me!  I  engaged 
your  services,  remember!" 

"I  believe,"  put  in  Harris  dryly,  "we  were  employed  by  the 
Molino  company." 

"But  my  mother  advanced  the  funds  to  send  you  down 
there!"  cried  Ketchim. 

"How  about  the  poor  stockholders?"  queried  Harris,  with 
an  insinuating  grin. 

"I'm  speaking  for  the  stockholders,  of  course,"  said  Ket 
chim,  subsiding.  "But,  proceed,  please." 

"There  is  no  likelihood  that  this  poor  girl  will  ever  be  heard 
of  again,"  continued  Reed.  "Nor  is  it  likely  that  the  title 
papers,  which  she  has  with  her,  will  be  of  any  use  to  those  into 
whose  hands  she  has  fallen.  Her  old  foster-father  held  the  title 
to  this  mine,  but  transferred  it  to  the  girl,  stipulating  that  she 
and  I  should  divide  a  large  interest  in  the  stock  of  a  company 
formed  to  develop  and  operate  it.  For  my  share,  I  agreed  to 
bring  the  young  girl  to  the  States  and  place  her  in  a  school,  at 
my  own  expense."  He  went  on  to  relate  the  manner  in  which 
Carmen  had  been  lost,  and  then  continued:  "Of  course,  the 
title  to  this  mine  is  registered  in  Cartagena,  and  in  the  girl's 
name,  as  the  old  man  gave  me  po\ver  to  have  that  change  made. 
But,  now  that  she  is  gone,  the  property  naturally  reverts  to 
him." 

"We  will  relocate  it!"  declared  Ketchim  impatiently. 

"No,  that  wouldn't  be  right  to  the  old  man,"  returned  Reed. 
"But,  it  might  be  that  the  property  could  now  be  secured  from 
him.  He  is  old  and  penniless,  and  without  any  further  interest 

38 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


in  life.  It  is  a  bare  chance,  but  we  might  prevail  upon  him  to 
join  us  in  the  formation  of  a  company  to  take  over  his  mine, 
La  Libertad." 

"Is  that  the  name  of  it?"  asked  Ketchim,  reaching  for  a 
writing  pad.  "Spell  it  for  me,  please.  And  the  name  of  the  old 
man." 

Reed  complied,  and  then  continued:  "Now,  Mr.  Ketchim, 
we  are  living  strictly  up  to  the  letter  of  our  contract  by  giving 
you  this  information.  It  would  require  not  less  than  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  cash  in  hand,  to  acquire  that  mine, 
develop  it,  make  trails,  and  erect  a  stamp-mill.  Mr.  Harris  and 
I  are  in  no  condition  financially  to  advance  or  secure  such  an 
amount." 

"It  is  barely  possible,"  mused  Harris,  "that  my  father  and 
Uncle  John  could  do  something." 

"We  don't  have  to  call  upon  them!"  cried  Ketchim.  "Your 
interest,  Mr.  Reed,  in  this  mine  already  belongs  to  Molino,  as 
you  were  acting  under  contract  with  us— 

"I  have  covered  that  point,  Mr.  Ketchim,"  replied  Reed 
evenly.  "But  the  time  has  come  for  us  all  to  put  our  shoulders 
to  the  wheel,  act  fairly  with  one  another,  help  the  Molino  stock 
holders,  and  at  the  same  time  make  good  ourselves.  Mr.  Harris 
and  I  have  barely  entered  upon  our  business  careers,  and  we 
have  come  to  New  York  to  establish  ourselves.  This  may  afford 
the  opportunity.  We  know  where  this  mine  is— we  know  the 
old  man,  and  may  be  able  to  influence  him.  To  forestall  possi 
ble  complications,  we  should  begin  negotiations  with  him  at 
once.  But — remember — everything  must  be  done  in  the  name 
of  the  company,  not  in  your  own  name.  And  Mr.  Harris  and 
I  must  personally  negotiate  with  the  old  man,  and  receive  a  very 
liberal  compensation  for  our  work." 

"Certainly!"  cried  the  excited  Ketchim.  "Goodness,  fellows! 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  yesterday  over  the  'phone,  and  save 
me  a  night  of  torment?  But  I  forgive  you.  Gracious!  Raw- 
lins,"  he  said,  addressing  that  individual,  who  had  entered  in 
response  to  the  buzzer,  "  'phone  Cass  to  come  right  over.  And 
tell  Miss  Honeywell  to  give  you  ten  dollars  for  our  lunch,  and 
charge  it  to  Molino.  It's  company  business.  By  Jove,  fellows ! 
this  is  a  happy  day  for  me.  Since  the  old  man  gave  you  a 
share  in  the  mine,  Molino  has  property,  after  all!" 

"Has  it  to  get,"  amended  Harris  dubiously. 

"Oh,  we'll  get  it!"  cried  Ketchim,  rubbing  his  hands  glee 
fully.  "But  now  while  waiting  for  Cass,  tell  me  more  about 
your  trip.  It  is  wonderful!  And  so  romantic!" 

In  the  midst  of  the  ensuing  recital,  Cass  was  announced; 
and  Ketchim,  after  detailing  to  him  the  previous  conversation, 

39 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


launched  into  the  project  which  had  been  developing  in  his  own 
mind  while  Reed  had  been  describing  his  experiences  in  the 
South. 

"What  we  want  is  another  organization,  fellows,"  he  said 
in  conclusion,  "to  take  over  the  tottering  Molino;  purchase  its 
assets  with  stock;  give  Molino  stockholders  an  opportunity  to 
get  in  on  the  ground  floor,  and  so  on.  We'll  let  Molino  die  in 
the  arms  of  a  new  company,  eh?" 

"But  one  with  a  somewhat  wider  scope,"  suggested  Cass, 
with  an  air  of  importance.  "A  sort  of  general  development 
company,  to  secure  La  Libertad,  if  possible;  prospect  for  other 
mineral  properties;  and  develop  the  resources  of  the  country." 

"Just  so,"  assented  Ketchim,  with  increasing  enthusiasm. 
"A  company  to  go  in  for  coffee,  cotton — you  say  you  saw  wild 
cotton,  didn't  you,  fellows?  Great!  And  cocoanuts,  timber, 
cattle — in  fact,  we'll  get  concessions  from  the  Colombian  Gov 
ernment,  and  we'll — 

"Just  rip  things  wide  open,  eh?"  finished  Harris. 

"That's  it!"  cried  Ketchim  radiantly.  "Uncle  Ted  has  in 
fluence  at  Washington,  with  the  Pan  American  Union,  and  so 
on — why,  we  can  get  anything  we  want!  Ames  and  the  bank 
will  both  cool  down — by  Jove,  this  is  great!" 

"But  where's  the  cold  and  vulgar  cash  coming  from  to  oil 
the  wheels?"  put  in  the  practical  Harris. 

"Oh,  I  can  sell  the  stock,"  replied  Ketchim.  "Then,  too, 
there's  the  Molino  stockholders;  why,  I'll  bet  there's  hardly  one 
that  wouldn't  be  able  to  scrape  up  a  fe\v  dollars  more  for  the 
new  company!  By  the  wTay,  what'll  we  call  it?  Give  us  a  name, 
somebody." 

"I'd  call  it  the  Salvation  Company,"  drawled  Harris,  "as  it 
is  likely  to  delay  your  trip  to  Sing  Sing." 

A  general  laugh,  in  which  Ketchim  joined  heartily,  followed 
the  remark. 

"I  suggest  we  call  it  the  Simiti  Development  Company," 
said  Cass,  after  a  moment's  dignified  reflection. 

"Great!"  cried  Ketchim.  "It  has  a  prosperous  ring!  And 
now  its  capitalization?  We  must  make  it  big!" 

"Hem!"  returned  Cass.  "If  these  gentlemen  can  acquire 
that  mine,  I  think  I  would  capitalize  for,  say,  about  three 
millions."  He  went  to  the  desk  and  made  some  calculations. 
"I  assume,"  he  continued  somewhat  pompously  after  a  few 
moments'  figuring,  "that  you  wish  to  retain  me,  and  that  I  am 
to  take  my  compensation  in  stock?" 

Ketchim  quickly  assented.  He  knew  that  Cass  had  correctly 
concluded  that  in  no  other  way  was  he  likely  to  be  reimbursed. 
And,  at  best,  it  was  only  a  hazard,  a  wild  gamble.  In  fact,  it 

40 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  a  last  desperate  chance.  Moreover,  stock  was  always 
available;  while  cash  was  a  rare  commodity. 

"Suppose,  then,"  continued  the  sapient  young  lawyer,  "that 
we  capitalize  for  three  millions;  set  aside  one  million,  five  hun 
dred  and  one  thousand  as  treasury  stock,  to  be  sold  to  raise 
money  for  development  purposes;  transfer  to  the  Ketchim  Re 
alty  Company  one  million,  as  compensation  for  acting  as  fiscal 
agents  of  the  new  company;  transfer  to  these  two  gentlemen,  as 
part  compensation  for  past  and  future  services,  the  sum  of  four 
hundred  thousand  in  stock;  give  to  the  stockholders  of  the 
Molino  Company  the  sum  of  fifty-nine  thousand  in  stock  for 
all  the  assets,  machinery,  good  will,  et  cetera,  of  that  company; 
and  to  me,  for  services  to  be  rendered,  forty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  the  stock.  All  of  us  shall  agree  not  to  sell  any  of  our 
personal  holdings  of  stock  until  the  company  shall  be  placed 
upon  a  dividend-paying  basis.  And  Mr.  Reed,  or  Mr.  Harris,  or 
both,  will  return  to  Colombia  immediately  to  relocate  the  mine 
and  prepare  for  its  development,  while  the  Ketchim  Realty 
Company  at  once  endeavor  to  sell  the  treasury  stock." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  comprehensive  plan,  Cass 
settled  back  in  his  chair  and  awaited  remarks. 

"Well,"  observed  Ketchim  at  length,  "that's  all  right — only, 
I  think  we  should  be  allowed  to  sell  our  personal  stock  if  we 
wish.  Of  course,"  with  a  deprecating  wave  of  his  hand,  "there 
isn't  the  slightest  likelihood  of  our  ever  wanting  to  do  that— 
with  a  mine  such  as  you  have  described,  fellows.  But — why 
hedge  us  about?" 

"Not  one  dollar's  worth  of  your  stock  shall  you  be  permitted 
to  sell!"  cried  Harris,  bringing  his  fist  down  upon  the  desk. 

"I  suggest  that  we  leave  that  for  the  Directors  to  decide 
later,"  offered  Cass,  anxious  to  avoid  discord.  He  was  young, 
scarcely  out  of  the  twenties,  just  married,  just  admitted  to  the 
bar,  and  eager  to  get  a  toe-hold  in  the  world  of  business.  "And 
now,"  he  concluded,  "if  agreeable  to  you,  I  .will  put  this 
through  at  once,  organize  the  company,  and  get  the  charter. 
You  gentlemen  will  return  to  Colombia  as  soon  as  Mr.  Ketchim 
can  provide  the  necessary  funds." 

"Mr.  Harris  and  I  have  formed  an  engineering  partnership," 
said  Reed.  "As  such,  we  will  handle  the  affairs  of  the  new 
company  in  Colombia.  Mr.  Harris  will  proceed  to  that  country, 
while  I  go  to  California  to  open  a  copper  mine  which  we  have 
taken  over  there.  In  time  I  will  relieve  Mr.  Harris  in  the  South. 
Now,  Mr.  Ketchim,  wrhat  can  you  do?" 

"I'll  send  Houghton  and  Nezlett  out  on  the  road  to-morrow. 
Rawlins  has  just  told  me  of  one  prospect,  a  bully  one!  We 
don't  need  to  wait  for  the  papers  from  Albany  before  going 

41 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ahead.  But  we  find  it  costs  about  forty-eight  cents  to  sell  a 
dollar's  worth  of  stock,  and  so  some  time  will  be  needed  to 
raise  enough  to  send  Mr.  Harris  back  to  Colombia — unless,"  he 
added,  eying  Harris  furtively,  "he  will  advance  us  the  amount 
of  his  own  expenses — " 

"Which  he  will  not!"  retorted  Harris  warmly.  "I  haven't 
it,  anyway.  Nor  has  Reed.  We're  both  broke." 

"There's  a  revolution  on  down  there  now,"  said  Reed,  "and 
we'd  better  go  easy  for  a  while.  Besides,  Harris  needs  time  to 
study  the  language.  But,  are  we  all  agreed  on  the  terms? 
Salary  for  Harris  while  in  Colombia  to  be  settled  later,  of 
course." 

"It's  all  satisfactory,  I  think,"  said  Ketchim,  smiling  hap 
pily.  "The  details  can  be  worked  out  anon — Molino  stock 
holders'  meeting,  and  so  on." 

"Then,"  said  Reed,  rising,  "we  will  consider  the  new  com 
pany  launched,  to  take  over  the  defunct  Molino  and  to  operate 
on  a  comprehensive  scale  in  Colombia,  beginning  with  the 
development  of  La  Libertad,  if  we  can  secure  it." 

At  that  moment  Rawlins  opened  the  door  and  peered  in. 
"A  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Reed,"  he  announced  softly;  "a  priest, 
I  believe." 

Harris  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  door  swung  open,  and  Father 
Waite  entered  with  Carmen. 

With  a  glad  cry  the  girl  dropped  her  bundle  and  bounded 
into  the  arms  of  the  astonished  Harris.  Reed  grasped  the 
priest's  hand,  and  begged  him  to  speak.  Ketchim  and  the  young 
lawyer  looked  on  in  perplexity. 

"I  was  unable  to  find  your  name  in  the  city  directory,  Mr. 
Reed,"  explained  the  priest,  his  face  beaming  with  happiness. 
"But  at  police  headquarters  I  found  that  you  had  made  in 
quiries,  and  that  detectives  were  searching  for  the  girl.  I 
learned  that  you  were  living  with  your  wife's  sister,  and  that 
you  had  no  business  address,  having  just  come  up  from  South 
America.  So  I  telephoned  to  your  sister-in-law,  and  your  wife 
informed  me  that  you  had  an  appointment  this  morning  at  this 
office.  I  therefore  came  directly  here  with  the  girl,  who,  as 
you  see,  is  safe  and  sound,  but  with  an  additional  interesting 
experience  or  two  to  add  .to  the  large  fund  she  already  pos 
sessed."  He  looked  down  at  Carmen  and  smiled.  "And  now," 
he  concluded,  laughing,  as  he  prepared  to  depart,  "I  will  not 
ask  for  a  receipt  for  the  child,  as  I  see  I  have  several  witnesses 
to  the  fact  that  I  have  delivered  her  to  the  proper  custodian." 
He  bowed  and  went  to  .the  door. 

"Wait!"  cried  Reed,  seizing  him  by  the  hand.  "We  want  to 
thank  you !  We  want  to  know  you — 

42 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"I  will  give  you  my  card,"  replied  the  priest.  "And  I  would 
be  very  happy,  indeed,  if  some  time  again  I  might  be  permitted 
to  see  and  talk  with  the  little  girl."  He  handed  his  card  to 
Reed;  then  nodded  and  smiled  at  Carmen  and  went  out. 

"By  Jove!"  sputtered  Harris,  pushing  the  girl  aside  and 
making  after  him.  But  he  was  too  late.  The  priest  had  al 
ready  caught  a  descending  elevator,  and  disappeared.  Harris 
returned  to  the  bewildered  group.  "I  guess  that  knocks  the 
Simiti  Company  sky-high,"  he  exclaimed,  "for  here  is  the  sole 
owner  of  La  Libertad!" 

Ketchim  collapsed  into  a  chair,  while  Reed,  saying  that  he 
would  keep  his  dinner  engagement  with  Ketchim  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  picked  up  Carmen's  precious  bundle  and,  taking 
her  hand,  left  the  room.  "I  am  going  home,"  he  called  back  to 
Harris;  "and  you  be  sure  to  come  up  to  the  house  to-night. 
We'll  have  to  readjust  our  plans  now." 


CHAPTER  5 

EED,"  said  Harris  the  following  day,  as  they  sat  in  the 
dusty,  creaking  car  that  was  conveying  them  to  their 
dinner  appointment  with  Ketchim,  "who  is  this  Ames 
that  Ketchim  referred  to  yesterday?" 

The  men  were  not  alone,  for  Carmen  accompanied  them. 
Reed  was  reluctantly  bringing  her  at  the  urgent  request  re 
ceived  from  Ketchim  over  the  telephone  the  previous  evening. 
But  the  girl,  subdued  by  the  rush  of  events  since  her  precipita 
tion  into  the  seething  American  world  of  materialism,  sat  apart 
from  them,  gazing  with  rapt  attention  through  the  begrimed 
window  at  the  flying  scenery,  and  trying  to  interpret  it  in  the 
light  of  her  own  tenacious  views  of  life  and  the  universe.  If 
the  marvels  of  this  new  world  into  which  she  had  been  thrown 
had  failed  to  realize  her  expectations — if  she  saw  in  them,  and 
in  the  sense  of  life  which  they  express,  something  less  real, 
less  substantial,  than  do  those  who  laud  its  grandeur  and  power 
to  charm — she  gave  no  hint.  She  was  still  absorbing,  sifting 
and  digesting  the  welter  of  impressions.  She  had  been  over 
powered,  smothered  by  the  innovation;  and  she  now  found  her 
thoughts  a  tangled  jumble,  which  she  strove  incessantly  to 
unravel  and  classify  according  to  their  content  of  reality,  as 
judged  by  her  own  standards. 

"Why,  Ames,"  replied  Reed,  turning  a  watchful  eye  upon 
Carmen,  "is  a  multimillionaire  financier  of  New  York — -surely 
you  have  heard  of  him !  He  and  his  clique  practically  own  the 

43 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


United  States,  and  a  large  slice  of  Europe.  For  some  reason 
Ames  bought  a  block  of  Molino  stock.  And  now,  I  judge,  Ket- 
chim  would  give  his  chances  on  eternal  life  if  he  hadn't  sold  it 
to  him.  And  that's  what's  worrying  me,  too.  For,  since  Ames 
is  heavily  interested  in  Molino,  what  will  he  do  to  the  new 
company  that  absorbs  it?" 

"There  isn't  going  to  be  any  new  company,"  asserted  Har 
ris  doggedly. 

"There's  got  to  be!"  cried  Reed.  "Ketchim  holds  us  strictly 
to  our  contract.  Our  negotiations  with  old  Rosendo  were  made 
while  in  the  employ  of  Molino.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  we 
had  only  Ketchim  to  deal  with.  We've  got  the  goods  on  him 
and  could  beat  him.  But  here  enters  Ames,  a  man  of  unlimited 
wealth  and  influence.  If  he  wants  La  Libertad,  he's  going  to 
get  it,  you  mark -me!  Where  we  fell  down  was  in  ever  men 
tioning  it  to  Ketchim.  For  if  we  don't  come  over  now  he  will 
lay  the  whole  affair  before  Ames.  He  told  me  over  the  'phone 
last  night  that  he  was  badly  in  debt — that  Ames  was  pressing 
him — that  many  of  the  Molino  stockholders  were  making  per 
tinent  inquiries.  Oh,  he  quite  opened  his  heart!  And  yester 
day  I  saw  on  his  desk  a  letter  from  Ames.  I  can  imagine  what 
it  contained.  Ketchim  would  sacrifice  us  and  everything  else  to 
keep  himself  out  of  Ames's  grip.  We're  in  for  it,  I  tell  you! 
And  all  because  we  were  a  bit  too  previous  in  believing  that 
the  girl  had  disappeared  for  good." 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Harris,  "but  doesn't  it  sound  like  a 
fairy-tale,  the  way  Carmen  got  back  to  us?" 

"And  here  I  am,"  continued  Reed,  with  a  gesture  of  vexa 
tion,  "left  with  the  girl  on  my  hands,  and  with  a  very  healthy 
prospect  of  losing  out  all  around.  My  wife  said  emphatically 
last  night  that  she  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  Carmen." 

"Well,  she  won't  bother  you.     Send  her  away  to  school." 

"Fine!  Good  idea!"  replied  Reed  sarcastically.  "But  do  you 
realize  that  that  involves  expense?  I'm  a  comparatively  poor 
man,  just  getting  a  start  in  my  profession,  and  with  a  young 
and  socially  ambitious  wife!" 

"But — your  wife — er,  she's  going  to — to  have  money  some 
day,  isn't  she?" 

"Very  true.  But  the  grim  reaper  has  a  little  work  to  do 
first.  And  on  occasions  like  this  he's  always  deucedly  delib 
erate,  you  know.  Meantime,  we're  skating  close  to  the  edge — 
for  New  Yorkers." 

"Well,  we  may  be  able  to  beat  Ketchim.  Now,  my  father 
and  Uncle  John — " 

"Oh,  shoot  your  father  and  Uncle  John!"  snapped  Reed 
impatiently. 

44 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  conductor  opened  the  door  and  bawled  a  cryptical  an 
nouncement. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  Reed,  starting  up  and  making  for 
the  door.  "And  now  you  rake  your  thought  for  some  way  to 
deal  with  Ketchim.  And  leave  your  father  and  Uncle  John 
entirely  out  of  the  conversation!" 

Ketchim  was  just  bowing  out  a  caller  as  the  young  engineers 
mounted  the  steps.  "See  that  fellow!"  he  exclaimed,  after 
giving  them  a  hearty  welcome.  "I  just  sold  him  a  hundred 
shares  of  Simiti  stock,  at  five  dollars  a  share — just  half  of  par. 
Beginning  right  on  the  jump,  eh?" 

"But — "  protested  Harris,  as  they  entered  the  spacious 
parlor,  "the  company  isn't  even  in  existence  yet — and  hasn't 
an  asset!" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  Ketchim  easily.  "It's  coming 
into  existence,  and  will  have  the  grandest  mine  in  South  Amer 
ica!  Boys,"  he  went  on  earnestly,  "I've  been  talking  over  the 
'phone  with  Mr.  Ames,  our  most  influential  stockholder,  and  a 
very  warm  friend  of  mine.  I  told  him  about  our  conversation 
of  yesterday.  He  says,  go  right  ahead  with  the  new  company — 
that  it's  a  great  idea.  He's  satisfied  with  his  present  holding, 
and  will  not  increase  it.  Says  he  wants  Molino  stockholders  to 
have  the  opportunity  to  purchase  all  the  treasury  stock,  if  they 
want  to." 

"Decidedly  magnanimous,"  returned  Reed.  "But — what 
about  the  basis  of  organization  of  the  new  company?" 

"Leave  it  as  we  planned  it,  he  says.  He  thinks  the  arrange 
ment  and  division  of  stock  fine!" 

Reed  and  Harris  looked  at  each  other  questioningly.  It  did 
not  seem  possible. 

"But,"  went  on  Ketchim,  "have  you  seen  the  morning 
papers?  They  are  full  of  the  revolution  in  Colombia.  The 
country  is  torn  wide  open,  and  reports  say  nothing  can  be  done 
down  there  until  peace  is  restored — and  that  may  take  a  year  or 
two.  But,  meantime,  we  will  go  ahead  and  organize  the  new 
company  and  take  over  Molino  and  prepare  to  begin  work  just 
as  soon  as  you  fellows  can  get  into  that  country.  Everybody 
has  simply  got  to  wait  until  then.  And  so  this,"  going  to  Car 
men  and  taking  her  hand,  "is  the  wonderful  little  girl!  Well! 
well!" 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Ketchim  and  her  troop  of  children  at 
this  juncture  interrupted  the  conversation.  "All  enthusiastic 
Simiti  stockholders,"  said  Ketchim,  waving  his  hand  toward 
them,  after  the  introductions.  "And  all  going  to  get  rich  out  of 
it,  too — as  well  as  yourselves,  boys.  It  simply  shows  how  Prov 
idence  works — one  with  God  is  a  majority,  always." 

Carmen  glanced  up  at  him  wonderingly. 

45 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Dinner  over,  the  men  were  left  alone.  Carmen  had  been 
taken  upstairs  by  the  children  to  the  nursery. 

"I've  got  myself  slated  for  the  presidency  of  the  new  com 
pany,"  said  Ketchim,  plunging  again  into  the  subject  nearest 
his  heart;  "and  I  think  we'd  better  put  brother  James  in  as 
vice-president.  Perfectly  safe,"  looking  at  Harris  and  winking. 
"He's  got  to  be  recognized,  you  know,  since  the  Ketchim  Realty 
Company  act  as  fiscal  agents.  Now  for  directors  I've  put  down 
Judge  Harris,  your  father — that's  to  assure  you  boys  that  there'll 
be  some  one  to  look  after  your  interests.  Then  we'll  say  Rev 
erend  Jurges  for  another.  He's  got  a  big  congregation  and  will 
be  able  to  place  a  lot  of  stock.  You  just  ought  to  see  the  letter 
he  wrrote  me  about  selling  stock  to  his  people!  You'd  never 
believe  he  was  a  good,  spiritually-minded  clergyman,  with  an 
eye  single  to  heavenly  riches!  Then  one  of  you  fellows,  say 
Reed,  had  better  go  on  the  directorate,  since  Harris  will  be  in 
Colombia  in  charge  of  operations.  And — well,  Cass,  too.  He's 
young  and  immature,  but  absolutely  square.  He'll  do  all  the 
legal  work  for  his  stock  interest.  We  save  money  that  way, 
see?" 

"But  what  do  I  do  while  we  are  waiting?"  asked  Harris 
in  some  perplexity.  "Reed  goes  to  California  right  away,  you 
know." 

"That's  all  right,  old  man,"  Ketchim  genially  assured  him. 
"The  new  company  will  be  organized  at  once — this  week,  if 
possible.  You  go  on  salary  from  the  moment  of  its  incorpora 
tion,  and  you  open  your  office  right  here  in  this  building.  I'll 
see  that  the  rent  is  paid  until  you  go  back  to  Colombia.  Every 
thing's  arranged,  and  you  turn  right  in  and  help  Cass  with  the 
new  company.  There'll  be  plenty  to  do.  You've  got  to  prepare 
circulars;  write  boosting  letters  to  stockholders  and  pros 
pects;  follow  up  leads;  and — oh,  you'll  be  busy!  But  here 
comes  Reverend  Coles,"  looking  out  of  the  window  as  a  man 
came  up  the  steps.  "He's  interested  in  some  projects  I've  been 
exploiting.  Just  excuse  me  for  a  few  moments." 

He  hastened  out  to  greet  the  visitor  and  conducted  him  into 
a  back  room.  Reed  and  Harris  were  left  to  the  contemplation 
of  their  own  mixed  thoughts.  Presently  Harris,  whose  eyes 
had  been  dilating  for  some  moments,  broke  out  in  a  hoarse 
whisper:  "Listen!  God  a'mighty! — he's  praying!" 

He  got  up  softly  and  approached  the  door  of  the  room  into 
which  Ketchim  had  taken  his  caller.  In  a  few  minutes  he  re 
turned  to  his  chair.  "By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  could  see 
Ketchim  through  the  keyhole,  on  his  knees  by  the  bed,  praying 
with  that  fellow!  Now  what  the  d — !" 

Reed  held  up  a  warning  finger.     Through  the  silence  that 

46 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


fell  upon  them  snatches  of  the  prayer  being  offered  in  the 
adjoining  room  floated  to  their  ears — "O,  blessed  Saviour, 
vouchsafe  prosperity  to  our  venture,  we  beseech  thee!  The 
earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fullness  thereof — we  ask  thy  bless 
ing  on  these  efforts  of  ours  to  wrest  from  the  ground  the  wealth 
which  the  Father  of  lights  has  deposited  there  for  the  benefit 
of  His  children — " 

Harris  snickered  aloud.    "What's  the  game?"  he  whispered. 

Reed  shook  his  head  in  warning.  "It  may  not  be  a  game," 
he  replied.  "But  if  it  is,  it's  an  old  one,  hiding  behind  the 
mask  of  religion.  But  I'm  inclined  to  believe  the  man  sincere." 

"And  I'm  not!"  retorted  Harris.  "I'd  rather  deal  with  his 
brother.  I  know  James  to  be  an  out-and-out  rascal — he  openly 
flies  the  black  flag.  But  this  pious  fellow — well,  he's  got  me 
guessing!" 

The  caller  soon  departed,  and  Ketchim  again  joined  the 
young  men.  "He's  our  assistant  pastor,"  he  said  musingly,  as 
he  watched  the  man  go  down  the  walk.  "Nice  young  fellow, 
waiting  for  a  church.  He  and  some  of  his  friends  are  interested 
in  a  zinc  mine  we've  been  floating,  down  in  the  Joplin  district." 

"Got  titles?"  queried  the  cynical  Harris,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Ketchim  smiled  affably. 

"Mine  producing?" 

"Well,  no — not  yet.  Lots  of  development  work  to  be  done, 
you  know.  Always  is.  And  there's  a  lot  of  water  in  this  mine." 

"And  in  the  stock,  too,  eh?"  pursued  the  cruel  Harris.  "Got 
any  ore?" 

"We  haven't  struck  the  deposit  yet,  although  we  expect  to 
soon.  But,"  glancing  up  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  "we'll 
have  to  be  going  over  to  Sunday  school  now.  And  I  want  that 
little  girl  to  go  with  Marjorie.  Fellows,"  the  man's  face  be 
came  deeply  serious,  "I  have  no  doubt  you  are  both  church 
members?" 

Reed  fidgeted  uneasily  under  Ketchim's  searching  glance; 
but  Harris  frankly  met  the  question.  "Nope,"  he  asserted, 
"we're  both  rank  heathen.  And  I'm  a  dyed-in-the-wool  atheist." 

"Gracious!"  cried  Ketchim,  "how  can  you  say  that,  when 
you  see  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  on  every  hand?" 

"Reed,  I  believe,"  continued  the  imperturbable  Harris,  wav 
ing  a  hand  toward  his  friend,  "has  philosophical  leanings- 
New  Thought,  Subliminal  Consciousness,  Power  in  Silence,  and 
all  that.  But  I've  got  to  be  shown." 

"But  surely  you  believe  in  the  divinity  of  the  Christ?" 

"Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  never  gave  it  much  thought," 
said  Harris.  "Been  pretty  busy,  you  know.  Lots  of  time  for 
that  later." 

47 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Ah,  that's  what  so  many  say,"  replied  Ketchim  sadly;  "and 
then  comes  the  awful  voice  of  the  Lord,  'This  night  thy  soul 
shall  be  required  of  thee!'  Fellows,  I  want  to  pray  for  you; 
and  I  want  you  both  to  promise  me  that  you  will  take  up  seri 
ously  the  consideration  of  your  souls'  welfare.  It's  too  grave  a 
subject  for  jest,"  addressing  himself  solemnly  to  the  grinning 
Harris. 

"All  right,  old  man,"  laughed  Harris.  "But  don't  dig  up 
any  Presbyterian  tracts  for  me.  I've  got  a  living  witness  to — 
well,  to  something  out  of  the  ordinary,  in  that  girl,  Carmen, 
and  I'm  inclined  to  believe  she's  dug  nearer  to  bottom  facts  than 
any  of  you.  So  when  I'm  ready  to  discuss  my  soul's  welfare 
I'll  just  consult  her,  see?" 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Ketchim,  turning  abruptly  to  Reed, 
"what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  the  girl?" 

"Quien  sabe?"  Reed  answered  abstractedly.  "Send  her  to 
a  boarding  school,  I  guess.  At  least,  that's  what  I  told  the  old 
man  I'd  do." 

"So  you  said  before,"  Ketchim  returned.     "But  where?" 

"Don't  know  yet." 

"Well,  let  me  make  a  suggestion.  My  daughter  Marjorie 
leaves  Tuesday  for  Conway-on-the-Hudson,  where  she  has  been 
attending  Madam  Elwin's  Select  School  for  Girls.  Suppose 
you  go  with  her — I'm  too  busy,  myself — and  take  Carmen.  It's 
only  a  few  hours'  ride  by  boat  down  the  river.  And  the  school 
is  without  equal.  This  is  Marjorie's  third  year  there,  and  she's 
simply  in  love  with  it." 

Reed  began  to  show  signs  of  interest;  and  Ketchim,  noting 
the  effect  of  his  words,  went  on  briskly: 

"Now  look  here,  Molino  owes  its  salvation,  and  the  new 
company  its  existence,  to  that  girl.  Why  shouldn't  they  do 
something  to  show  their  gratitude?  I  say,  it  is  no  more  than 
right  that  the  new  company  should  support  her  while  she  is  in 
school." 

"By  Jove!  not  a  half-bad  idea,"  commented  Harris. 

"Certainly  not,"  continued  Ketchim  earnestly.  "Now  fix 
up  everything  with  her  as  regards  the  transfer  of  the  mine  to 
the  new  company,  and  then  let  her  go  with  Marjorie  to  the 
Elwin  school.  We  can,  if  you  like,  make  some  agreement  with 
her  to  the  effect  that  when  the  company  is  on  its  feet  and  she 
is  receiving  dividends,  she  shall  return  what  it  may  advance 
for  her  schooling,  eh?" 

"You'd  better  accept  the  suggestion,  Reed,"  put  in  Harris. 
"I'll  be  here,  you  know,  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  girl;  and  I'll  take 
her  and  Marjorie  down  to  Conway  myself,  and  attend  to  getting 
her  located  right." 

48 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Reed  continued  to  reflect.  He  was  hardly  in  a  position  to 
refuse  such  an  offer.  Besides,  he  was  really  leaving  her  in 
charge  of  Harris.  "Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "in  that  case  I 
could  leave  for  California  to-morrow  night.  That  matter  is 
pressing  hard — all  right,  I  accept  the  company's  offer.  It's  no 
more  than  is  due  the  girl,  anyway." 

"Good!"  replied  Ketchim.  "I'll  make  the  necessary  ar 
rangements  at  once.  And  now  let's  go  over  to  church." 

Thus  it  was  that  two  days  later  Carmen,  still  wondering  if 
she  was  dreaming,  was  enrolled  in  the  Elwin  Select  School  for 
Girls,  with  Marjorie  Ketchim  for  roommate;  while  Reed,  on 
the  Overland  Limited,  hurrying  to  the  far  West,  was  musing 
dubiously  at  frequent  intervals  on  Ketchim's  rather  conflicting 
statements,  which,  until  left  to  this  enforced  leisure,  he  had  not 
had  time  to  try  to  reconcile.  At  the  same  time,  while  Harris  was 
loudly  declaiming  to  the  gracious  Madam  Elwin  on  the  astonish 
ing  mental  prowess  of  the  girl,  Ketchim  and  Cass  sat  deeply  im 
mersed  in  the  tentative  plans  for  the  newly-projected  Simiti 
Development  Company. 

"Now  listen,"  said  Ketchim,  who  for  some  minutes  had 
been  quietly  scanning  his  youthful  lawyer,  "Ames  knows  noth 
ing  about  the  formation  of  this  company,  but  Harris  and  Reed 
are  not  to  know  that;  and  we're  going  to  keep  Ames  in  igno 
rance  of  all  our  plans.  With  the  first  sales  of  stock — and  they've 
already  begun — we'll  return  him  his  Molino  investment.  Nez- 
lett  wired  me  this  morning  that  he's  sure  to  sell  a  big  block  to 
the  Leveridges,  that  they're  mightily  interested,  and  want  to 
meet  Carmen.  We'll  use  the  girl  for  just  such  purposes.  That's 
one  reason  why  I  wanted  her  handy,  so's  we  could  reach  her 
at  any  time.  She  makes  a  star  impression;  and  with  her  as  an 
advertisement  we'll  sell  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  stock,  and 
no  trouble  at  all !  She's  got  that  honest  look  that's  convincing. 
And  she  can  tell  a  story  that  beats  the  Arabian  Nights!  Ames 
has  given  me  a  week  to  explain,  or  make  good  his  investment. 
By  that  time  we'll  have  the  Leveridges  sold  for  twice  his  in 
vestment,  and  we'll  just  pay  him  off  and  remove  him.  Mean 
time,  you  go  over  to  the  bank  in  the  morning  and  put  up  the 
best  line  of  talk  you're  capable  of.  I've  got  sixteen  hundred 
dollars  to  give  'em  on  that  note;  and  that'll  secure  more  time, 
until  the  sales  of  stock  are  enough  to  pay  it  all  up.  Perhaps 
Uncle  Ted  will  advance  me  enough  to  take  up  the  note  when  he 
hears  about  La  Libertad.  And,  say,  you  see  brother  James, 
and  shake  the  club  over  him  until  he  disgorges  that  check  he 
got  from  Miss  Leveridge.  You  can  hand  him  a  scare  that  he 
won't  get  over.  By  George,  old  man !  things  have  taken  a  great 
turn,  eh?  Why,  I  can  just  see  Simiti  stock  sales  humping  these 

49 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


next  few  months.  Oh,  Miss  Honeywell,"  calling  to  his  cashier, 
"bring  me  five  dollars,  please,  and  charge  it  to  Molino — I  mean, 
to  Simiti.  Make  a  new  account  for  that  now."  Then,  again 
addressing  Cass:  "Come  with  me  to  the  football  game  this 
afternoon.  We  can  discuss  plans  there  as  well  as  here.  Gee 
whiz,  but  I  feel  great!" 


CHAPTER  6 

CARMEN'S  rapid  transition  from  the  eternal  solitudes  of 
Guamoco  to  the  whirring  activities  of  New  York  was  like 
a  plunge  into  the  maelstrom,  and  left  her  groping  blindly 
in  the  effort  to  adapt  herself  to  the  changed  order.  There  was 
little  in  her  former  mode  of  existence  that  could  be  transferred 
to  her  new  environment,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  starting  life 
like  a  new-born  babe.  For  days,  even  weeks,  she  moved  about 
dreamily,  absorbed,  ceaselessly  striving  to  orient  herself  and 
to  accept  easily  and  naturally  the  marvels,  the  sudden  accession 
of  material  aids,  and  the  wonders  of  this  modern,  complex 
civilization,  so  common  to  her  associates,  but  scarcely  even 
dreamed  of  by  her  in  her  former  home,  despite  the  preparation 
\vhich  Jose  had  tried  to  give  her.  The  Elwin  school  was  small, 
its  student-body  seldom  numbering  more  than  fifty,  and  in  it 
Carmen  found  herself  hedged  about  by  restrictions  which  in  a 
way  were  beneficial,  in  that  they  narrowed  her  environment  and 
afforded  her  time  for  her  slow  adjustment  to  it. 

But  if  these  restrictions  aided  her,  they  also  rendered  the 
length  of  her  stay  in  the  school  almost  calculable.  Little  by 
little  the  girl  saw  the  forces  developing  which  she  knew  must 
effect  her  dismissal;  little  by  little,  as  Madam  Elwin's  manner 
toward  her  became  less  gracious,  and  her  schoolmates  made 
fewer  efforts  to  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  she  was  not  one 
of  them,  Carmen  prepared  for  the  inevitable.  Six  months  after 
the  girl's  enrollment,  Madam  Elwin  terminated  her  series  of 
disparaging  reports  to  Ketchim  by  a  request  that  he  come  at 
once  and  remove  his  charge  from  the  school. 

"As  I  have  repeatedly  said,  Mr.  Ketchim,  the  girl  is  a  para 
dox.  And  after  these  months  of  disappointing  effort  to  instruct 
her,  I  am  forced  to  throw  up  my  hands  in  despair  and  send 
for  you."  Madam  Elwin  tapped  nervously  with  a  dainty 
finger  upon  the  desk  before  her. 

"But,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  question,  what  specific  rea 
sons  have  you,  Madam,  for — ah,  for  requesting  her  removal?" 
asked  the  very  Reverend  Dr.  William  Jurges,  who,  having 

50 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


come  up  to  the  city  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the 
Simiti  company,  had  accepted  Ketchim's  invitation  to  first  ac 
company  him  on  his  flying  trip  to  Conway-on-the-Hudson,  in 
response  to  Madam  Elwin's  peremptory  summons. 

"Because,"  replied  that  worthy  personage  with  a  show  of 
exasperation,  "I  consider  her  influence  upon  the  young  ladies 
here  quite  detrimental.  Our  school,  while  non-sectarian,  is  at 
least  Christian.  Miss  Carmen  is  not.  Where  she  got  her  views, 
I  can  not  imagine.  At  first  she  made  frequent  mention  of  a 
Catholic  priest,  who  taught  her  in  her  home  town,  in  South 
America.  But  of  late  she  has  grown  very  reserved — I  might 
say,  sullen,  and  talks  but  little.  Her  views,  however,  are  cer 
tainly  not  Catholic.  In  her  class  work  she  has  become  im 
possible.  She  refuses  to  accept  a  large  part  of  our  instruction. 
Her  answers  to  examination  questions  are  wholly  in  accord 
with  her  peculiar  views,  and  hence  quite  apart  from  the  texts. 
For  that  reason  she  fails  to  make  any  grades,  excepting  in 
mathematics  and  the  languages.  She  utterly  refuses  to  accept 
any  religious  instruction  whatsoever.  She  would  not  be  called 
atheistic,  for  she  talks — or  used  to  at  first — continually  about 
God.  But  her  God  is  not  the  God  of  the  Scriptures,  Dr.  Jurges. 
She  is  a  free-thinker,  in  the  strictest  sense.  And  as  such,  we 
can  not  consent  to  her  remaining  longer  with  us." 

"Ah — quite  so,  Madam,  quite  so,"  returned  the  clergyman, 
in  his  unconsciously  pompous  manner.  "Doubtless  the  child's 
thought  became — ah— contaminated  ere  she  was  placed  in  your 
care.  But — ah — I  have  heard  so  much  from  our  good  friend, 
Mr.  Ketchim,  regarding  this  young  girl,  that — ah — I  should 
like  exceedingly  to  see  and  talk  with  her — if  it  might  be — 
ah— 

"Madam  Elwin  will  arrange  that,  I  am  sure,"  interposed 
Ketchim.  "Suppose,"  he  suggested,  addressing  the  lady,  "we 
let  him  talk  with  her,  while  I  discuss  with  you  our  recently 
acquired  mine  in  South  America,  and  the  advisability  of  an 
investment  with  us." 

"Certainly,"  acquiesced  Madam  Elwin,  rising  and  pressing 
one  of  the  several  buttons  in  the  desk.  "Bring  Miss  Carmen," 
she  directed,  to  the  maid  who  answered  the  summons. 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Dr.  Jurges;  "but  may  I  go  to  her? 
Ah — it  would  doubtless  be  less  embarrassing  for  the  child." 

"Miss  Carmen  was  in  the  chapel  a  few  moments  ago,"  volun 
teered  the  maid. 

"Then  take  the  doctor  there,"  returned  Madam  Elwin,  with 
a  gesture  of  dismissal. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairway  the  mingled  sounds  of  a  human 
voice  and  the  soft,  trembling  notes  of  an  organ  drifted  through 
the  long  hall  and  fell  upon  the  cars  of  the  clergyman. 

51 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Miss  Carmen,"  said  the  maid,  answering  his  unspoken 
thought.  "She  often  conies  up  to  the  chapel  and  sings  for 
hours  at  a  time — alone.  The  chapel  is  down  there,"  pointing  to 
the  end  of  the  hall. 

"Then — ah — leave  me,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  will  proceed 
alone." 

The  maid  turned  willingly  and  went  below,  while  the  man 
tiptoed  to  the  chapel  door.  There  he  stopped  and  stood  listen 
ing.  The  girl  was  singing  in  Spanish,  and  he  could  not  under 
stand  the  \vords.  But  they  would  have  meant  nothing  to  him 
then.  It  was  the  voice  upon  w7hich  they  were  borne  that  held 
him.  The  song  was  a  weird  lament  that  had  come  do\vn  to  the 
children  of  Simiti  from  the  hard  days  of  the  Conquistadores.  It 
voiced  the  untold  wrongs  of  the  Indian  slaves;  its  sad,  unvary 
ing  minor  echoed  their  smothered  moans  under  the  cruel  goad; 
on  the  plaintive  melody  of  the  repeated  chorus  their  piteous 
cries  were  carried  to  heaven's  deaf  ears;  their  dull  despair 
floated  up  on  the  wailing  tones  of  the  little  organ,  and  then 
died  away,  as  died  the  hope  of  the  innocent  victims  of  Spanish 
lust. 

The  reverend  doctor  had  never  heard  a  song  of  that  kind  be 
fore.  Nor  could  he  readily  associate  the  voice,  which  again 
and  again  he  could  not  distinguish  from  the  flute-like  tones 
of  the  organ,  with  the  sordidness  and  grime  of  material,  fleshly 
existence.  He  entered  softly  and  took  a  seat  in  the  shadow  of 
a  pillar.  The  clear,  sweet  voice  of  the  young  girl  flowed  over 
him  like  celestial  balm.  Song  after  song  she  sang.  Some 
were  dreamy  bits  and  snatches  in  Spanish  and  English;  others 
were  sacred  in  character.  He  wondered  deeply,  as  the  girl 
mused  over  these;  yet  he  knew  not  that  they  were  her  own 
compositions.  Curiosity  and  uncertainty  mastered  him  at 
length,  and  he  got  softly  to  his  feet  and  moved  away  from 
the  pillar,  that  he  might  see  from  what  manner  of  being 
issued  such  unbroken  harmony.  But  in  his  eagerness  his  foot 
struck  a  chair,  and  the  sound  echoed  loudly  through  the  room. 

The  music  abruptly  ceased,  and  the  girl  rose  and  looked 
over  the  organ  at  the  intruder. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  clergyman,  advancing  in 
some  embarrassment.  "I  was  listening  to  your  singing — 
uninvited,  but  none  the  less  appreciative.  I — " 

"Wait,  please!"  cried  the  girl,  hastily  stooping  over  and 
fumbling  with  her  shoes.  The  doctor  laughed  genially,  as  he 
grasped  the  situation. 

"I  took  them  off,"  she  explained  hurriedly.  "I  am  not  yet 
accustomed  to  them.  I  never  wore  shoes  until  I  left  Simiti." 
Her  face  was  scarlet,  and  she  tried  to  cover  her  confusion  with 
a  little  laugh. 

52 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  doctor  stood  staring  at  her,  lost  in  admiration  of  the 
shapely  figure,  the  heavy,  curling  hair,  and  the  wonderfully 
expressive  face.  The  girl  quickly  recovered  her  poise  and  re 
turned  him  a  frank  smile. 

"You  wish  to  see  me?"  she  said,  after  waiting  in  vain  for 
him  to  begin. 

"Ah — a — yes,  certainly — that  is,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  stam 
mered  the  doctor.  "I  did  request  permission  of  Madam  Elwin 
to  make  your  acquaintance.  We  have  heard  so  much  about 
you.  I  am  Doctor  Jurges,  an  Episcopal  clergyman."  His 
sentences  issued  like  blasts  from  an  engine  exhaust. 

"I  am  Carmen  Ariza,"  said  the  girl,  extending  her  hand. 

"Ah — quite  so,  quite  so,"  blustered  the  doctor,  clearing  his 
throat  noisily.  "Let  us  be  seated.  Ah — ah — you  have  a  re 
markable  voice.  It  gives  evidence  of  careful  cultivation." 

"No,"  returned  the  girl  simply.  "It  has  never  had  any 
cultivation.  It  is  natural  for  me  to  sing.  And  my  poor  organ- 
playing  is  what  I  have  picked  up  myself  these  six  months." 

The  man  regarded  her  with  amazement.  "Remarkable!" 
he  murmured. 

The  girl  looked  up  into  his  face  searchingly.  "Why,"  she 
asked,  "should  every  one  up  here  think  it  remarkable  when  a 
human  mind  is  clear  enough  to  be  a  transparency  for  God?" 

Had  the  roof  fallen,  the  excellent  doctor  could  have  been  no 
more  startled.  He  cleared  his  throat  violently  again;  then 
fumbled  nervously  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  his  glasses. 
These  he  poised  upon  the  ample  arch  of  his  ecclesiastical  nose, 
and  through  them  turned  a  penetrating  glance  upon  the  girl. 

"H'm!  yes,"  said  he  at  length;  "quite  so,  quite  so!  And— 
ah — Miss  Carmen,  that  brings  us  to  the  matter  in  question — 
your  religious  instruction — ah — may  I  ask  from  whom  you 
received  it?" 

"From  God,"  was  the  immediate  and  frank  reply. 

The  clergyman  started,  but  quickly  recovered  his  equi 
poise. 

"H'm!  yes,  quite  so,  quite  so!  All  real  instruction  descend- 
eth  from  above.  But — your  religious  views — I  believe  they 
are  not  considered — -ah — quite  evangelical,  are  they?  By  your 
present  associates,  that  is." 

"No,"  she  replied,  with  a  trace  of  sadness  in  her  tone. 
"But,"  looking  up  with  a  queer  little  smile,  "I  am  not  perse 
cuting  them  for  that." 

"Oh,  no,"  with  a  jerky  little  laugh.  "Assuredly  not!  H'm! 
I  judge  the  persecution  has  come  from  the  other  side,  has  it 
not?" 

"We  will  not  speak  of  that,"  she  said  quickly.  "They  do 
not  understand — that  is  all." 

53 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"H'm !  no,  quite  so — that  is — ah — may  I  ask  why  you  think 
they  do  not  understand?  May  not  you  be  in  error,  instead?" 

"If  that  which  I  believe  is  not  true,"  the  girl  replied  evenly, 
"it  will  fail  under  the  test  of  demonstration.  Their  beliefs 
have  long  since  failed  under  such  test — and  yet  they  still  cling 
jealously  to  them,  and  try  to  force  them  upon  all  who  dis 
agree  with  them.  I  am  a  heretic,  Doctor." 

"H'm — ah — yes,  I  see.  But — it  is  a  quite  unfortunate  char 
acteristic  of  mankind  to  attribute  one's  views  indiscriminately 
to  the  Almighty — and — ah— I  regret  to  note  that  you  are  not 
wholly  free  from  this  error." 

"You  do  not  understand,  I  think,"  she  quickly  returned. 
"I  put  every  view,  every  thought,  every  idea  to  the  test.  If  good 
is  the  result,  I  know  that  the  thought  or  idea  comes  from  the 
source  of  all  good,  God.  The  views  I  hold  are  those  wThich  I 
have  time  and  again  tested — and  some  of  them  have  withstood 
trials  which  I  think  you  would  regard  as  unusually  severe." 
Her  thought  had  rested  momentarily  upon  her  vivid  experience 
in  Banco,  the  dangers  which  had  menaced  her  in  distant 
Simiti,  and  the  fire  through  W7hich  she  had  passed  in  her  first 
hours  in  Christian  America,  the  land  of  churches,  sects,  and 
creeds. 

"H'm!"  the  worthy  doctor  mused,  regarding  the  girl  first 
through  his  spectacles,  and  then  over  the  tops  of  them,  while 
his  bushy  eyebrows  moved  up  and  down  with  such  comicality 
that  Carmen  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing.  "H'm! 
quite  so.  Ah — suppose  you  relate  to  me  some  of  the  tests  to 
which  your  views  have  been  subjected." 

"No,"  she  returned  firmly;  "those  experiences  were  only 
states  of  consciousness,  which  are  now  past  and  gone  forever. 
Why  rehearse  them?  They  were  human,  and  so,  unreal.  Why 
go  back  now  and  give  them  the  appearance  of  reality?" 

"Unreal!  H'm — then  you  do  not  regard  untoward  ex 
perience  as  given  us  by  God  for  the  testing  of  our  faith,  I 
take  it." 

Carmen  turned  her  head  away  with  a  little  sigh  of  weari 
ness.  "I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  think  we  had  better  not 
talk  about  these  things,  Doctor.  You  are  a  preacher.  Your 
views  are  not  mine." 

"Why — ah,"  blustered  the  clergyman,  assuming  a  more 
paternal  air,  "we — ah — would  not  for  a  moment  cause  you 
embarrassment,  Miss  Carmen!  But — in  fact,  Madam  Elwin  has 
— ah — expressed  her  disapproval  of  your  views — your  religious 
ideals,  if  I  may  put  it  so  baldly,  and  she — that  is — the  good 
lady  regrets — 

"She  wishes  to  be  rid  of  me,  you  mean,  Doctor?"  said  the 

54 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


girl,  turning  and  stretching  a  mental  hand  to  the  sinking 
divine. 

"H'm!  well,  hardly  so — ah — so — 

"Doctor,"  said  the  girl  calmly,  "I  know  it,  and  I  wish  to  go. 
I  have  been  waiting  only  to  see  the  way  open.  I  do  not  wish  to 
remain  longer  in  an  atmosphere  where  ignorance  and  false 
belief  stifle  all  real  progress." 

The  doctor  turned  another  look  of  astonishment  upon  her. 
He  had  forgotten  that  he  had  not  been  talking  with  one  of 
his  own  age.  The  fact  suddenly  pressed  upon  him.  "How  old 
are  you?"  he  blurted. 

Carmen  could  not  help  laughing.  But  if  her  clear  mental 
gaze  penetrated  the  ecclesiastical  mask  and  surmounted  the 
theological  assumptions  of  her  interlocutor,  enabling  her  to  get 
close  to  the  heart  of  the  man,  she  did  not  indicate  it  further. 
"I  am  nearly  sixteen,"  was  her  only  reply. 

"Ah,"  he  reflected,  "just  a  child!  My  dear  girl,"  he  con 
tinued,  laying  a  hand  indulgently  upon  hers,  "I  will  advise  with 
Madam  Elwin,  and  will  endeavor  to  convince  her  that — ah — 
that  your  spiritual  welfare,  if  I  may  so  put  it,  requires  that  you 
be  not  turned  adrift  at  this  critical,  transitorial  period  of  your 
life.  We  must  all  be  patient,  while  we  strive  to  counteract  the 
— ah — the  pernicious  teaching  to  which  you  were  exposed 
before — ah — before  becoming  enrolled  in  this  excellent  school." 

Carmen  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment  before  reply 
ing.  There  was  something  of  pity  in  the  expression  of  her 
beautiful  face,  of  tender  sympathy  for  those  who  seek  the 
light,  and  who  must  some  day  find  it,  but  whose  progress  is  as 
yet  hampered  by  the  human  mind's  unreasoning  adherence  to 
the  stepping-stones  over  which  it  has  been  passing  through 
the  dark  waters  of  ignorance.  "Then,  Doctor,"  she  said  calm- 
ty»  "y°u  know  what  I  have  been  taught?" 

"Why — ah — yes — that  is,  vaguely.  But — suppose  you  in 
form  me  briefly."  He  was  beginning  to  be  sensible  of  having 
passed  judgment  upon  the  girl  without  first  according  her  a 
hearing. 

"Well,"  she  smiled  up  at  him,  "I  have  been  taught  the  very 
hardest  thing  in  the  whole  world." 

"H'm,  indeed!     Ah,  quite  so — and  that?" 

"To  think." 

"To — ah — to  think!"  He  again  clutched  at  his  mental 
poise.  "Well,  yes,  quite  so!  But — ah — is  it  not  the  function  of 
all  our  schools  to  teach  us  to  think?" 

"No,"  answered  the  girl  decidedly;  "not  to  teach  us  to 
think,  but  to  cause  us  blindly  to  accept  what  is  ignorantly 
called  'authority' !  I  find  we  are  not  to  reason,  and  particularly 

55 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


about  religious  matters,  but  to  accept,  to  let  those  'in  authority' 
think  for  us.  Is  it  not  so?  Are  you  not  even  now  seeking  to 
make  me  accept  your  religious  views?  And  why?  Because 
they  are  true?  Oh,  no;  but  because  you  believe  them  true — 
whether  they  are  or  not.  Have  you  demonstrated  their  truth? 
Do  you  come  to  me  with  proofs?  Do  your  religious  views  rest 
upon  anything  but  the  human  mind's  undemonstrated  inter 
pretation  of  the  Bible?  And  yet  you  can  not  prove  that  inter 
pretation  true,  even  though  you  would  force  it  upon  such  as  I, 
who  may  differ  from  you." 

"I — ah —  '  began  the  doctor  nervously.  But  Carmen  con 
tinued  without  heeding  the  interruption: 

"Only  yesterday  Professor  Bales,  of  the  University,  lectured 
here  on  'The  Prime  Function  of  Education.'  He  said  it  was 
the  development  of  the  individual,  and  that  the  chief  end  of 
educational  work  was  the  promotion  of  originality.  And  yet, 
when  I  think  along  original  lines — when  I  depart  from  stereo 
typed  formulae,  and  state  boWly  that  I  will  not  accept  any 
religion,  be  it  Presbyterian,  Methodist,  or  Roman  Catholic, 
that  makes  a  God  of  spirit  the  creator  of  a  man  of  flesh,  or 
that  makes  evil  as  real  as  good,  and  therefore  necessarily 
created  and  recognized  by  a  God  who  by  very  necessity  can  not 
know  evil — then  I  am  accused  of  being  a  heretic,  a  .free 
thinker;  and  the  authorities  take  steps  to  remove  me,  lest  my 
influence  contaminate  the  rest  of  the  pupils!" 

"H'm — ah — yes,  quite  so — that  is — I  think — " 

"Do  you,  a  preacher,  think?"  the  girl  went  on  hurriedly. 
"Or  do  you  only  think  that  you  think?  Do  you  still  believe 
with  the  world  that  the  passing  of  a  stream  of  human  thought, 
or  a  series  of  mental  pictures,  through  your  mentality  con 
stitutes  real  thinking?  Do  you  believe  that  jumping  from 
one  human  mental  concept  to  another  twenty-four  hours  a 
day  constitutes  thinking?  Have  you  yet  learned  to  distinguish 
between  God's  thoughts  and  their  opposites,  human  thoughts? 
Do  you  know  what  Jesus  taught?  Have  you  a  real,  wrorking, 
demonstrable  knowledge  of  Christianity?  Do  you  heal  the 
sick,  raise  the  dead,  and  preach  the  truth  that  sets  men  free 
from  the  mesmerism  of  evil?  If  so,  then  you  are  unevangelical, 
too,  and  you  and  I  are  both  heretics,  and  we'd  better — we'd 
better  leave  this  building  at  once,  for  I  find  that  the  Inquisition 
is  still  alive,  even  in  America!" 

She  stopped,  and  caught  her  breath.  Her  face  was  flushed, 
and  her  whole  body  quivered  with  emotion. 

"The  Inquisition!  Why,  my  dear  young  lady,  this  is  a 
Christian  nation!" 

/'Then,"  said  the  girl,  "you  have  still  much  to  learn  from 
the  pagan  nations  that  have  gone  before." 

56 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  again  adjusting  his 
glasses  that  he  might  see  her  more  clearly.  "My  dear  child, 
you  have  been  thinking  too  much,  and  too  seriously." 

"No,  Doctor,"  she  replied;  "but  you  preachers  have  not 
been  thinking  enough,  nor  even  half  seriously.  Oh,"  she  went 
on,  while  her  eyes  grew  moist,  and  ever  and  again  her  throat 
filled,  "I  had  expected  so  much  in  this  great  country!  And  I 
have  found  so  little — so  little  that  is  not  wholly  material,  me 
chanical,  and  unreal !  I  had  imagined  that,  with  all  your  learn 
ing  and  progress,  which  Padre  Jose  told  me  about,  you  would 
know  God  much  better  than  we  in  the  darkened  South.  But 
your  god  is  matter,  machinery,  business,  gold,  and  the  unreal 
things  that  can  be  bought  with  money.  Some  one  wrote,  in  a 
recent  newspaper,  that  America's  god  was  'mud  and  mammon!' 
What  do  I  find  the  girls  here  in  this  school  talking  about  but 
dress,  and  society,  and  the  unreal,  passing  pleasures  of  the 
physical  senses!  Do  they  know  God?  No — nor  want  to!  Nor 
do  the  preachers!  There  are  religious  services  here  every 
Sunday,  and  sermons  by  preachers  who  come  down  from  the 
city.  Sometimes  a  Baptist;  sometimes  a  Presbyterian;  and 
sometimes  an  Episcopalian,  or  a  Methodist.  What  is  the 
result?  Confusion — religious  confusion.  Each  has  a  different 
concept  of  God;  yet  they  all  believe  Him  the  creator  of  a  man 
of  flesh  and  bones,  a  man  who  was  originally  made  perfect, 
but  who  fell,  and  was  then  cursed  by  the  good  and  perfect  God 
\vho  made  him.  Oh,  what  childish  views  for  men  to  hold  and 
preach!  How  could  a  good  God  create  anything  that  could 
fall?  And  if  He  could,  and  did,  then  He  knew  in  advance  that 
the  man  would  fall,  and  so  God  becomes  responsible,  not  man. 
Oh,  Doctor,  is  it  possible  that  you  believe  such  stuff?  How 
can  you!  how  can  you!  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  holding  such 
awful  views,  you  preachers  have  no  longer  the  power  to  heal 
the  sick?  Do  you  not  know  that,  in  order  to  heal  the  sick,  one 
must  become  spiritually-minded?  But  no  one  who  holds  to 
the  puerile  material  beliefs  embraced  in  your  orthodox  theol 
ogy  can  possibly  be  spiritual  enough  to  do  the  works  Jesus 
said  we  should  all  do  if  we  followed  him — really  understood 
him." 

"My  dear  child — you  really  are  quite  inconsistent — you— 

"Inconsistent!  What  a  charge  for  an  orthodox  preacher  to 
bring!  Let  us  see:  You  say  that  the  Scriptures  teach  that  God 
made  man  in  His  image  and  likeness— the  image  and  likeness 
of  spirit.  Very  well.  Spirit,  God,  is  eternal,  immortal.  Then 
while  He  exists  can  His  image  fade  away,  or  die?  Can  or 
would  God  cause  it  to  do  so?  Can  or  would  He  destroy  His 
own  reflection?  And  could  that  image,  always  being  like 

57 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Him,  ever  change,  or  manifest  sin,  or  disease,  or  evil,  unless 
God  first  manifested  these  things?  And  if  God  did  manifest 
them,  then,  perforce,  the  image  would  have  to  do  likewise. 
But,  in  that  case,  could  God  justly  punish  His  image  for  faith 
fully  reflecting  its  original?  Consistent!  Oh,  it  is  you  preach 
ers,  lacking  sufficient  spirituality  to  correctly  interpret  the 
Scriptures,  who  are  wildly,  childishly,  ignorantly  inconsistent!" 
Carmen  rose  and  faced  the  clergyman.  "I  did  not  mean  to 
condemn  you,  Doctor,"  she  said  earnestly.  "I  wage  no  warfare 
with  persons  or  things.  My  opposition  is  directed  only  against 
the  entrenched  human  thought  that  makes  men  spiritually 
blind  and  holds  them  in  the  mesmeric  chains  of  evil.  I  am 
young,  as  you  reckon  years,  but  I  have  had  much  experience 
in  the  realm  of  thought — and  it  is  there  that  all  experience  is 
wrought  out  before  it  becomes  externalized.  I  have  told  you, 
my  teacher  was  God.  He  used  as  a  channel  a  priest,  who 
came  years  ago  to  my  little  home  town  of  Simiti,  in  far-off 
Colombia.  His  life  had  been  wrecked  by  holding  to  the  belief 
of  evil  as  a  power,  real  and  intelligent.  He  began  to  see  the 
light;  but  he  did  not  overcome  fear  sufficiently  to  make  his 
demonstration  and  break  the  imaginary  bonds  which  held 
him.  He  saw,  but  he  did  not  prove.  He  will,  some  day.  And, 
Doctor,  you  and  everybody  else  will  have  to  do  the  same. 
For,  unless  Jesus  uttered  the  most  malicious  falsehoods  ever 
voiced,  every  human  being  will  have  to  take  every  step  that  he 
took,  make  every  demonstration  that  he  made,  and  prove  all 
that  he  proved,  before  mortals  will  cease  to  consume  with 
disease,  perish  miserably  in  accidents,  and  sink  with  broken 
lives  into  graves  that  do  not  afford  a  gateway  to  immortal  life! 
My  God  is  infinite,  eternal,  unchanging  mind.  The  god  of  the 
preachers,  judging  from  their  sermons  preached  here,  is  a 
human,  mental  concept,  embodying  spirit  and  matter,  knowing 
good  and  evil,  and  changing  with  every  caprice  of  their  own 
unstable  mentalities.  My  religion  is  the  Christianity  of  the 
Master,  love.  Oh,  how  this  poor  world  needs  it,  yearns  for  it! 
The  love  that  demonstrates  the  nothingness  of  evil,  and  drives 
it  out  of  human  experience!  The  love  that  heals  the  sick, 
raises  the  dead,  binds  up  broken  hearts!  The  love  that  will 
not  quench  the  religious  instincts  of  children,  and  falsely  edu 
cate  them  to  know  all  manner  of  evil;  but  that  teaches  them  to 
recognize  it  for  what  it  is,  the  lie  about  God,  and  then  shows 
them  how  to  overcome  it,  even  as  Jesus  did.  My  God  is  truth. 
Is  truth  real?  Ah,  yes,  you  say.  But  error  is  the  opposite  of 
truth.  Then  can  error,  evil,  be  real?  No,  not  if  you  will  be 
consistent.  Again,  God  is  infinite.  But  God  is  spirit.  Then 
all  is  spirit  and  spirit's  manifestation — is  it  not  true?  What, 

58 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


then,  becomes  of  the  evil  that  men  hug  to  their  bosoms,  even 
while  it  gnaws  into  their  hearts?  It  is  the  opposite  of  good, 
of  mind,  of  truth,  God.  And  the  opposite  of  truth  is  supposi 
tion.  Is  it  not  so?  And  the  supposition  is — where?  In  your 
mentality.  And  you  can  put  it  out  whenever  you  are  willing 
to  drop  your  ceremonials  and  your  theories,  and  will  open  your 
mentality  to  truth,  which  will  make  you  free,  even  as  the 
Master  said.  That  is  my  religion,  Doctor.  Those  are  the  re 
ligious  views  which  you  have  been  sent  by  Madam  Elwin  to 
investigate.  Am  I  a  heretic?  Or  unevangelical?" 

She  waited  a  few  moments  for  the  doctor  to  reply.  Then, 
as  he  remained  silent,  she  went  up  to  him  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"You  do  not  care  to  talk  with  me  longer,  I  think,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  we  may  meet  again.  But,  as  regards  Madam  Elwin's 
wishes,  you  may  tell  her  that  I  shall  leave  the  school." 

"Have  you — have  you  been  fitting  yourself  for  any — ah— 
particular  work — ah- — for  your  support,  that  is?"  inquired  the 
doctor  gravely,  as  he  took  the  proffered  hand.  He  had  been 
swept  off  his  feet  by  the  girl's  conversation,  and  he  had  not  the 
temerity  to  combat  her  views. 

"Yes,"  replied  Carmen.  "I  have  been  working  daily  to  gain 
a  better  understanding  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  through 
them,  of  God.  My  single  aim  has  been  to  acquire  'that  mind 
which  was  in  Christ  Jesus.'  And  I  have  no  other  business  than 
to  reflect  it  to  my  fellow-men  in  a  life  of  service.  That  is  my 
Father's  business,  and  I  am  working  with  Him.  My  mission 
in  this  world  is  to  manifest  God.  I  am  going  out  now  to  do 
that,  and  to  show  what  love  will  do.  God  will  use  me,  and  He 
will  supply  my  every  need.  And  now,  good-bye." 

She  turned  abruptly  from  him  and  went  to  the  organ. 
Soon  the  same  song  which  he  had  heard  as  he  entered  the 
room  rose  again  through  the  stillness.  A  strong  emotion 
seemed  to  possess  him.  He  started  toward  the  girl;  checked 
himself;  and  stood  hesitating.  Then  his  lips  set,  and  he 
turned  and  walked  slowly  from  the  room. 

In  the  hall  two  women  were  approaching,  and  as  they 
drew  near  he  recognized  one  of  them. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm,  holding  out  both 
hands,  "my  dear  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles !  It  is  not  so  long  since 
we  met  at  the  Weston's.  But  what,  may  I  ask,  brings  you 
here?" 

"This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  Charles  Reed,  Doctor  Jurges.  We 
have  come  to  make  a  duty  call  on  Mr.  Reed's  protegee,  the 
little  South  American  savage,  you  know.  Madam  Elwin  said 
she  was  up  here  with  you?" 

59 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Ah,  yes,  quite  so — er,  in  the  chapel,  I  believe,"  said  the 
clergyman,  his  face  becoming  suddenly  grave.  "I  would  return 
with  you,  but  my  time  is — ah — so  limited."  He  bowed  low, 
with  his  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  long  frock  coat,  and  passed 
on  down  the  hall. 

As  the  women  approached  the  door  of  the  chapel  through 
which  came  Carmen's  low  singing  they  turned  and  looked  at 
each  other  inquiringly.  Then  they  quietly  entered  the  door 
way  and  stood  listening.  Carmen,  concealed  behind  the  organ, 
did  not  see  them. 

The  song  stopped,  and  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  went  quickly 
to  the  organ.  Bending  over  it,  she  gazed  down  into  the  face 
of  the  startled  girl.  "My  goodness!"  she  exclaimed.  "Get  up 
and  let  me  see  what  sort  of  a  looking  creature  you  are." 

Carmen  rose,  and  Mrs.  Reed  came  forward  and  gave  her  a 
tempered  greeting.  Then  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  fell  back  and 
stared  at  the  girl  from  head  to  foot.  "You  know,"  she  said  to 
her  sister,  "this  is  the  first  glimpse  I've  had  of  your  husband's 
discovery.  I  was  out  of  the  city  when  he  brought  her  to  my 
house,  you  remember.  But,"  turning  again  to  Carmen,  "sing 
that  song  over,  dear,  please — the  one  you  were  singing  just 
now." 

Carmen  seated  herself  again  at  the  organ,  and  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  drew  her  sister  to  the  rear  of  the  room.  "It  will  sound 
better  back  here,"  she  explained. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Reed. 
"Belle,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head  sententiously,  "you  had  a 
pearl,  and  you  threw  it  away.  That  girl  there  is  our  social 
fortune!  Her  voice,  and  her  face — why,  with  our  ward — this 
beautiful,  gifted,  South  American  owner  of  a  famous  mine — 
as  a  lever,  we  can  force  the  Beaubien  to  bring  the  Ames  to  our 
terms!  She  goes  back  with  us  to-night!  You've  been  blind!" 

Meantime,  the  dainty  Madam  Elwin  and  the  amiable  Doctor 
Jurges  in  the  office  below  had  reached  a  conclusion.  "A  young 
lady  of — ah — invincible  will,"  the  doctor  had  observed;  "and 
already — ah — decidedly  mature,  despite  her  tender  years. 
Should  she — ah — assume  leadership  over  the  pupils  of  your 
school,  my  dear  Madam  Elwin,  the  result  might  be  disquiet 
ing.  There  can  be  no  question  as  to  her  religious  views,  as  I 
have  said.  But,  what  astonishes  me  is — ah — that  this  strange 
cult  should  have  its  devotees  even  in  the  wilds  of  tropical 
America!  Astonishing — and  so  unfortunate!  The  girl  is  ut 
terly — ah — unevangelical,  Madam;  and  the  advisability  of  re 
moving  her  from  the  school  can  not  be  questioned.  Do  you 
not  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Ketchim?" 

"By  all  means,"  asserted  the  latter  gentleman  with  great 

60 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


seriousness,  while  his  eyes  dwelt  tenderly  upon  Madam  Elwin's 
written  order  for  a  hundred  shares  of  Simiti  stock  which  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  lady  with  a  determined  nod  of 
her  head;  "I  shall  request  Mrs.  Reed  to  take  her  to-day." 
Then,  with  a  proper  sense  of  what  it  meant  to  have  the  moral 
support  of  such  an  eminent  divine  as  Doctor  Jurges,  she  rang 
for  her  maid  and  bade  her  summon  Mrs.  Reed  and  the  girl. 

Thus  it  was  that  Carmen  was  again  shifted  a  space  on  the 
checkerboard  of  life,  and  slept  that  night  once  more  under 
the  spacious  roof  of  the  wealthy  relict  of  the  late  James  Hawley- 
Crowles,  on  Riverside  Drive. 


CHAPTER  7 

AS  has  been  said,  Carmen's  six  months  in  the  Elwin  school 
J-\  had  been  a  period  of  slow  adjustment  to  the  changed 
order.  She  had  brought  into  this  new  world  a  charm  of 
unsophistication,  an  ingenuous  naivete,  such  as  only  an  un- 
trammeled  spirit  nourished  in  an  elemental  civilization  like 
that  of  primitive  Simiti  could  develop.  Added  to  this  was  the 
zest  and  eagerness  stimulated  by  the  thought  that  she  had  come 
as  a  message-bearer  to  a  people  with  a  great  need.  Her  first 
emotion  had  been  that  of  astonishment  that  the  dwellers  in 
the  great  States  were  not  so  different,  after  all,  from  those  of 
her  own  unprogressive  country.  Her  next  was  one  of  sad  dis 
illusionment,  as  the  fact  slowly  dawned  upon  her  trusting 
thought  that  the  busy  denizens  of  her  new  environment  took 
no  interest  whatsoever  in  her  message.  And  then  her  joy  and 
brilliant  hopefulness  had  chilled,  and  she  awoke  to  find  her 
strange  views  a  barrier  between  herself  and  her  associates. 
She  had  brought  to  the  America  of  the  North  a  spirit  so  deeply 
religious  as  to  know  naught  else  than  her  God  and  His  ceaseless 
manifestation.  She  had  come  utterly  free  of  dogma  or  creed, 
and  happily  ignorant  of  decaying  formularies  and  religious 
caste.  Her  Christianity  was  her  demonstrable  interpretation  of 
the  Master's  words;  and  her  fresh,  ebulliant  spirit  soared  un 
hampered  in  the  warm  atmosphere  of  love  for  mankind.  Her 
concept  of  the  Christ  stirred  no  thought  within  her  of  in 
tolerance  toward  those  who  might  hold  differing  views;  nor  did 
it  raise  interposing  barriers  within  her  own  mind,  nor  evoke 
those  baser  sentiments  which  have  so  sadly  warped  the  souls 
of  men  into  instruments  of  deadly  hatred  and  crushing  tyr 
anny.  Her  spiritual  vision,  undimmed  and  world-embracing, 

38  61 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


saw  the  advent  of  that  day  when  all  mankind  would  obey  the 
commands  of  Jesus,  and  do  the  works  which  he  did,  even  to 
the  complete  spiritualization  and  dematerializing  of  all  human 
thought.  And  her  burning  desire  was  to  hasten  the  coming 
of  that  glad  hour. 

The  conviction  that,  despite  its  tremendous  needs,  humanity 
was  steadily  rejecting,  even  in  this  great  land  of  opportunity 
and  progress,  the  remedy  for  its  consuming  ills,  came  to  her 
slowly.  And  with  it  a  damping  of  her  ardor,  and  a  dulling  of 
the  fine  edge  of  her  enthusiasm.  She  grew  quiet  as  the  days 
passed,  and  drew  away  from  her  companions  into  her  thought. 
With  her  increasing  sense  of  isolation  came  at  length  a  great 
longing  to  leave  these  inhospitable  shores,  and  return  to  her 
native  environment  and  the  sympathy  and  tender  solicitude  of 
her  beloved  Rosendo  and  Padre  Jose.  But,  alas!  that  was  at 
present  impossible.  Indeed,  she  could  not  be  certain  now  of 
their  whereabouts.  A  great  war  was  raging  in  Colombia,  and 
she  knew  not  what  fate  had  befallen  her  loved  ones.  To  her 
many  letters  directed  to  Simiti  there  had  come  back  no  reply. 
Even  Harris,  who  had  written  again  and  again  to  both  Ro 
sendo  and  Jose,  had  received  no  word  from  them  in  return. 
Corroding  fear  began  to  assail  the  girl;  soul-longing  and  heart- 
sickness  seized  upon  her;  her  happy  smile  faded;  and  her 
bright,  bubbling  conversation  ceased. 

Then  one  day,  standing  alone  in  her  room,  she  turned 
squarely  upon  the  foul  brood  of  evil  suggestions  crowding 
upon  her  and,  as  if  they  were  fell  spirits  from  the  nether 
world,  bade  them  begone.  "Listen!"  she  cried  aloud.  "I  know 
you  for  what  you  are — nothing!  You  seemed  to  use  Padre  Jose, 
but  you  can't  use  me!  God  is  everywhere — right  here!  He  is 
my  life;  and  you,  evil  thoughts,  can't  make  me  think  He  isn't! 
I  am  His  image  and  likeness;  I  am  His  witness;  and  I  will  not 
witness  to  His  opposite,  evil!  My  life  is  filled  with  harmony; 
and  you,  evil  thoughts,  can't  reverse  that  fact!  God  has 
brought  me  here,  else  I  would  not  have  come,  for  He  is  the 
cause  of  all  that  is.  It  is  for  me  to  stand  and  see  His  glory. 
No!  no!"  as  she  paced  about  the  room  and  seemed  to  ward  off 
the  assaults  of  an  invisible  enemy,  "there  is  no  power  apart 
from  Him!  On  that  I  stand!" 

Then,  in  the  lull  of  battle,  "Father  divine,  I  thank  Thee 
that  Thou  hast  heard  me.  And  now  I  lay  my  all  upon  the  altar 
of  love,  and  throw  myself  upon  Thy  thought." 

From  that  day,  despite  continued  attacks  from  error — 
despite,  too,  the  veiled  slights  and  covert  insinuations  of  her 
schoolmates,  to  whom  the  girl's  odd  views  and  utter  refusal  to 
share  their  accustomed  conversation,  their  interest  in  mundane 

62 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


affairs,  their  social  aspirations  and  worldly  ambitions,  at  length 
made  her  quite  unwelcome — Carmen  steadily,  and  without  heed 
of  diverting  gesture,  brought  into  captivity  every  thought  to 
the  obedience  of  her  Christ-principle,  and  threw  off  for  all 
time  the  dark  cloud  of  pessimism  which  human  belief  and  the 
mesmerism  of  events  had  drawn  over  her  joyous  spirit. 

Mrs.  Reed  had  not  been  near  her  since  her  enrollment  in 
the  school;  but  Ketchim  had  visited  her  often — not,  however, 
alone,  but  always  with  one  or  more  prospective  purchasers  of 
Simiti  stock  in  tow  whom  he  sought  to  influence  favorably 
through  Carmen's  interesting  conversation  about  her  native 
land.  Harris  came  every  Sunday,  and  the  girl  welcomed  the 
great,  blundering  fellow  as  the  coming  of  the  day.  At  times  he 
would  obtain  Madam  Elwin's  permission  to  take  the  girl  up 
to  the  city  on  a  little  sight-seeing  expedition,  and  then  he  would 
abandon  himself  completely  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  naive 
wonder  and  the  numberless  and  often  piquant  questions  stimu 
lated  by  it.  He  was  the  only  one  now  with  whom  she  felt  any 
degree  of  freedom,  and  in  his  presence  her  restraint  vanished 
and  her  airy  gaiety  again  welled  forth  with  all  its  wonted 
fervor.  Once,  shortly  after  Carmen  had  been  enrolled,  Harris 
took  her  to  a  concert  by  the  New  York  Symphony  Orchestra. 
But  in  the  midst  of  the  program,  after  sitting  in  silent  rapture, 
the  girl  suddenly  burst  into  tears  and  begged  to  be  taken  out. 
"I  couldn't  stand  it!"  she  sobbed  as,  outside  the  door,  she  hid 
her  tear-stained  face  in  his  coat;  "I  just  couldn't!  It  was 
heavenly!  Oh,  it  was  God  that  we  heard— it  was  God!"  And 
the  astonished  fellow  respected  this  sudden  outburst  of  pent-up 
emotion  as  he  led  her,  silent  and  absorbed,  back  to  the  school. 

With  the  throwing  of  the  girl  upon  her  own  thought  came 
a  rapid  expansion  of  both  mind  and  body  into  maturity,  and 
the  young  lady  who  left  the  Elwin  school  that  bright  spring 
afternoon  under  the  protection  of  the  self-sufficient  Mrs.  Haw- 
ley-Crowles  was  very  far  from  being  the  inquisitive,  unabashed 
little  girl  who  had  so  greatly  shocked  the  good  Sister  Superior 
by  her  heretical  views  some  six  months  before.  The  sophisti 
cation  engendered  by  her  intercourse  with  the  pupils  and  in 
structors  in  the  school  had  transformed  the  eager,  trusting 
little  maid,  who  could  see  only  good,  into  a  mature  woman, 
who,  though  her  trust  remained  unshaken,  nevertheless  had  a 
better  understanding  of  the  seeming  power  "that  lusteth  against 
the  spirit,"  and  whose  idea  of  her  mission  had  been  deepened 
into  a  grave  sense  of  responsibility.  She  saw  now,  as  never 
before,  the  awful  unreality  of  the  human  sense  of  life;  but  she 
likewise  understood,  as  never  previously,  its  seeming  reality 
in  the  human  consciousness,  and  its  terrible  mesmeric  power 

63 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


over  those  materialistic  minds  into  which  the  light  of  spiritual 
ity  had  as  yet  scarcely  penetrated.  Her  thought  had  begun  to 
shape  a  definite  purpose;  she  was  still  to  be  a  message-bearer, 
but  the  message  must  be  set  forth  in  her  life  conduct.  The 
futility  of  promiscuous  verbal  delivery  of  the  message  to  whom 
soever  might  cross  her  path  had  been  made  patent.  Jesus 
taught — and  then  proved.  She  must  do  likewise,  and  let  her 
deeds  attest  the  truth  of  her  words.  And  from  the  day  that 
she  bade  the  suggestions  of  fear  and  evil  leave  her,  she  had 
consecrated  herself  anew  to  a  searching  study  of  the  Master's 
life  and  words,  if  happily  she  might  acquire  "that  mind"  which 
he  so  wondrously  expressed. 

But  the  assumption  of  an  attitude  of  quiet  demonstration 
was  by  no  means  sudden.  There  were  times  when  she  could 
not  restrain  the  impulse  to  challenge  the  beliefs  so  authorita 
tively  set  forth  by  the  preachers  and  lecturers  whom  Madam 
Elwin  invited  to  address  her  pupils,  and  who,  unlike  Jesus, 
first  taught,  and  then  relegated  their  proofs  to  a  life  beyond 
the  grave.  Once,  shortly  after  entering  the  school,  forgetful 
of  all  but  the  error  being  preached,  she  had  risen  in  the  midst 
of  an  eloquent  sermon  by  the  eminent  Darius  Borwell,  a  Pres 
byterian  divine  of  considerable  repute,  and  asked  him  why  it 
was  that,  as  he  seemed  to  set  forth,  God  had  changed  His  mind 
after  creating  spiritual  man,  and  had  created  a  man  of  dust. 
She  had  later  repented  her  scandalous  conduct  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes;  but  it  did  not  prevent  her  from  abruptly  leaving  the 
chapel  on  a  subsequent  Sunday  when  another  divine,  this  time 
a  complaisant  Methodist,  quite  satisfied  with  his  theories  of 
endless  future  rewards  and  fiery  punishments,  dwelt  at  length 
upon  the  traditional  idea  that  the  sorrows  of  the  world  are  God- 
sent  for  mankind's  chastisement  and  discipline. 

Then  she  gradually  learned  to  be  less  defiant  of  the  conven 
tions  and  beliefs  of  the  day,  and  determined  quietly  to  rise 
superior  to  them.  But  her  experience  with  the  preachers 
wrought  within  her  a  strong  determination  henceforth  to  listen 
to  no  religious  propaganda  whatsoever,  to  give  no  further  heed 
to  current  theological  beliefs,  and  to  enter  no  church  edifice, 
regardless  of  the  tenets  of  the  sect  worshiping  within  its 
precincts.  The  wisdom  of  this  decision  she  left  for  the  future 
to  determine. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "my  only  mission  is  to  manifest  the  divine, 
not  to  waste  time  listening  to  the  theories  of  ignorant  preach 
ers,  who  fail  utterly  to  prove  the  truth  of  their  teachings !  Oh, 
how  the  world  needs  love — just  love!  And  I  am  going  to  love 
it  with  the  selfless  love  that  comes  from  God,  and  destroys 
error  and  the  false  beliefs  that  become  externalized  in  the 

64 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


human  consciousness  as  sickness,  failure,  old  age,  and  death! 
Love,  love,  love — it  is  mankind's  greatest  need!  Why,  if  the 
preachers  only  knew,  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  Christianity 
is  love!  It  is  love  that  casts  out  fear;  and  fear  is  at  the  bottom 
of  all  sickness,  for  fear  leads  to  belief  in  other  gods  than  the 
one  Father  of  Christ  Jesus!  Christianity  is  aflame  with  love! 
Oh,  God — take  me  out  into  the  world,  and  let  me  show  it  what 
love  can  do!" 

And  the  divine  ear  heard  the  call  of  this  beautiful  dis 
ciple  of  the  Christ — aye,  had  heard  it  long  before  the  solicitous, 
fluttering  little  Madam  Elwin  decided  that  the  strange  girl's 
unevangelical  views  were  inimical  to  the  best  interests  of  her 
very  select  school.  The  social  ambitions  of  the  wealthy  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  threw  wide  the  portals  of  the  world  to  Carmen, 
and  she  entered,  wide-eyed  and  wondering.  Nor  did  she  re 
turn  until  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  human  mind  had  revealed 
to  her  their  abysmal  hideousness,  their  ghastly  emptiness  of 
reality,  and  their  woeful  mesmeric  deception. 


CHAPTER  8 

MRS.  JAMES  HAWLEY-CROWLES,  more  keenly  percep 
tive  than  her  sister,  had  seized  upon  Carmen  with  avid 
ity  bred  of  hope  long  deferred.  The  scourge  of  years 
of  fruitless  social  striving  had  rendered  her  desperate,  and  she 
would  have  staged  a  ballet  on  her  dining  table,  with  her  own 
ample  self  as  premiere  danseuse,  did  the  attraction  but  promise 
recognition  from  the  blase  members  of  fashionable  New  York's 
ultra  conservative  set.  From  childhood  she  had  looked  eagerly 
forward  through  the  years  with  an  eye  single  to  such  recogni 
tion  as  life's  desideratum.  To  this  end  she  had  bartered  both 
youth  and  beauty  with  calculated  precision  for  the  Hawley- 
Crowles  money  bags;  only  to  weep  floods  of  angry  tears  when 
the  bargain  left  her  social  status  unchanged,  and  herself  tied 
to  a  decrepit  old  rounder,  whose  tarnished  name  wholly  neutral 
ized  the  purchasing  power  of  his  ill-gotten  gold.  Fortunately 
for  the  reputations  of  them  both,  her  husband  had  the  good 
sense  to  depart  this  life  ere  the  divorce  proceedings  which  she 
had  long  had  in  contemplation  were  instituted;  whereupon 
the  stricken  widow  had  him  carefully  incinerated  and  his 
ashes  tenderly  deposited  in  a  chaste  urn  in  a  mausoleum  which 
her  architect  had  taken  oath  cost  more  than  the  showy  Ames 
vault  by  many  thousands.  The  period  of  decorous  mourning 
past,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  blithely  doffed  her  weeds  and  threw 

65 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


herself  again  into  the  terrific  competition  for  social  standing, 
determined  this  time  that  it  should  be  a  warfare  to  the  death. 

And  so  it  bade  fair  to  prove  to  her,  when  the  eminent  nerve 
specialist,  Dr.  Bascom  Ross,  giving  a  scant  half  hour  to  the 
consideration  of  her  case,  at  the  modest  charge  of  one  hundred 
dollars,  warned  her  to  declare  a  truce  and  flee  to  the  Alps  for 
unalloyed  rest.  She  complied,  and  had  returned  with  restored 
health  and  determination  just  as  her  sister  came  up  from  South 
America,  bringing  the  odd  little  "savage"  whom  Reed  had  dis 
covered  in  the  wilds  of  Guamoco.  A  prolonged  week-end  at 
Newport,  the  last  of  the  summer  season,  accounted  for  her 
absence  from  the  city  when  Reed  brought  Carmen  to  her  house, 
where  he  and  his  wife  were  making  their  temporary  abode. 
Six  months  later,  in  her  swift  appraisal  of  the  girl  in  the  Elwin 
school,  to  whom  she  had  never  before  given  a  thought,  she 
seemed  to  see  a  light. 

"It  does  look  like  a  desperate  chance,  I  admit,"  she  said, 
when  recounting  her  plans  to  her  sister  a  day  or  so  later. 
"But  I've  played  every  other  card  in  my  hand;  and  now  this 
girl  is  going  to  be  either  a  trump  or  a  joker.  All  wre  need  is 
a  word  from  the  Beaubien,  and  the  following  week  will  see 
an  invitation  at  our  door  from  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames.  The 
trick  is  to  reach  the  Beaubien.  That  I  calculate  to  do  through 
Carmen.  And  I'm  going  to  introduce  the  girl  as  an  Inca  prin 
cess.  Why  not?  It  will  make  a  tremendous  hit." 

Mrs.  Reed  was  not  less  ambitious  than  her  sister,  but  hith 
erto  she  had  lacked  the  one  essential  to  social  success,  money. 
In  addition,  she  had  committed  the  egregious  blunder  of  mar 
rying  for  love.  And  now  that  the  honeymoon  had  become  a 
memory,  and  she  faced  again  her  growing  ambition,  with  a 
struggling  husband  who  had  neither  name  nor  wealth  to  aid 
her,  she  had  found  her  own  modest  income  of  ten  thousand 
a  year,  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother,  only  an 
aggravation.  True,  in  time  her  wandering  father  would  pass 
away;  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  his  vast  property  would 
fall  to  his  daughters,  his  only  living  kin.  But  at  present,  in 
view  of  his  aggressively  good  health  and  disregard  for  his 
relatives,  her  only  recourse  was  to  attach  herself  to  her 
wealthy,  sharp-witted  sister,  and  hope  to  be  towed  safely  into 
the  social  swim,  should  that  scheming  lady  ultimately  achieve 
her  high  ambition. 

Just  why  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  should  have  seen  in  Carmen 
a  means  of  reaching  a  woman  of  the  stamp  of  the  Beaubien,  and 
through  her  the  leader  of  the  most  exclusive  social  set  in  the 
metropolis,  is  difficult  to  say.  But  thus  does  the  human  mind 
often  seek  to  further  its  own  dubious  aims  through  guileless 

66 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


innocence  and  trust.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  like 
wise  a  slight  trace  of  that  clairvoyance  of  wisdom  which  so 
characterized  the  girl.  But  with  this  difference,  that  she  knew 
not  why  she  was  led  to  adopt  certain  means;  while  Carmen, 
penetrating  externals,  consciously  sought  to  turn  those  who 
would  employ  her  into  channels  for  the  expression  of  her  own 
dominant  thought.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  Beaubien  was  now 
the  stone  before  the  door  of  their  hope,  and  Carmen  the  lever 
by  which  these  calculating  women  intended  it  should  be  moved. 

"The  Beaubien,  my  dear,"  explained  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
to  her  inquisitive  sister,  whose  life  had  been  lived  almost  en 
tirely  a\vay  from  New  York,  "is  J.  Wilton  Ames's  very  particu 
lar  friend,  of  long  standing.  As  I  told  you,  I  have  recently  been 
going  through  my  late  unpleasant  husband's  effects,  and  have 
unearthed  letters  and  memoranda  which  throw  floods  of  light 
upon  Jim's  early  indiscretions  and  his  association  with  both 
the  Beaubien  and  Ames.  Jim  once  told  me,  in  a  burst  of 
alcoholic  confidence,  that  she  had  saved  him  from  J.  Wilton's 
clutches  in  the  dim  past,  and  for  that  he  owed  her  endless 
gratitude,  as  well  as  for  never  permitting  him  to  darken  her 
door  again.  Now  I  have  never  met  the  Beaubien.  Few  women 
have.  But  I  dare  say  she  knows  all  about  us.  However,  the 
point  that  concerns  us  now  is  this:  she  has  a  hold  on  Ames, 
and,  unless  rumor  is  wide  of  the  truth,  when  she  hints  to  him 
that  his  wife's  dinner  list  or  yachting  party  seems  incomplete 
without  such  or  such  a  name,  why,  the  list  is  immediately 
revised." 

The  position  which  the  Beaubien  held  was,  if  Madam  On-dit 
was  not  to  be  wholly  discredited,  to  say  the  least,  unique.  It 
was  not  as  social  dictator  that  she  posed,  for  in  a  great  cosmo 
politan  city  where  polite  society  is  infinitely  complex  in  its 
make-up  such  a  position  can  scarcely  be  said  to  exist.  It  was 
rather  as  an  influence  that  she  was  felt,  an  influence  never 
seen,  but  powerful,  subtle,  and  wholly  inexplicable,  working 
now  through  this  channel,  now  through  that,  and  effecting 
changes  in  the  social  complexion  of  conservative  New  York  that 
were  utterly  in  defiance  of  the  most  rigid  convention.  Par 
ticularly  was  her  power  felt  in  the  narrow  circle  over  which 
Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames  presided,  by  reason  of  her  own  and  her 
husband's  aristocratic  descent,  and  the  latter's  bursting  coffers 
and  supremacy  in  the  realm  of  finance. 

Only  for  her  sagacity,  the  great  influence  of  the  woman 
would  have  been  short-lived.  But,  whatever  else  might  be  said 
of  her,  the  Beaubien  was  wise,  with  a  discretion  that  was  posi 
tively  uncanny.  Tall,  voluptuous,  yet  graceful  as  a  fawn; 
black,  wavy,  abundant  hair;  eyes  whose  dark,  liquid  depths 

67 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


held  unfathomable  mysteries;  gracious,  affable,  yet  keen  as  a 
razor  blade;  tender,  even  sentimental  on  occasions,  with  an 
infinite  capacity  for  either  love  or  hate,  this  many-sided  woman, 
whose  brilliant  flashes  of  wit  kept  the  savant  or  roue  at  her 
table  in  an  uproar,  could,  if  occasion  required,  found  an  or 
phanage  or  drop  a  bichloride  tablet  in  the  glass  of  her  rival 
with  the  same  measure  of  calculating  precision  and  disdain  of 
the  future.  It  was  said  of  her  that  she  might  have  laid  down 
her  life  for  the  man  she  loved.  It  is  probable  that  she  never 
met  with  one  worth  the  sacrifice. 

While  yet  in  short  dresses  she  had  fled  from  her  boarding 
school,  near  a  fashionable  resort  in  the  New  Hampshire  hills, 
with  a  French  Colonel,  Gaspard  de  Beaubien,  a  man  twice  her 
age.  With  him  she  had  spent  eight  increasingly  miserable  years 
in  Paris.  Then,  her  withered  romance  carefully  entombed  in 
the  secret  places  of  her  heart,  she  secured  a  divorce  from  the 
roistering  colonel,  together  with  a  small  settlement,  and  set 
sail  for  New  York  to  hunt  for  larger  and  more  valuable  game. 

With  abundant  charms  and  sang-froid  for  her  capital,  she 
rented  an  expensive  apartment  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the 
city,  and  then  settled  down  to  business.  Whether  she  would 
have  fallen  upon  bad  days  or  not  will  never  be  known,  for  the 
first  haul  of  her  widespread  net  landed  a  fish  of  supreme 
quality,  J.  Wilton  Ames.  On  the  plea  of  financial  necessity, 
she  had  gone  boldly  to  his  office  with  the  deed  to  a  parcel  of 
worthless  land  out  on  the  moist  sands  of  the  New  Jersey  shore, 
wyhich  the  unscrupulous  Gaspard  de  Beaubien  had  settled  upon 
her  when  she  severed  the  tie  which  bound  them,  and  which, 
after  weeks  of  careful  research,  she  discovered  adjoined  a  tract 
owned  by  Ames.  Pushing  aside  office  boy,  clerk,  and  guard,  she 
reached  the  inner  sanctum  of  the  astonished  financier  him 
self  and  offered  to  sell  at  a  ruinous  figure.  A  few  wrell-timed 
tears,  an  expression  of  angelic  innocence  on  her  beautiful  face, 
a  despairing  gesture  or  two  with  her  lovely  arms,  coupled  with 
the  audacity  which  she  had  shown  in  forcing  an  entrance  into 
his  office,  effected  the  man's  capitulation.  She  was  then  in  her 
twenty-fourth  year. 

The  result  was  that  she  cast  her  net  no  more,  but  devoted 
herself  thenceforth  with  tender  consecration  to  her  important 
catch.  In  time  Ames  brought  a  friend,  the  rollicking  James 
Hawley-Crowles,  to  call  upon  the  charming  Beaubien.  In 
time,  too,  as  was  perfectly  natural,  a  rivalry  sprang  up  between 
the  men,  which  the  beautiful  creature  watered  so  tenderly  that 
the  investments  which  she  was  enabled  to  make  under  the 
direction  of  these  powerful  rivals  flourished  like  Jack's  bean 
stalk,  and  she  was  soon  able  to  leave  her  small  apartment  and 
take  a  suite  but  a  few  blocks  from  the  Ames  mansion. 

68 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


At  length  the  strain  between  Ames  and  Hawley-Crowles 
reached  the  breaking  point;  and  then  the  former  decided  that 
the  woman's  bewitching  smiles  should  thenceforth  be  his  alone. 
He  forthwith  drew  the  seldom  sober  Hawley-Crowles  into 
certain  business  deals,  with  the  gentle  connivance  of  the  suave 
Beaubien  herself,  and  at  length  sold  the  man  out  short  and 
presented  a  claim  on  every  dollar  he  possessed.  Hawley- 
Crowles  awoke  from  his  blissful  dream  sober  and  trimmed. 
But  then  the  Beaubien  experienced  one  of  her  rare  and  inex 
plicable  revulsions  of  the  ethical  sense,  and  a  compromise  had 
to  be  effected,  whereby  the  Hawley-Crowles  fortune  was  saved, 
though  the  man  should  see  the  Beaubien  no  more. 

By  this  time  her  beauty  was  blooming  in  its  utmost  pro 
fusion,  and  her  prowess  had  been  fairly  tried.  She  took  a 
large  house,  furnished  it  like  unto  a  palace,  and  proceeded  to 
throw  her  gauntlet  in  the  face  of  the  impregnable  social 
caste.  There  she  drew  about  her  a  circle  of  bon-vivants,  ar 
tists,  litterateurs,  politicians,  and  men  of  finance — with  never 
a  woman  in  the  group.  Yet  in  her  new  home  she  established 
a  social  code  as  rigid  as  the  Median  law,  and  woe  to  him 
within  her  gates  who  thereafter,  with  or  "without  intent,  passed 
the  bounds  of  respectful  decorum.  His  name  was  heard  no 
more  on  her  rosy  lips. 

Her  dinners  were  Lucullan  in  their  magnificence;  and  over 
the  rare  wines  and  imperial  cigars  which  she  furnished, 
her  guests  passed  many  a  tip  and  prognostication  anent  the 
market,  which  she  in  turn  quietly  transmitted  to  her  brokers. 
She  came  to  understand  the  game  thoroughly,  and,  while  it 
was  her  heyday  of  glorious  splendor,  she  played  hard.  She 
had  bartered  every  priceless  gift  of  nature  for  gold — and  she 
made  sure  that  the  measure  she  received  in  return  was  full. 
Her  gaze  was  ever  upon  the  approaching  day  when  those 
charms  would  be  but  bitter  memories;  and  it  was  her  grim 
intention  that  when  it  came  silken  ease  should  compensate 
for  their  loss. 

Ten  years  passed,  and  the  Beaubien's  reign  continued  with 
undimmed  splendor.  In  the  meantime,  the  wife  of  J.  Wilton 
Ames  had  reached  the  zenith  of  her  ambitions  and  was  the 
acknowledged  leader  in  New  York's  most  fashionable  social 
circle.  These  two  women  never  met.  But,  though  the  Beau 
bien  had  never  sought  the  entree  to  formal  society,  preferring 
to  hold  her  own  court,  at  which  no  women  attended,  she  ex 
ercised  a  certain  control  over  it  through  her  influence  upon 
the  man  Ames.  What  Mrs.  Ames  knew  of  the  long-continued 
relations  between  her  husband  and  this  woman  was  never 
divulged.  And  doubtless  she  was  wholly  satisfied  that  his 

69 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


wealth  and  power  afforded  her  the  position  which  her  heart 
had  craved;  and,  that  secure,  she  was  willing  to  leave  him  to 
his  own  methods  of  obtaining  diversion.  But  rumor  was  per 
sistent,  maliciously  so;  and  rumor  declared  that  the  list  of 
this  envied  society  dame  was  not  drawn  up  without  the  ap 
proval  of  her  husband  and  the  woman  with  whom  his  leisure 
hours  were  invariably  spent.  Hence  the  hope  of  Mrs.  Haw- 
ley-Crowles,  whose  doting  mate  had  once  fawned  in  the  per 
fumed  wake  of  the  luxurious  Beaubien. 

Carmen,  whose  wishes  had  not  been  consulted,  had  voiced 
no  objection  whatever  to  returning  to  the  Hawley-Crowles 
home.  Indeed,  she  secretly  rejoiced  that  an  opportunity  had 
been  so  easily  afforded  for  escape  from  the  stifling  atmosphere 
of  the  Elwin  school,  and  for  entrance  into  the  great  wrorld  of 
people  and  affairs,  where  she  believed  the  soil  prepared  for  the 
seed  she  would  plant.  That  dire  surprises  awaited  her,  of 
which  she  could  not  even  dream,  did  not  enter  her  calcula 
tions.  Secure  in  her  quenchless  faith,  she  gladly  accepted  the 
proffered  shelter  of  the  Hawley-Crowles  mansion,  and  the  pro 
tection  of  its  worldly,  scheming  inmates. 

In  silent,  wide-eyed  \vonder,  in  the  days  that  followed,  the 
girl  strove  to  accustom  herself  to  the  luxury  of  her  surround 
ings,  and  to  the  undreamed  of  marvels  which  made  for  physical 
comfort  and  well-being.  Each  installment  of  the  ample  allow 
ance  which  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  settled  upon  her  seemed  a 
fortune — enough,  she  thought,  to  buy  the  whole  town  of  Simiti! 
Her  gowns  seemed  woven  on  fairy  looms,  and  often  she  would 
sit  for  hours,  holding  them  in  her  lap  and  reveling  in  their 
richness.  Then,  when  at  length  she  could  bring  herself  to 
don  the  robes  and  peep  timidly  into  the  great  pier  glasses,  she 
would  burst  into  startled  exclamations  and  hide  her  face  in  her 
hands,  lest  the  gorgeous  splendor  of  the  beautiful  reflection 
overpower  her. 

"Oh,"  she  would  exclaim,  "it  can't  be  that  the  girl  reflected 
there  ever  lived  and  dressed  as  I  did  in  Simiti!  I  wronder,  oh, 
I  wonder  if  Padre  Jose  knew  that  these  things  were  in  the 
world!" 

And  then,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  gave  herself 
into  the  hands  of  the  admiring  French  maid,  she  would  close 
her  eyes  and  dream  that  the  fairy-stories  which  the  patient 
Jose  had  told  her  again  and  again  in  her  distant  home  town 
had  come  true,  and  that  she  had  been  transformed  into  a 
beautiful  princess,  who  w^ould  some  day  go  in  search  of  the 
sleeping  priest  and  wake  him  from  his  mesmeric  dream. 

Then  would  come  the  inevitable  thought  of  the  little  news 
boy  of  Cartagena,  to  whom  she  had  long  since  begun  to  send 

70 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


monetary  contributions — and  of  her  unanswered  letters — of 
the  war  devastating  her  native  land — of  rudely  severed  ties, 
and  unimaginable  changes — and  she  would  start  from  her 
musing  and  brush  away  the  gathering  tears,  and  try  to  realize 
that  her  present  situation  and  environment  were  but  means 
to  an  end,  opportunities  which  her  God  had  given  her  to  do 
His  work,  with  no  thought  of  herself. 

A  few  days  after  Carmen  had  been  installed  in  her  new 
home,  during  which  she  had  left  the  house  only  for  her  diurnal 
ride  in  the  big  limousine,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  announced  her 
readiness  to  fire  the  first  gun  in  the  attack  upon  the  Beaubien. 
"My  dear,"  she  said  to  her  sister,  as  they  sat  alone  in  the 
luxurious  sun-parlor,  "my  washerwoman  dropped  a  remark 
the  other  day  which  gave  me  something  to  build  on.  Her  two 
babies  are  in  the  General  Orphan  Asylum,  up  on  Twenty-third 
street.  Well,  it  happens  that  this  institution  is  the  Beaubien's 
sole  charity — in  fact,  it  is  her  particular  hobby.  I  presume 
that  she  feels  she  is  now  a  middle-aged  woman,  and  that  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  she  will  have  to  close  up  her 
earthly  accounts  and  hand  them  over  to  the  heavenly  auditor. 
Anyway,  this  last  year  or  two  she  has  suddenly  become  philan 
thropic,  and  when  the  General  Orphan  Asylum  was  building  she 
gave  some  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  a  cottage  in  her  name. 
What's  more,  the  trustees  of  the  Asylum  accepted  it  without 
the  wink  of  an  eyelash.  Funny,  isn't  it? 

"But  here's  the  point:  some  rich  old  fellow  has  willed  the 
institution  a  fund  whose  income  every  year  is  used  to  buy 
clothing  for  the  kiddies;  and  they  have  a  sort  of  celebration 
on  the  day  the  duds  are  given  out,  and  the  public  is  invited  to 
inspect  the  place  and  the  inmates,  and  eat  a  bit,  and  look 
around  generally.  Well,  my  washerwoman  tells  me  that  the 
Beaubien  always  attends  these  annual  celebrations.  The  next 
one,  I  learn,  comes  in  about  a  month.  I  propose  that  we  attend; 
take  Carmen;  ask  permission  for  her  to  sing  to  the  children, 
and  thereby  attract  the  attention  of  the  gorgeous  Beaubien,  who 
will  be  sure  to  speak  to  the  girl,  who  is  herself  an  orphan,  and, 
ten  to  one,  want  to  see  more  of  her.  The  rest  is  easy.  I'll 
have  a  word  to  say  regarding  our  immense  debt  of  gratitude  to 
her  for  saving  Jim's  fortune  years  ago  when  he  was  entangled 
in  her  net — and,  well,  if  that  scheme  doesn't  work,  I  have 
other  strings  to  my  bow." 

But  it  did  work,  and  with  an  ease  that  exceeded  the  most 
sanguine  hopes  of  its  projector.  On  the  day  that  the  General 
Orphan  Asylum  threw  wide  its  doors  to  the  public,  the  Hawley- 
Crowles  limousine  rubbed  noses  with  the  big  French  car  of  the 
Beaubien  in  the  street  without;  while  within  the  building  the 

71 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Beaubien  held  the  hand  of  the  beautiful  girl  whose  voluntary 
singing  had  spread  a  veil  of  silence  over  the  awed  spectators 
in  the  great  assembly  room,  and,  looking  earnestly  down  into 
the  big,  trusting,  brown  eyes,  said:  "My  dear  child,  I  want  to 
know  you."  Then,  turning  to  the  eager,  itching  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  "I  shall  send  my  car  for  her  to-morrow  afternoon, 
with  your  permission." 

With  her  permission!  Heavens!  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
wildly  hugged  her  sister  and  the  girl  all  the  way  home — then 
went  to  bed  that  night  with  tears  of  apprehension  in  her 
washed-out  eyes,  lest  she  had  shown  herself  too  eager  in  grant 
ing  the  Beaubien's  request.  But  her  fears  were  turned  to  ex 
ultation  when  the  Beaubien  car  drew  up  at  her  door  the  follow 
ing  day  at  three,  and  the  courteous  French  chauffeur  announced 
his  errand.  A  few  moments  later,  while  the  car  glided  purring 
over  the  smooth  asphalt,  Carmen,  robed  like  a  princess,  lay 
back  in  the  cushions  and  dreamed  of  the  poor  priest  in  the 
dead  little  town  so  far  away. 


CHAPTER  9 

it  again,  dear.  I  know  you  are  tired,  but  I  want  to 
hear  that  song  just  once  more.  Somehow  it  seems  to 
bring  up  thoughts  of — of  things  that  might  have  been." 
The  Beaubien's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  as  she  finished. 

Carmen  laughed  happily  and  prepared  to  repeat  the  weird 
lament  which  had  so  fascinated  the  Reverend  Doctor  Jurges 
a  few  days  before. 

"I — I  don't  know  why  that  song  affects  me  so,"  mused  the 
Beaubien,  when  the  girl  had  finished  and  returned  to  the  seat 
beside  her.  Then,  abruptly:  "I  wish  you  could  play  the  pipe- 
organ  out  in  the  hall.  I  put  twelve  thousand  dollars  into  it, 
and  I  can't  even  play  five-finger  exercises  on  it." 

"Twelve  thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed  Carmen,  drawing  a 
long  breath,  while  her  eyes  dilated. 

The  woman  laughed.  "Would  that  buy  your  beloved 
Simiti?"  she  asked.  "Well,  you  poor,  unsophisticated  girl,  sup 
pose  we  just  go  down  there  and  buy  the  whole  town.  It  would 
at  least  give  me  an  interest  in  life.  Do  you  think  I  could  stand 
the  heat  there?  But  tell  me  more  about  it.  How  did  you  live, 
and  what  did  you  do?  And  who  is  this  Jose?  And  are  you 
really  descended  from  the  old  Incas?" 

They  wrere  alone  in  the  darkened  music  room,  and  the  soft- 
stepping,  liveried  butler  had  just  set  the  tea  table  before  them, 

72 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


At  one  end  of  the  long  room  a  cheery  fire  snapped  and  crackled 
in  the  huge  fireplace,  tempering  the  sharpness  of  the  early 
spring  day  and  casting  a  ruddy  glow  upon  the  tapestried  walls 
and  polished  floor  in  front,  where  dozed  the  Beaubien's  two 
"babies,"  Japanese  and  Pekingese  spaniels  of  registered  pedi 
gree  and  fabulous  value.  Among  the  heavy  beams  of  the  lofty 
ceiling  grotesque  shadows  danced  and  flickered,  while  over  the 
costly  rugs  and  rare  skins  on  the  floor  below  subdued  lights 
played  in  animated  pantomime.  Behind  the  magnificent  grand 
piano  a  beautifully  wrought  harp  reflected  a  golden  radiance 
into  the  room.  Everything  in  the  woman's  environment  was 
softened  into  the  same  degree  of  voluptuousness  which  charac 
terized  her  and  the  life  of  sybaritic  ease  which  she  affected. 

From  the  moment  Carmen  entered  the  house  she  had  been 
charmed,  fascinated,  overpowered  by  the  display  of  exhaust- 
less  wealth  and  the  rich  taste  exhibited  in  its  harmonious 
manifestation.  The  Hawley-Crowles  home  had  seemed  to  her 
the  epitome  of  material  elegance  and  comfort,  far  exceeding  the 
most  fantastic  concepts  of  her  childish  imagination,  when  she 
had  listened  enraptured  to  Padre  Jose's  compelling  stories  of 
the  great  world  beyond  Simiti.  But  the  gorgeous  web  of  this 
social  spider  made  even  the  Hawley-Crowles  mansion  suffer  in 
comparison. 

"And  yet,"  said  the  amused  Beaubien,  when  Carmen  could 
no  longer  restrain  her  wonder  and  admiration,  "this  is  but  a 
shed  beside  the  new  Ames  house,  going  up  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
I  presume  he  will  put  not  less  than  ten  millions  into  it  before  it 
is  finished." 

"Ten  millions!  In  just  a  house!"  Carmen  dared  not  at 
tempt  to  grasp  the  complex  significance  of  such  an  expendi 
ture. 

"Why,  is  that  such  a  huge  amount,  child?"  asked  the  Beau 
bien,  as  accustomed  to  think  in  eight  figures  as  in  two.  "But, 
I  forget  that  you  are  from  the  jungle.  Yet,  who  would  imagine 
it?"  she  mused,  gazing  with  undisguised  admiration  at  the 
beautiful,  animated  girl  before  her. 

Silence  then  fell  upon  them  both.  Carmen  was  struggling 
with  the  deluge  of  new  impressions;  and  the  woman  fastened 
her  eyes  upon  her  as  if  she  would  have  them  bore  deep  into 
the  soul  of  whose  rarity  she  was  becoming  slowly  aware.  What 
thoughts  coursed  through  the  mind  of  the  Beaubien  as  she  sat 
studying  the  girl  through  the  tempered  light,  we  may  not 
know.  What  she  saw  in  Carmen  that  attracted  her,  she  herself 
might  not  have  told.  Had  she,  too,  this  ultra-mondaine,  this 
creature  of  gold  and  tinsel,  felt  the  spell  of  the  girl's  great 
innocence  and  purity  of  thought,  her  righteousness?  Or  did 

73 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


she  see  in  her  something  that  she  herself  might  once  have 
been — something  that  all  her  gold,  and  all  the  wealth  of  Ormus 
or  of  Ind  could  never  buy? 

"What  have  you  got,"  she  suddenly,  almost  rudely,  ex 
claimed,  "that  I  haven't?"  And  then  the  banality  of  the  ques 
tion  struck  her,  and  she  laughed  harshly. 

"Why,"  said  Carmen,  looking  up  quickly  and  beaming  upon 
the  woman,  "you  have  everything!  Oh,  what  more  could  you 
wish?" 

"You,"  returned  the  woman  quickly,  though  she  knew  not 
why  she  said  it.  And  yet,  memory  was  busy  uncovering  those 
bitter  days  when,  in  the  first  agony  of  marital  disappointment, 
she  had,  with  hot,  streaming  tears,  implored  heaven  to  give  her 
a  child.  But  the  gift  had  been  denied;  and  her  heart  had 
shrunk  and  grown  heavily  calloused. 

Then  she  spoke  more  gently,  and  there  was  that  in  her  voice 
which  stirred  the  girl's  quick  sympathy.  "Yes,  you  have 
youth,  and  beauty.  They  are  mine  no  longer.  But  I  could 
part  with  them,  gladly,  if  only  there  were  anything  left." 

Carmen  instantly  rose  and  went  swiftly  to  her.  Forgetful 
of  caste,  decorum,  convention,  everything  but  the  boundless 
love  which  she  felt  for  all  mankind,  she  put  her  arms  about 
the  worldly  woman's  neck  and  kissed  her. 

For  a  moment  the  Beaubien  sat  in  speechless  surprise.  It 
was  the  only  manifestation  of  selfless  love  that  had  ever  come 
into  her  sordid  experience.  Was  it  possible  that  this  was 
spontaneous?  that  it  was  an  act  of  real  sympathy,  and  not  a 
clever  ruse  to  win  her  from  behind  the  mask  of  affection? 
Her  own  kisses,  she  knew,  were  bestowed  only  for  favors. 
Alas!  they  drew  not  many  now,  although  time  was  when 
a  single  one  might  win  a  brooch  or  a  string  of  pearls. 

The  girl  herself  quickly  met  the  woman's  groping  thought. 
"I'm  in  the  world  to  show  what  love  will  do,"  she  murmured; 
"and  I  love  you."  Had  she  not  thus  solved  every  problem  from 
earliest  childhood? 

The  Beaubien  melted.  Not  even  a  heart  of  stone  could 
withstand  the  solvent  power  of  such  love.  Her  head  dropped 
upon  her  breast,  and  she  wept. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  Carmen,  tenderly  caressing  the  bepow- 
dered  cheek.  "Why,  we  are  all  God's  children;  we  all  have 
one  another;  you  have  me,  and  I  have  you;  and  God  means 
us  all  to  be  happy." 

The  Beaubien  looked  up,  wondering.  Her  variegated  life 
included  no  such  tender  experience  as  this.  She  had  long  since 
ceased  to  shed  aught  but  tears  of  anger.  But  now— 

She  clutched  the  girl  to  her  and  kissed  her  eagerly;  then 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


gently  motioned  her  back  to  her  chair.  "Don't  mind  it,"  she 
smiled,  with  swimming  eyes,  and  a  shade  of  embarrassment. 
"I  don't  know  of  anything  that  would  help  me  as  much  as  a 
good  cry.  If  I  could  have  had  a  daughter  like  you,  I  should 
—but  never  mind  now."  She  tried  to  laugh,  as  she  wiped 
her  eyes. 

Then  an  idea  seemed  to  flash  through  her  jaded  brain,  and 
she  became  suddenly  animated.  "Why — listen,"  she  said; 
"don't  you  want  to  learn  the  pipe-organ?  Will  you  come  here 
and  take  lessons?  I  will  pay  for  them;  I  will  engage  the  best 
teacher  in  New  York;  and  you  shall  take  two  or  three  a  week, 
and  use  the  big  organ  out  in  the  hall.  Will  you?" 

Carmen's  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  "Oh!"  she  exclaimed, 
her  eyes  dancing.  "But  I  must  ask  Mrs.  Reed,  you  know." 

"I'll  do  it  myself,"  returned  the  woman  with  growing  en 
thusiasm.  "William,"  she  directed,  when  the  butler  responded 
to  her  summons,  "get  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  on  the  wire  at  once. 
But  who  is  coming,  I  wonder?"  glancing  through  the  window 
at  an  automobile  that  had  drawn  up  at  her  door.  "Humph!"  a 
look  of  vexation  mantling  her  face,  "the  Right  Reverend  Mon- 
signor  Lafelle.  Well,"  turning  to  Carmen,  "I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  send  you  home  now,  dear.  But  tell  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
that  I  shall  call  for  you  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  that  I  shall 
speak  to  her  at  that  time  about  your  music  lessons.  William, 
take  Monsignor  into  the  morning  room,  and  then  tell  Henri  to 
bring  the  car  to  the  porte-cochere  for  Miss  Carmen.  Good-bye, 
dear,"  kissing  the  bright,  upturned  face  of  the  waiting  girl. 
"I  wish  I  could — but,  well,  don't  forget  that  I'm  coming  for  you 
to-morrow." 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  directed  her  French 
tailor  to  cable  to  Paris  for  advance  styles.  Twenty-four  hours 
later  she  hastened  with  outstretched  arms  to  greet  the  Beau- 
bien,  waiting  in  the  reception  room.  Oh,  yes,  they  had  heard 
often  of  each  other;  and  now  were  so  pleased  to  meet!  New 
York  was  such  a  whirlpool,  and  it  was  so  difficult  to  form 
desirable  friendships.  Yes,  the  Beaubien  had  known  the  late- 
lamented  Hawley-Crowles;  but,  dear!  dear!  that  was  years  and 
years  ago,  before  he  had  married,  and  when  they  were  both 
young  and  foolish.  And — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  chance  enabled  him  and 
me  to  be  mutually  helpful  at  a  time  when  I  wras  in  sore  need  of 
a  friend;  and  the  debt  of  gratitude  is  not  yours  to  me,  but  mine 
to  your  kind  husband." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  could  have  hugged  her  on  the  spot. 
What  cared  she  that  her  husband's  always  unsavory  name 
had  been  linked  with  this  woman's?  She  had  married  the 

75 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


roistering  blade  for  his  bank  account  only.  Any  other  male 
whose  wealth  ran  into  seven  figures  would  have  done  as  well, 
or  better. 

And  Carmen?  Bless  you,  no!  To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  gratefully  accepted  the  use  of  the  organ  and  the  Beau- 
bien  mansion  for  the  girl;  but  she  herself  insisted  upon  bearing 
the  expense  of  the  lessons.  Carmen  had  wonderful  musical 
talent.  Together,  she  and  the  Beaubien,  they  would  foster  and 
develop  it.  Moreover,  though  of  course  this  must  follow  later, 
she  intended  to  give  the  girl  every  social  advantage  befitting 
her  beauty,  her  talents,  and  her  station. 

And  then,  when  the  Beaubien,  who  knew  to  a  second  just 
how  long  to  stay,  had  departed,  taking  Carmen  with  her,  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  turned  to  her  sister  with  her  face  flushed  with 
anger.  "Did  you  see  that?"  she  exclaimed,  while  hot  tears 
suffused  her  eyes.  "The  hussy  went  away  actually  laughing 
at  me!  What  do  you  suppose  she's  got  up  her  sleeve?  But, 
let  me  tell  you,  she'll  not  fool  me!  I'll  slap  that  arrogant  Ames 
woman  yet;  and  then,  when  I've  done  that,  I'll  give  the  Beau 
bien  something  to  think  about  besides  the  way  she  did  up  poor 
old  Jim!" 

****** 

There  was  now  but  one  cloud  that  cast  its  dark  shadow 
across  the  full  splendor  of  Carmen's  happiness,  the  silence  that 
shrouded  Simiti.  But  Harris  was  preparing  to  return  to  Co 
lombia,  and  his  trip  promised  a  solution  of  the  mystery  of  her 
unanswered  letters.  For  weeks  Carmen  had  struggled  to  teach 
him  Spanish,  with  but  small  measure  of  success.  The  gift  of 
tongues  was  not  his.  "You'll  have  to  go  back  with  me  and 
act  as  interpreter,"  he  said  one  day,  when  they  were  alone  in 
the  Hawley-Crowles  parlor.  Then  a  curious  light  came  into 
his  eyes,  and  he  blurted,  "Will  you?" 

But  the  girl  turned  the  question  aside  with  a  laugh,  though 
she  knew  not  from  what  depths  it  had  sprung.  Harris  shrugged 
his  broad  shoulders  and  sighed.  He  had  not  a  hundred  dollars 
to  his  name. 

Yet  he  had  prospects,  not  the  least  of  which  was  the  interest 
he  shared  with  Reed  in  La  Libertad.  For,  despite  the  disturbed 
state  of  affairs  in  Colombia,  Simiti  stock  had  sold  rapidly, 
under  the  sedulous  care  of  Ketchim  and  his  loyal  aids,  and  a 
sufficient  fund  had  been  accumulated  to  warrant  the  inaugura 
tion  of  development  wrork  on  the  mine.  A  few  years  hence 
Harris  should  be  rich  from  that  source  alone. 

Reed  was  still  in  California,  although  the  alluring  literature 
which  Ketchim  was  scattering  broadcast  bore  his  name  as  con 
sulting  engineer  to  the  Simiti  Development  Company.  His 

76 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


wife  had  continued  her  temporary  abode  in  the  Hawley- 
Crowles  mansion,  while  awaiting  with  what  fortitude  she  could 
command  the  passing  of  her  still  vigorous  father,  and  the  re 
sults  of  her  defiant  sister's  assaults  upon  the  Ames  set. 

Carmen's  days  were  crowded  full.  The  wonderful  organ  in 
the  Beaubien  mansion  had  cast  a  spell  of  enchantment  over 
her  soul,  and  daily  she  sat  before  it,  uncovering  new  marvels 
and  losing  herself  deeper  and  deeper  in  its  infinite  mysteries. 
Her  progress  was  commensurate  with  her  consecration,  and 
brought  exclamations  of  astonishment  to  the  lips  of  her  now 
devoted  Beaubien.  Hour  after  hour  the  latter  would  sit  in  the 
twilight  of  the  great  hall,  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
absorbed  girl,  and  her  leaden  soul  slowly,  painfully  struggling  to 
lift  itself  above  the  murk  and  dross  in  which  it  had  lain  buried 
for  long,  meaningless  years.  They  now  talked  but  little,  this 
strange  woman  and  the  equally  strange  girl.  Their  communion 
was  no  longer  of  the  lips.  It  was  the  silent  yearning  of  a  dry, 
desolate  heart,  striving  to  open  itself  to  the  love  which  the 
girl  was  sending  far  and  wide  in  the  quenchless  hope  that  it 
might  meet  just  such  a  need.  For  Carmen  dwelt  in  the  spirit, 
and  she  instinctively  accepted  her  splendid  material  environ 
ment  as  the  gift,  not  of  man,  but  of  the  great  divine  Mind,  which 
had  led  her  into  this  new  world  that  she  might  be  a  channel 
for  the  expression  of  its  love  to  the  erring  children  of  mortals. 

She  came  and  went  quietly,  and  yet  with  as  much  confi 
dence  as  if  the  house  belonged  to  her.  At  first  the  Beaubien 
smiled  indulgently.  And  then  her  smile  became  a  laugh  of 
eager  joy  as  she  daily  greeted  her  radiant  visitor,  whose  en 
trance  into  the  great,  dark  house  was  always  followed  by  a  flood 
of  sunshine,  and  whose  departure  marked  the  setting  in  of 
night  to  the  heart-hungry  woman.  In  the  first  days  of  their 
association  the  Beaubien  could  turn  easily  from  the  beautiful 
girl  to  the  group  of  cold,  scheming  men  of  the  world  who  filled 
her  evenings  and  sat  about  her  board.  But  as  days  melted  into 
weeks,  she  became  dimly  conscious  of  an  effort  attaching  to  the 
transition;  and  the  hour  at  length  arrived  when  she  fully 
realized  that  she  was  facing  the  most  momentous  decision  that 
had  ever  been  evolved  by  her  worldly  mode  of  living.  But  that 
was  a  matter  of  slow  development  through  many  months. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  trod  the  clouds.  A  week 
after  Carmen  began  the  study  of  the  organ  she  boldly  ventured 
to  accompany  her  one  day  to  the  Beaubien  citadel.  She  was 
graciously  received,  and  departed  with  the  Beaubien's  promise 
to  return  the  call.  Thereupon  she  set  about  revising  her  own 
social  list,  and  dropped  several  names  which  she  now  felt 
could  serve  her  no  longer.  Her  week-end  at  Newport,  just 

39  77 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


prior  to  her  visit  to  the  Elwin  school,  had  marked  the  close  of 
the  gay  season  in  the  city,  and  New  York  had  entered  fully 
upon  its  summer  siesta.  Even  the  theaters  and  concert  halls 
were  closed,  and  the  metropolis  was  nodding  its  weary  head 
dully  and  sinking  into  somnolence.  It  was  exactly  what  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  desired.  The  summer  interim  would  give  her 
time  to  further  her  plans  and  prepare  the  girl  for  her  social 
debut  in  the  early  winter.  "And  Milady  Ames  will  be  men 
tioned  in  the  papers  next  day  as  assisting  at  the  function — the 
cat!"  she  muttered  savagely,  as  she  laid  aside  her  revised  list 
of  social  desirables. 

But  in  preparing  Carmen  that  summer  for  her  subsequent 
entry  into  polite  society  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  soon  realized  that 
she  had  assumed  a  task  of  generous  proportions.  In  the  first 
place,  despite  all  efforts,  the  girl  could  not  be  brought  to  a 
proper  sense  of  money  values.  Her  eyes  were  ever  gaping  in 
astonishment  at  what  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her  sister 
regarded  as  the  most  moderate  of  expenditures,  and  it  \vas 
only  when  the  Beaubien  herself  mildly  hinted  to  them  that 
ingenuousness  was  one  of  the  girl's  greatest  social  assets,  that 
they  learned  to  smile  indulgently  at  her  wonder,  even  while  in 
wardly  pitying  her  dense  ignorance  and  lack  of  sophistication. 

A  second  source  of  trial  to  her  guardians  was  her  delicate 
sense  of  honor;  and  it  was  this  that  one  day  nearly  sufficed 
to  wreck  their  standing  W7ith  the  fashionable  Mrs.  Gannette  of 
Riverside  Drive,  a  pompous,  bepowdered,  curled  and  scented 
dame,  anaemic  of  mind,  but  tremendously  aristocratic,  and  of 
scarcely  inferior  social  dignity  to  that  of  the  envied  Mrs.  Ames. 
For,  when  Mrs.  Gannette  moved  into  the  neighborhood  where 
dwelt  the  ambitious  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  the  latter  was  taken 
by  a  mutual  acquaintance  to  call  upon  her,  and  was  imme 
diately  received  into  the  worldly  old  lady's  good  graces.  And 
it  so  happened  that,  after  the  gay  season  had  closed  that 
summer,  Mrs.  Gannette  invited  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her 
sister  to  an  informal  afternoon  of  bridge,  and  especially  re 
quested  that  they  bring  their  young  ward,  whose  beauty  and 
wonderful  story  were,  through  the  discreet  maneuvers  of  her 
guardians,  beginning  to  be  talked  about.  For  some  weeks  pre 
viously  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  been  inducting  Carmen  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  game;  but  with  indifferent  success,  for 
the  girl's  thoughts  invariably  were  elsewhere  engaged.  On  this 
particular  afternoon  Carmen  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
gorgeous  dress,  the  lavish  display  of  jewelry,  and  the  general 
inanity  of  conversation;  and  her  score  was  pitiably  low.  The 
following  morning,  to  her  great  astonishment,  she  received  a 
bill  from  the  practical  Mrs.  Gannette  for  ten  dollars  to  cover 

78 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her  losses  at  the  game.  For  a  long  time  the  bewildered  girl 
mused  over  it.  Then  she  called  the  chauffeur  and  despatched 
him  to  the  Gannette  mansion  with  the  money  necessary  to 
meet  the  gambling  debt,  and  three  dollars  additional  to  pay 
for  the  refreshments  she  had  eaten,  accompanying  it  with  a 
polite  little  note  of  explanation. 

The  result  was  an  explosion  that  nearly  lifted  the  asphalt 
from  the  Drive;  and  Carmen,  covered  with  tears  and  confusion, 
was  given  to .  understand  by  the  irate  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
that  her  conduct  was  as  reprehensible  as  if  she  had  attacked 
the  eminent  Mrs.  Gannette  with  an  axe.  Whereupon  the  sor 
rowing  Carmen  packed  her  effects  and  prepared  to  depart  from 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  to  the  terrified  consterna 
tion  of  the  latter,  who  alternately  prostrated  herself  before  the 
girl  and  the  offended  Mrs.  Gannette,  and  at  length,  after  many 
days  of  perspiring  effort  and  voluminous  explanation,  suc 
ceeded  in  restoring  peace. 

When  the  Beaubien,  who  had  become  the  girl's  confidante, 
learned  the  story,  she  laughed  till  her  sides  ached.  And  then 
her  lips  set,  and  her  face  grew  terribly  hard,  and  she  muttered, 
"Fools!"  But  she  smiled  again  as  she  gathered  the  penitent 
girl  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  her. 

"You  will  learn  many  things,  dearie,  before  you  are  through 
with  New  York.  And,"  she  added,  her  brow  again  clouding, 
"you  will  be  through  with  it — some  day!" 

That  evening  she  repeated  the  story  at  her  table,  and  Gan 
nette,  who  happened  to  be  present,  swore  between  roars  of 
laughter  that  he  would  use  it  as  a  club  over  his  wife,  should  she 
ever  again  trap  him  in  any  of  his  numerous  indiscretions. 

Again,  the  girl's  odd  views  of  life  and  its  meaning  which, 
despite  her  efforts,  she  could  not  refrain  from  voicing  now 
and  then,  caused  the  worldly  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  much  con 
sternation.  Carmen  tried  desperately  to  be  discreet.  Even 
Harris  advised  her  to  listen  much,  but  say  little;  and  she  strove 
hard  to  obey.  But  she  would  forget  and  hurl  the  newspapers 
from  her  with  exclamations  of  horror  over  their  red-inked 
depictions  of  mortal  frailty — she  would  flatly  refuse  to  dis 
cuss  crime  or  disease — and  she  would  comment  disparagingly 
at  too  frequent  intervals  on  the  littleness  of  human  aims  and 
the  emptiness  of  the  peacock-life  which  she  saw  manifested 
about  her.  "I  don't  understand — I  can't,"  she  would  say,  when 
she  was  alone  with  the  Beaubien.  "Why,  with  the  wonderful 
opportunities  which  you  rich  people  have,  how  can  you — oh, 
how  can  you  toss  them  aside  for  the  frivolities  and  littleness 
that  you  all  seem  to  be  striving  for!  It  seems  to  me  you  must 
be  mad — loco!  And  I  know  you  are,  for  you  are  simply  mes 
merized!" 

79 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Then  the  Beaubien  would  smile  knowingly  and  take  her  in 
her  arms.  "We  shall  see,"  she  would  often  say,  "we  shall  see." 
But  she  would  offer  no  further  comment. 

Thus  the  summer  months  sped  swiftly  past,  with  Carmen 
ever  looking  and  listening,  receiving,  sifting,  in,  but  not  of,  the 
new  world  into  which  she  had  been  cast.  In  a  sense  her  exist 
ence  was  as  narrowly  routined  as  ever  it  had  been  in  Simiti, 
for  her  days  were  spent  at  the  great  organ,  with  frequent  rides 
in  the  automobile  through  the  parks  and  boulevards  for  varia 
tion;  and  her  evenings  were  jealously  guarded  by  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  whose  policy  was  to  keep  the  girl  in  seclusion  until 
the  advent  of  her  formal  introduction  to  the  world  of  fashiona 
ble  society,  when  her  associates  would  be  selected  only  from  the 
narrow  circle  of  moneyed  or  titled  people  with  whom  alone 
she  might  mingle.  To  permit  her  to  form  promiscuous  ac 
quaintances  now  might  prove  fatal  to  the  scheming  woman's 
cherished  plans,  and  was  a  risk  that  could  not  be  entertained. 
And  Carmen,  suppressing  her  wonder,  and  striving  incessantly 
to  curb  her  ready  tongue,  accepted  her  environment  as  the 
unreal  expression  of  "the  human  mind,  and  submitted — and 
waited. 


CHAPTER  10 

THE  chill  blasts  had  begun  to  swoop  down  from  the  frozen 
North,  and  summer  had  gathered  her  dainty  robes  about 
her  and  fled  shivering  before  them.     Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
stood  at  a  window  and  gazed  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  withered 
leaves  tossing  in  the  wind. 

Carmen's  sixteenth  birthday  was  past  by  some  months;  the 
gay  season  was  at  hand;  and  the  day  was  speeding  toward  her 
which  she  had  set  for  the  girl's  formal  debut.  Already,  through 
informal  calls  and  gatherings,  she  had  made  her  charming  and 
submissive  ward  known  to  most  of  her  owyn  city  acquaintances 
and  the  members  of  her  particular  set.  The  fresh,  beautiful 
girl's  winning  personality;  her  frank,  ingenuous  manner;  her 
evident  sincerity  and  her  naive  remarks,  which  now  only  gave 
hints  of  her  radical  views,  had  opened  every  heart  wide  to  her, 
and  before  the  advent  of  the  social  season  her  wonderful  story 
was  on  everybody's  tongue.  There  remained  now  only  the 
part  which  the  woman  had  planned  for  the  Beaubien,  but  which, 
thus  far,  she  had  found  neither  the  courage  nor  the  oppor 
tunity  to  suggest  to  that  influential  woman.  Gazing  out  into 
the  deserted  street,  she  stamped  her  ample  foot  in  sheer  vexa 
tion.  The  Beaubien  had  absorbed  Carmen;  had  been  politely 

80 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


affable  to  her  and  her  sister;  had  called  twice  during  the  sum 
mer;  and  had  said  nothing.  But  what  was  there  for  her  to 
say?  The  hint  must  come  from  the  other  side;  and  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  could  have  wept  with  chagrin  as  she  reflected 
gloomily  on  her  own  timorous  spirit. 

But  as  she  stood  in  dejection  before  the  window  a  vague 
idea  flitted  into  her  brain,  and  she  clutched  at  it  desperately. 
Carmen  had  spoken  of  the  frequent  calls  of  a  certain  Monsignor 
Lafelle  at  the  Beaubien  mansion,  although  the  girl  had  never 
met  him.  Now  why  did  he  go  there?  "Humph!"  muttered  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles.  "Old  Gaspard  de  Beaubien  was  a  French 
Catholic." 

But  what  had  that  to  do  with  Carmen?  Nothing — except — 
why,  to  be  sure,  the  girl  came  from  a  Catholic  country,  and 
therefore  was  a  Catholic!  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  chuckled. 
That  was  worth  developing  a  little  further.  "Let  us  see,"  she 
reflected,  "Kathleen  Ames  is  coming  out  this  winter,  too.  Just 
about  Carmen's  age.  Candidate  for  her  mother's  social  position, 
of  course.  Now  the  Ames  family  are  all  Presbyterians.  The 
Reverend  Darius  Borwell,  D.  D.,  L.L.  D.,  and  any  other  D.  that 
will  keep  him  glued  to  his  ten-thousand-dollar  salary,  hooked 
them  early  in  the  game.  Now  suppose — suppose  Lafelle  should 
tell  the  Beaubien  that — that  there's — no,  that  won't  do!  But 
suppose  I  tell  him  that  here's  a  chance  for  him  to  back  a  Catho 
lic  against  a  Protestant  for  the  highest  social  honors  in  New 
York — Carmen  versus  Kathleen — what  would  he  say?  Humph! 
I'm  just  as  good  a  Catholic  as  Protestant.  Jim  was  Irish- 
clear  through.  And  Catholic,  Methodist,  or  Hard-shell  Baptist, 
as  suited  his  needs.  He  played  'em  all.  Suppose  I  should  tip 
it  off  to  Lafelle  that  I'm  smitten  with  the  pious  intention  of 
donating  an  altar  to  Holy  Saints  Cathedral  in  memory  of  my 
late,  unlamented  consort — what  then?  It's  worth  considering, 
anyway.  Yes,  it's  not  a  bad  idea  at  all." 

And  thus  it  was  that  a  few  days  later  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
timed  it  so  carefully  that  she  chanced  to  call  on  the  Beaubien 
with  Carmen  shortly  after  Monsignor  Lafelle's  car  had  pulled 
up  at  the  same  door.  It  was  the  merest  accident,  too,  that 
Carmen  led  her  puffing  guardian  directly  into  the  morning 
room,  where  sat  the  Beaubien  and  Monsignor  in  earnest  con 
versation.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  would  have  retired  at  once, 
stammering  apologies,  and  reprimanding  Carmen  for  her  as 
sumption  of  liberties  in  another's  house;  but  the  Beaubien  was 
grace  and  cordiality  itself,  and  she  insisted  on  retaining  her 
three  callers  and  making  them  mutually  acquainted. 

With  the  ice  thus  broken,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  found  it 
easy  to  take  the  contemplated  plunge.  Therefore  she  smiled 

81 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


triumphantly  when,  a  week  later,  Monsignor  Lafelle  alighted 
at  her  own  door,  in  response  to  a  summons  on  matters  pertain 
ing  to  the  Church. 

"But,  Madam,"  replied  the  holy  man,  after  carefully  listening 
to  her  announcement,  "I  can  only  refer  the  matter  to  the  Bish 
op.  I  am  not  connected  with  this  diocese.  I  am  traveling  al 
most  constantly.  But  I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  lay  it  before 
him,  with  my  endorsement." 

"As  you  say,  Monsignor,"  sweetly  responded  the  gracious 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  "I  sought  your  advice  because  I  had 
met  you  through  my  dear  friend,  Madam  Beaubien." 

"It  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  know  you  and  to  be  of 
service  to  you,  Madam,"  said  Monsignor,  rising  to  depart. 
"But,"  he  added  with  a  tender  smile,  "a  pleasure  that  would 
be  enhanced  were  you  to  become  one  of  us." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  knew  that  at  last  the  time  had  come. 
"A  moment,  please,  Monsignor,"  she  said,  her  heart  beating 
quickly.  "There  is  another  matter.  Please  be  seated.  It  con 
cerns  my  ward,  the  young  girl  \vhom  you  met  at  Madam  Beau- 
bien's." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  the  man,  resuming  his  seat.  "A  beauti 
ful  girl." 

"Yes!"  returned  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  enthusiastically. 
"And  just  budding  into  still  more  beautiful  womanhood."  She 
stopped  and  reflected  a  moment.  Then  she  threw  herself  pre 
cipitately  into  her  topic,  as  if  she  feared  further  delay  would 
result  in  the  evaporation  of  her  boldness.  "Monsignor,  it  is,  as 
you  say,  unfortunate  that  I  profess  no  religious  convictions; 
and  yet,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  find  that  as  the  years  pass  I  lean 
ever  more  strongly  toward  your  Church.  Now  you  will  pardon 
me  when  I  say  that  I  am  sure  it  is  the  avowed  intention  to  make 
America  dominantly  Catholic  that  brings  you  to  this  country 
to  work  toward  that  end — is  it  not  so?" 

The  man's  handsome  face  lighted  up  pleasantly,  but  he  did 
not  reply.  The  wroman  went  on  without  waiting. 

"Now,  Monsignor,  I  am  going  to  be  terribly  frank;  and  if 
you  disapprove  of  \vhat  I  suggest,  we  will  both  forget  that  the 
matter  was  ever  under  discussion.  To  begin  writh,  I  heartily 
endorse  your  missionary  efforts  in  this  godless  country  of  ours. 
Nothing  but  the  strong  arm  of  the  Catholic  Church,  it  seems 
to  me,  can  check  our  headlong  plunge  into  ruin.  But,  Mon 
signor,  you  do  not  always  work  where  your  labors  are  most 
needed.  You  may  control  political— 

"My  dear  lady,"  interrupted  the  man,  holding  up  a  hand 
and  shaking  his  head  in  gentle  demurral,  "the  Catholic  Church 
is  not  in  politics." 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


"But  it  is  in  society — or  should  be!"  said  the  woman  ear 
nestly.  "And  if  the  Catholic  Church  is  to  be  supreme  in 
America  it  must  work  from  the  top  down,  as  well  as  from  the 
lower  levels  upward.  At  present  our  wealthiest,  most  influen 
tial  social  set  is  absolutely  domineered  by  a  Protestant — and 
under  the  influence  of  a  Presbyterian  minister  at  that!  Why 
do  you  permit  it?" 

Monsignor  Lafelle's  eyes  twinkled,  as  he  listened  politely. 
But  he  only  stroked  the  white  hair  that  crowned  his  shapely 
head,  and  waited. 

"Monsignor,"  continued  the  now  thoroughly  heated  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles,  "why  do  not  the  women  of  your  Church  con 
stitute  our  society  leaders?  Why  do  you  not  recognize  the  de 
sirability  of  forcing  your  people  into  every  avenue  of  human 
activity?  And  W7ould  you  resent  a  suggestion  from  me  as  to 
how  in  one  instance  this  might  be  accomplished?" 

"Certainly  not,  Madam,"  replied  Monsignor,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  wonder  on  his  face.  "Pray  proceed." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,  I  do  believe!"  she  exclaimed, 
catching  the  glint  in  his  gray  eyes. 

"Pardon  me,  dear  lady,  I  really  am  deeply  interested.  Please 
go  on." 

"Well,  at  any  rate  I  have  your  promise  to  forget  this  con 
versation  if  you  do  not  approve  of  it,"  she  said  quizzically. 

He  nodded  his  head  to  inspire  her  confidence;  and  she 
continued: 

"Very  wyell,  now  to  the  point.  My  ward,  the  little  Inca 
princess,  is  coming  out  shortly.  I  want  her  to  have  the  entree 
into  the  very  best  society,  into  the  most  fashionable  and  ex 
clusive  set,  as  befitting  her  rank."  She  stopped  and  awaited 
the  effect  of  her  words. 

Monsignor  studied  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  broke  into 
a  genial  laugh.  "There  is  nothing  reprehensible  in  your  wish, 
Madam,"  he  said.  "Our  social  system,  however  imperfect, 
nevertheless  exists,  and — dominant  Catholic  influence  might 
improve  it.  I  am  quite  sure  it  would." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  "Then  will  you 
help  me?" 

"Why,  I  really  see  nothing  that  I  can  do,"  he  replied  slowly. 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was  becoming  exasperated  with  his 
apparent  dullness.  "You  can  do  much,"  she  retorted  in  a  tone 
tinctured  with  impatience.  "Since  I  have  made  you  my  Father 
Confessor  to-day,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  that  I  intend  to  start  a 
social  war  that  will  rip  this  city  wide  open.  It  is  going  to  be 
war  in  which  Catholic  is  pitted  against  Protestant.  Now,  which 
side  is  your  Church  on?" 

83 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


For  a  moment  her  blunt  question  startled  him,  and  he 
stared  at  her  uncomprehendingly;  but  he  quickly  recovered  his 
poise  and  replied  calmly,  "Neither,  Madam;  it  remains  quite 
neutral." 

"What!"  she  exclaimed.     "Aren't  you  interested?" 

"Pardon  me  if  I  say  it;  not  at  all." 

"Oh!"  she  murmured,  her  eagerness  subsiding.  "Then  I've 
made  an  awful  mistake!" 

"No,"  he  amended  gently,  "you  have  made  a  good  friend. 
And,  as  such,  I  again  urge  you  first  to  respect  the  leaning 
which  you  mentioned  a  moment  ago  and  become  actively  affil 
iated  with  our  Church  here  in  New  York.  Both  you  and  the 
young  lady.  Will  you  not  consider  it?" 

"Certainly  I  will  consider  it,"  she  responded,  brightening 
with  hope.  "And  I  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  I  have  long  had 
it  in  mind." 

"Then,  Madam,  when  that  is  accomplished,  we  may  discuss 
the  less  important  matter  of  your  ward's  entrance  into  society- 
is  it  not  so?" 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  rose,  completely  discomfited.  "But 
the  girl,  Monsignor,  is  already  a  Catholic — comes  from  a  Catho 
lic  country.  It  is  she  whom  I  am  pitting  against  the  Prot 
estant." 

"And  you  will  efface  yourself?"  he  queried  with  a  peculiar 
smile. 

"You  are  cruel,"  she  retorted,  affecting  an  air  of  injured 
innocence  as  she  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes.  "But — 
if  you- 

"Madam,"  said  Monsignor,  "plainly,  what  is  it  that  you 
wish  me  to  do?" 

The  sudden  propounding  of  the  question  drew  an  equally 
sudden  but  less  thoughtful  response. 

"Tell  the  Beau — Madam  Beaubien  that  you  wish  my  ward 
to  be  received  into  the  best  society,  and  for  the  reasons  I  have 
given  you.  That's  all." 

"And  is  my  influence  with  Madam  Beaubien,  and  hers  writh 
the  members  of  fashionable  society,  sufficient  to  effect  that?" 
he  asked,  an  odd  look  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"She  has  but  to  say  the  word  to  J.  Wilton  Ames,  and  his 
wife  will  receive  us  both,"  said  the  woman,  carried  away  by 
her  eagerness.  "And  that  means  strong  Catholic  influence  in 
New  York's  most  aristocratic  set!" 

"Ah!" 

"Monsignor,"  continued  the  woman  eagerly,  "will  your 
Church  receive  an  altar  from  me  in  memory  of  my  late  hus 
band?" 

84 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


He  reflected  a  moment.  Then,  slowly,  and  in  a  low,  earnest 
tone,  "It  would  receive  such  a  gift  from  one  of  the  faith.  When 
may  we  expect  you  to  become  a  communicant?" 

The  woman  paled,  and  her  heart  suddenly  chilled.  She  had 
wondered  how  far  she  might  go  with  this  clever  churchman, 
and  now  she  knew  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  But  to  retract — 
to  have  him  relate  this  conversation  and  her  retraction  to  the 
Beaubien — were  fatal !  She  had  set  her  trap — and  walked  into 
it.  She  groped  blindly  for  an  answer.  Then,  raising  her  eyes 
and  meeting  his  searching  glance,  she  murmured  feebly, 
"Whenever  you  say,  Monsignor." 

When  the  man  had  departed,  which  he  did  immediately, 
the  plotting  woman  threw  herself  upon  the  davenport  and  wept 
with  rage.  "Belle,"  she  wailed,  as  her  wondering  sister  entered 
the  room,  "I'm  going  to  join  the  Catholic  Church!  But  I'd  go 
through  Sheol  to  beat  that  Ames  outfit!" 


CHAPTER  11 

MONSIGNOR  LAFELLE  made  another  afternoon  call  on 
the  Beaubien  a  few  days  later.  That  lady,  fresh 
from  her  bath,  scented,  powdered,  and  charming  in  a 
loose,  flowing  Mandarin  robe,  received  him  graciously. 

"But  I  can  give  you  only  a  moment,  Monsignor,"  she  said, 
waving  him  to  a  chair,  while  she  stooped  and  tenderly  took  up 
the  two  spaniels.  "I  have  a  dinner  to-night,  and  so  shall  not 
listen  unless  you  have  something  fresh  and  really  worth  while 
to  offer." 

"My  dear  Madam,"  said  he,  bowing  low  before  he  sank  into 
the  great  leather  armchair,  "you  are  charming,  and  the  Church 
is  justly  proud  of  you." 

"Tut,  tut,  my  friend,"  she  returned,  knitting  her  brows. 
"That  may  be  fresh,  I  admit,  but  not  worth  listening  to.  And 
if  you  persist  in  that  vein  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have  William  set 
you  into  the  street." 

"I  can  not  apologize  for  voicing  the  truth,  dear  Madam,"  he 
replied,  as  his  eyes  roved  admiringly  over  her  comely  figure. 
"The  Church  has  never  ceased  to  claim  you,  however  far  you 
may  have  wandered  from  her.  But  I  will  be  brief.  I  am  leav 
ing  for  Canada  shortly  on  a  mission  of  some  importance.  May 
I  not  take  with  me  the  consoling  assurance  that  you  have  at 
last  heard  and  yielded  to  the  call  of  the  tender  Mother,  who 
has  never  ceased  to  yearn  for  her  beautiful,  wayward  daugh 
ter?" 

85 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  Beaubien  smiled  indulgently.  "There,"  she  said  gently, 
"I  thought  that  was  it.  No,  Monsignor,  no,"  shaking  her  head. 
"When  only  a  wild,  thoughtless  girl  I  became  a  Catholic  in  order 
that  I  might  marry  Gaspard  de  Beaubien.  The  priest  urged; 
and  I — poof!  what  cared  I?  But  the  past  eighteen  years  have 
confirmed  me  in  some  views;  and  one  is  that  I  shall  gain  noth 
ing,  either  here  or  hereafter,  by  renewing  my  allegiance  to  the 
Church  of  Rome." 

Monsignor  sighed,  and  stroked  his  abundant  white  hair. 
Yet  his  sigh  bore  a  hope.  "I  learned  this  morning,"  he  said 
musingly,  "that  my  recent  labors  with  the  Dowager  Duchess 
of  Altern  in  England  have  not  been  vain.  She  has  become  a 
communicant  of  Holy  Church." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Beaubien.  "The  Duchess  of  Altern 
— sister  of  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames?  Why,  she  was  a  high  Angli- 
can- 

"Only  a  degree  below  the  true  Church,  Madam.  Her  action 
is  but  anticipatory  of  a  sweeping  return  of  the  entire  Anglican 
Church  to  the  true  fold.  And  I  learn  further,"  he  went  on, 
"that  the  Duchess  will  spend  the  winter  in  New  York  with  her 
sister.  Which  means,  of  course,  an  unusually  gay  season  here, 
does  it  not?" 

The  Beaubien  quickly  recovered  from  her  astonishment. 
"Well,  Monsignor,"  she  laughed,  "for  once  you  really  are  in 
teresting.  What  else  have  you  to  divulge?  That  Mrs.  Ames 
herself  will  be  the  next  convert?  Or  perhaps  J.  Wilton?" 

"No — at  least,  not  yet.  But  one  of  your  most  intimate 
friends  will  become  a  communicant  of  Holy  Saints  next  Sun 
day." 

"One  of  my  most  intimate  friends!"  The  Beaubien  set  the 
spaniels  down  on  the  floor.  "Now,  my  dear  Monsignor,  you  are 
positively  refreshing.  Who  is  he?" 

The  man  laughed  softly.  "Am  I  not  right  when  I  insist  that 
you  have  wandered  far,  dear  Madam?  It  is  not  'he,'  but  'she,' 
your  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles." 

The  Beaubien's  mouth  opened  wide  and  she  sat  suddenly 
upright  and  gazed  blankly  at  her  raconteur.  The  man  went  on, 
apparently  oblivious  of  the  effect  his  information  had  pro 
duced.  "Her  beautiful  ward,  who  is  to  make  her  bow  to  society 
this  winter,  is  one  of  us  by  birth." 

"Then  you  have  been  at  work  on  Mrs.  Hawley-Cro\vles  and 
her  ward,  have  you?"  said  the  Beaubien  severely,  and  there  was 
a  threatening  note  in  her  voice. 

"Why,"  returned  Monsignor  easily,  "the  lady  sent  for  me 
to  express  her  desire  to  become  affiliated  with  the  Church.  We 
do  not  seek  her.  And  I  have  had  no  conversation  with  the 
girl,  I  assure  you." 

86 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  Beaubien  reflected.    Then: 

"Will  you  tell  me  why,  Monsignor,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
takes  this  unusual  step?" 

"Unusual!  Is  it  unusual,  Madam,  for  a  woman  who  has 
seen  much  of  the  world  to  turn  from  it  to  the  solace  and  prom 
ise  of  the  Church?" 

The  Beaubien  laughed  sharply.  "For  women  like  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  it  is,  decidedly.  What  was  her  price,  Mon 
signor?" 

"Madam!     You  astonish  me!" 

"Monsignor,  I  do  not.  I  know  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  And 
by  this  time  you  do,  too.  She  is  the  last  woman  in  the  world 
to  turn  from  it." 

"But  the  question  you  have  just  propounded  reflects  seri 
ously  upon  both  the  Church  and  me — 

"Bah!"  interjected  the  Beaubien,  her  eyes  flashing.  "Wait," 
she  commanded  imperiously,  as  he  rose.  "I  have  a  few  things 
to  say  to  you,  since  this  is  to  be  your  last  call." 

"Madam,  not  the  last,  I  hope.  For  I  shall  not  cease  to  plead 
the  cause  of  the  Church  to  you — 

"Surely,  Monsignor,  that  is  your  business.  You  are  welcome 
in  my  house  at  any  time,  and  particularly  when  you  have  such 
delightful  scraps  of  gossip  as  these  which  you  have  brought 
to-day.  But,  a  word  before  you  go,  lest  you  become  indiscreet 
on  your  return.  Play  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  to  any  extent  you 
wish,  but  let  her  ward  alone — absolutely!  She  is  not  for  you." 

The  cold,  even  tone  in  which  the  woman  said  this  left  no 
doubt  in  the  man's  mind  of  her  meaning.  She  was  not  trifling 
with  him  now,  he  knew.  In  her  low-voiced  words  he  found  no 
trace  of  banter,  of  sophistry,  nor  of  aught  that  he  might  in  any 
wise  misinterpret. 

"Now,  Monsignor,  I  have  some  influence  in  New  York,  as 
you  may  possibly  know.  Will  you  admit  that  I  can  do  much 
for  or  against  you?  Drop  your  mask,  therefore,  and  tell  me 
frankly  just  what  has  induced  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  to  unite 
with  your  Church." 

The  man  knew  he  was  pitting  his  own  against  a  master 
mind.  He  hesitated  and  weighed  well  his  words  before  reply 
ing.  "Madam,"  said  he  at  length,  with  a  note  of  reproach,  "you 
misjudge  the  lady,  the  Church,  and  me,  its  humble  servant. 
The  latter  require  no  defense.  As  for  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  I 
speak  truly  when  I  say  that  doubtless  she  has  been  greatly  in 
fluenced  by  love  for  her  late  husband." 

"What!"  The  Beaubien  half  rose  from  her  chair.  "Jim 
Crowles — that  raw,  Irish  boob,  who  was  holding  down  a  job  on 
the  police  force  until  Ames  found  he  could  make  a  convenient 

87 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


tool  of  him !  The  man  who  was  Gannette's  cat's-paw  in  the  Fall 
River  franchise  steal!  Now,  Monsignor,  would  you  have  me 
believe  you  devoid  of  all  sense?" 

"But,"  ejaculated  the  man,  now  becoming  exasperated,  and 
for  the  moment  so  losing  his  self-control  as  to  make  wretched 
use  of  his  facts,  "she  is  erecting  an  altar  in  Holy  Saints  as  a 
memorial  to  him!" 

"Heavens  above!"     The  Beaubien  sank  back  limp. 

Monsignor  Lafelle  again  made  as  if  to  rise.  He  felt  that  he 
was  guilty  of  a  miserable  faux  pas.  "Madam,  I  regret  that  I 
must  be  leaving.  But  the  hour— 

"Stay,  Monsignor!"  The  Beaubien  roused  up  and  laid  a 
detaining  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Our  versatile  friend,  what 
other  projects  has  she  in  hand?  What  is  she  planning  for  her 
young  ward?" 

"Why,  really,  I  can  not  say — beyond  the  fact  that  the  girl 
is  to  be  introduced  to  society  this  winter." 

"Humph!     Going  to  make  a  try  for  the  Ames  set?" 

"That,  I  believe,  Madam,  would  be  useless  without  your  aid." 

"Did  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  say  so,  Monsignor?"  demanded 
the  woman,  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"Why,  I  believe  I  am  not  abusing  her  confidence  when  I 
say  that  she  intimated  as  much,"  he  said,  watching  her  closely 
and  sparring  now  with  better  judgment.  "She  mentioned  Mrs. 
Ames  as  New  York's  fashionable  society  leader — 

"There  is  no  such  position  as  leader  in  New  York  society, 
Monsignor,"  interrupted  the  Beaubien  coldly.  "There  are  sets 
and  cliques,  and  Mrs.  Ames  happens  to  be  prominent  in  the 
one  which  at  present  foolishly  imagines  it  constitutes  the  upper 
stratum.  Rot!  And  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  with  nothing  but 
a  tarnished  name  and  a  large  bank  account  to  recommend  her, 
now  wishes  to  break  into  that  clique  and  attain  social  leader 
ship,  does  she?  How  decidedly  interesting!" 

Then  the  woman's  eyes  narrowed  and  grew  hard.  Leaning 
closer  to  the  churchman,  she  rested  the  tip  of  her  finger  on  his 
knee.  "So,  Monsignor,"  she  said,  with  cold  precision,  "this  is 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles's  method  of  renouncing  the  world,  is  it? 
Sublime!  And  she  would  use  both  you  and  me,  eh?  And  you 
are  her  ambassador  at  the  court  of  the  Beaubien?  Very  well, 
then,  she  shall  use  us.  But  you  and  I  will  first  make  this  com 
pact,  my  dear  Monsignor:  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  shall  be  taken 
into  the  so-called  'Ames  set,'  and  you  shall  cease  importuning 
me  to  return  to  your  Church,  and  what  is  more,  shall  promise  to 
have  no  conversation  on  church  matters  with  her  ward,  the 
young  girl.  If  you  do  not  agree  to  this,  Monsignor,  I  shall  set  in 
motion  forces  that  will  make  your  return  to  New  York  quite 

88 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


undesirable."  When  she  concluded,  she  looked  long  and 
steadily  into  his  eyes. 

Monsignor  got  slowly  to  his  feet.  "Madam!"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "my  astonishment — " 

"There,"  she  said  calmly,  as  she  rose  and  took  his  hand, 
"please  omit  the  dramatics,  Monsignor.  And  now  you  must  go, 
for  to-night  I  entertain,  and  I  have  already  given  you  more 
time  than  I  intended.  But,  Monsignor,  do  you  in  future  work 
with  or  against  me?  Are  we  to  be  friends  or  enemies?" 

"Why,  Madam,"  he  replied  quickly,  "we  could  never  be  the 
latter!" 

"And  you  always  respect  the  wishes  of  a  friend,  especially 
if  she  is  a  lady,  do  you  not?" 

"Always,  Madam,"  he  returned  after  a  moment's  hesita 
tion,  as  he  bowed  low  over  her  hand. 

"Then,  good-bye.  And,  Monsignor,"  she  added,  when  he 
reached  the  door,  "I  shall  be  pleased  to  attend  the  dedication 
of  the  Hawley-Crowles  altar." 

When  Monsignor's  car  glided  away  from  her  door  the  Beau- 
bien's  face  grew  dark,  and  her  eyes  drew  to  narrow  slits.  "So," 
she  reflected,  as  she  entered  the  elevator  to  mount  to  her  dress 
ing  room,  "that  is  her  game,  is  it?  The  poor,  fat  simpleton  has 
no  interest  in  either  the  girl  or  myself,  other  than  to  use  us  as 
stepping-stones.  She  forgets  that  a  stone  sometimes  turns 
under  the  foot.  Fool!" 

She  entered  her  room  and  rang  for  her  maid.  Turning  to 
the  pier  glass,  she  threw  on  the  electric  light  and  scrutinized 
her  features  narrowly.  "It's  going,"  she  murmured,  "fast! 
God,  how  I  hate  those  gray  hairs !  Oh,  what  a  farce  life  is — 
what  a  howling,  mocking  farce !  I  hate  it !  I  hate  everything — 
everybody!  No — that  little  girl — if  it  is  possible  for  me  to  love, 
I  love  her." 

She  sank  into  an  easy  chair.  "I  wonder  what  it  is  she  does 
to  me.  I'm  hypnotized,  I  guess.  Anyhow,  I'm  different  when 
I'm  with  her.  And  to  think  that  Hawley-Crowles  would  sacri 
fice  the  child — humph!  But,  if  the  girl  is  made  of  the  right 
stuff — and  I  know  she  is — she  will  stand  up  under  it  and  be 
stronger  for  the  experience.  She  has  got  something  that  will 
make  her  stand!  I  once  asked  her  what  she  had  that  I  didn't, 
and  now  I  know — it  is  her  religion,  the  religion  that  Borwell 
and  Lafelle  and  the  whole  kit  of  preachers  and  priests  would 
corrupt  if  they  had  half  a  chance!  Very  well,  we'll  see  what  it 
does  under  the  test.  If  it  saves  her,  then  I  want  it  myself.  But, 
as  for  that  little  pin-headed  Hawley-Crowles,  she's  already 
signed  her  own  death-warrant.  She  shall  get  into  the  Ames 
set,  yes.  And  I  will  use  her,  oh,  beautifully!  to  pay  off  certain 

89 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


old  scores  against  Madam  Ames — and  then  I'll  crush  her  like  a 
dried  leaf,  the  fat  fool!" 

The  Beaubien's  position  was,  to  say  the  least,  peculiar,  and 
one  which  required  infinite  tact  on  her  part  to  protect.  It  was 
for  that  reason  that  the  decorum  which  prevailed  at  her  din 
ners  was  so  rigidly  observed,  and  that,  whatever  the  moral 
status  of  the  man  who  sat  at  her  board,  his  conduct  was  re 
quired  to  be  above  reproach,  on  penalty  of  immediate  ejection 
from  the  circle  of  financial  pirates,  captains  of  commercial 
jugglery,  and  political  intriguers  who  made  these  feasts  op 
portunities  for  outlining  their  predatory  campaigns  against  that 
most  anomalous  of  creatures,  the  common  citizen. 

It  was  about  this  table,  at  whose  head  always  sat  the  richly 
gowned  Beaubien,  that  the  inner  circle  of  financial  kings  had 
gathered  almost  nightly  for  years  to  rig  the  market,  determine 
the  price  of  wheat  or  cotton,  and  develop  mendacious  schemes 
of  stock-jobbery  whose  golden  harvests  they  could  calculate 
almost  to  a  dollar  before  launching.  As  the  wealth  of  this 
clique  of  financial  manipulators  swelled  beyond  all  bounds,  so 
increased  their  powyer,  until  at  last  it  could  be  justly  said  that, 
when  Ames  began  to  dominate  the  Stock  Exchange,  the  Beau 
bien  practically  controlled  Wall  Street — and,  therefore,  in  a 
sense,  Washington  itself.  But  always  with  a  tenure  of  control 
dubiously  dependent  upon  the  caprices  of  the  men  who  con 
tinued  to  pay  homage  to  her  personal  charm  and  keen,  powerful 
intellect. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  speak  her  power  was  at  its  zenith, 
and  she  could  with  equal  impunity  decapitate  the  wealthiest, 
most  aristocratic  society  dame,  or  force  the  door  of  the  most 
exclusive  set  for  any  protegee  who  might  have  been  kept  long 
years  knocking  in  vain,  or  whose  family  name,  perchance, 
headed  a  list  of  indictments  for  gross  peculations.  At  these 
unicameral  meetings,  held  in  the  great,  dark,  mahogany-wains 
coted  dining  room  of  the  Beaubien  mansion,  where  a  single 
lamp  of  priceless  workmanship  threw  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  sumptuous  table  beneath  and  left  the  rest  of  the  closely 
guarded  room  shrouded  in  Stygian  darkness,  plans  were  laid 
and  decrees  adopted  which  seated  judges,  silenced  clergymen, 
elected  senators,  and  influenced  presidents.  There  a  muck 
raking,  hostile  press  was  muffled.  There  business  opposition 
was  crushed  and  competition  throttled.  There  tax  rates  were 
determined  and  tariff  schedules  formulated.  There  public 
opinion  was  disrupted,  character  assassinated,  and  the  death- 
wrarrant  of  every  threatening  reformer  drawn  and  signed.  In 
a  word,  there  Mammon,  in  the  role  of  business,  organized  and 
unorganized,  legitimate  and  piratical,  sat  enthroned,  with  wires 

90 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


leading  into  every  mart  of  the  world,  and  into  every  avenue  of 
human  endeavor,  be  it  social,  political,  commercial,  or  religious. 
These  wires  were  gathered  together  into  the  hands  of  one  man, 
the  directing  genius  of  the  group,  J.  Wilton  Ames.  Over  him 
lay  the  shadow  of  the  Beaubien. 

An  hour  after  the  departure  of  Monsignor  Lafelle  the  Beau 
bien,  like  a  radiant  sun,  descended  to  the  library  to  greet  her 
assembled  guests.  Some  moments  later  the  heavy  doors  of 
the  great  dining  room  swung  noiselessly  open,  and  the  lady 
proceeded  unescorted  to  her  position  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
At  her  signal  the  half  dozen  men  sat  down,  and  the  butler 
immediately  entered,  followed  by  two  serving  men  with  the 
cocktails  and  the  first  course.  The  chair  at  the  far  end  of  the 
table,  opposite  the  Beaubien,  remained  unoccupied. 

"Ames  is  late  to-night,"  observed  the  girthy  Gannette, 
glancing  toward  the  vacant  seat,  and  clumsily  attempting  to 
tuck  his  napkin  into  his  collar. 

The  Beaubien  looked  sharply  at  him.  "Were  you  at  the 
club  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Gannette?"  she  inquired  coldly. 

Gannette  straightened  up  and  became  rigid.  Pulling  the 
napkin  down  hastily,  he  replied  in  a  thick  voice,  "Just  a  little 
game  of  bridge — some  old  friends — back  from  Europe — 

The  Beaubien  turned  to  the  butler.  "William,  Mr.  Gannette 
is  not  drinking  wine  this  evening."  The  butler  bowed  and  re 
moved  the  glasses  from  that  gentleman's  place. 

Gannette  turned  to  expostulate.  "Now,  Lucile — "  he  began 
peevishly.  The  Beaubien  held  up  a  hand.  Gannette  glowered 
and  sank  down  in  his  chair  like  a  swollen  toad. 

"May  be  Ames  is  trying  to  break  into  the  C.  and  R.  directors' 
meeting,"  suggested  Weston,  himself  a  director  in  a  dozen  com 
panies,  and  a  bank  president  besides.  A  general  laugh  followed 
the  remark. 

"They  tell  me,"  said  Fitch,  "that  for  once  Ames  has  been 
outwitted,  and  that  by  a  little  bucket-shop  broker  named  Ket- 
chim." 

"How's  that?"  queried  Kane,  Board  of  Trade  plunger,  and 
the  most  mettlesome  speculator  of  the  group. 

"Why,"  explained  Weston,  "some  months  ago  Ames  tried 
to  reach  Ed.  Stolz  through  Ketchim,  the  old  man's  nephew, 
and  get  control  of  C.  and  R.  But  friend  nephew  dropped  the 
portcullis  just  as  Ames  was  dashing  across  the  drawbridge,  and 
J.  Wilton  found  himself  outside,  looking  through  the  bars. 
First  time  I've  ever  known  that  to  happen.  Now  the  boys  have 
got  hold  of  it  on  'Change,  and  Ames  has  been  getting  it  from 
every  quarter." 

"Long  time  leaking  out,  seems  to  me,"  remarked  Kane. 
"But  what's  Ames  going  to  do  about  it?" 

91 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Nothing,  I  guess,"  returned  Weston.  "He  seems  to  have 
dropped  the  matter." 

"I  think  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken,"  put  in  the  Beau- 
bien  evenly. 

"Why?"  queried  Fitch,  as  all  eyes  turned  upon  the  woman. 
"Have  you  inside  information?" 

"None  whatever,"  she  replied.  "But  Mr.  Ames  always  gets 
what  he  goes  after,  and  he  will  secure  control  of  C.  and  R. 
eventually." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  vigorously  asserted  Murdock,  who  had 
been  an  interested  listener.  "He  will  never  oust  Stolz." 

"I  have  one  thousand  dollars  that  says  he  will,"  said  the 
Beaubien,  calmly  regarding  the  speaker.  "William,  my  check 
book,  please." 

Murdock  seemed  taken  back  for  the  moment;  but  lost  no 
time  recovering  his  poise.  Drawing  out  his  own  book  he 
wrote  a  check  in  the  Beaubien's  name  for  the  amount  and 
sent  it  down  the  table  to  her. 

"Mr.  Fitch  will  hold  the  stakes,"  said  the  woman,  handing 
him  the  two  slips  of  paper.  "And  we  will  set  a  time  limit  of 
eighteen  months." 

"By  the  way,"  remarked  Peele,  the  only  one  of  the  group 
who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  preceding  conversation,  "I  see  by 
the  evening  paper  that  there's  been  another  accident  in  the 
Avon  mills.  Fellow  named  Marcus  caught  in  a  machine  and 
crushed  all  out  of  shape.  That's  the  third  one  down  there 
this  month.  They'll  force  Ames  to  equip  his  mills  with  safety 
devices  if  this  keeps  up." 

"Not  while  the  yellow  metal  has  any  influence  upon  the 
Legislature,"  returned  the  Beaubien  with  a  knowing  smile. 
"But,"  she  added  more  seriously,  "that  is  not  where  the  danger 
lies.  The  real  source  of  apprehension  is  in  the  possibility  of 
a  strike.  And  if  war  breaks  out  among  those  Hungarians 
down  there  it  will  cost  him  more  than  to  equip  all  his 
mills  now  with  safety  devices." 

Gannette,  who  had  been  sulking  in  his  chair,  roused  up. 
"Speaking  of  war,"  he  growled,  "has  Ames,  or  any  of  you 
fellows,  got  a  finger  in  the  muddle  in  South  America?  I've  got 
interests  down  there — concessions  and  the  like — and  by — !" 
He  wandered  off  into  incoherent  mutterings. 

The  Beaubien  gave  a  sharp  command  to  the  butler.  "Wil 
liam,  Mr.  Gannette  is  leaving  now.  You  will  escort  him  to 
the  door." 

"Now  look  here,  Lucile!"  cried  Gannette,  his  apoplectic 
face  becoming  more  deeply  purple,  and  his  blear  eyes  leering 
angrily  upon  the  calm  woman.  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  this! 

92 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


What  have  I  done?  I'm  as  sober  as  any  one  here,  an' — "  Wil 
liam  took  the  heavy  man  gently  by  the  arm  and  persuaded  him 
to  his  feet.  The  other  guests  suppressed  their  smiles  and  re 
mained  discreetly  quiet. 

"But — my  car — !"  sputtered  Gannette. 

"Have  Henri  take  him  to  his  club,  William,"  said  the  Beau- 
bien,  rising.  "Good  night,  Mr.  Gannette.  We  will  expect  you 
Wednesday  evening,  and  we  trust  that  we  will  not  have  to  ac 
cept  your  excuses  again." 

Gannette  was  led  soddenly  out.  The  Beaubien  quietly  re 
sumed  her  seat.  It  was  the  second  time  the  man  had  been 
dismissed  from  her  table,  and  the  guests  marveled  that  it  did 
not  mean  the  final  loss  of  her  favor.  But  she  remained  in 
scrutable;  and  the  conversation  quickly  drifted  into  new  chan 
nels.  A  few  moments  later  William  returned  and  made  a  quiet 
announcement : 

"Mr.  Ames." 

A  huge  presence  emerged  from  the  darkness  into  the  light. 
The  Beaubien  immediately  rose  and  advanced  to  greet  the 
newcomer.  "What  is  it?"  she  whispered,  taking  his  hand. 

The  man  smiled  down  into  her  upturned,  anxious  face.  His 
only  reply  was  a  reassuring  pressure  of  her  hand.  But  she 
comprehended,  and  her  face  brightened. 

"Gentlemen,"  remarked  Ames,  taking  the  vacant  chair,  "the 
President's  message  is  out.  I  have  been  going  over  it  with 
Hood — which  accounts  for  my  tardiness,"  he  added,  nodding 
pleasantly  to  the  Beaubien.  "Quoting  from  our  chief  execu 
tive's  long  list  of  innocent  platitudes,  I  may  say  that  'private 
monopoly  is  criminally  unjust,  wholly  indefensible,  and  not 
to  be  tolerated  in  a  Republic  founded  upon  the  premise  of 
equal  rights  to  all  mankind.'  " 

"Certainly  not!"  concurred  Weston,  holding  up  his  glass 
and  gazing  admiringly  at  the  rich  color  of  the  wine. 

The  others  laughed.  "Quite  my  sentiments,  too,"  mur 
mured  Fitch,  rolling  his  eyes  upward  and  attempting  with  poor 
success  to  assume  a  beatific  expression. 

"Furthermore,"  continued  Ames,  with  mock  gravity,  "the 
interlocking  of  corporation  directorates  must  be  prohibited  by 
law;  power  must  be  conferred  upon  the  Interstate  Commerce 
Commission  to  superintend  the  financial  management  of  rail 
roads;  holding-companies  must  cease  to  exist;  and  corrective 
policies  must  be  shaped,  whereby  so-called  'trusts'  will  be 
regulated  and  rendered  innocuous.  Are  we  agreed?" 

"We  are,"  said  they  all,  in  one  voice. 

"Carried,"  concluded  Ames  in  a  solemn  tone.  Then  a  burst 
of  laughter  rose  from  the  table;  and  even  the  inscrutable  Wil 
liam  smiled  behind  his  hand. 

40  93 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  seriously,"  said  Weston,  when  the  laughter  had  ceased, 
"I  believe  we've  got  a  President  now  who's  going  to  do  some 
thing,  don't  you?" 

"I  do  not,"  replied  Ames  emphatically.  "As  long  as  the 
human  mind  remains  as  it  is  there  is  nothing  to  fear,  though 
Congress  legislate  itself  blue  in  the  face.  Reform  is  not  to  be 
made  like  a  garment  and  forced  upon  the  people  from  the  out 
side.  It  is  a  growth  from  within.  Restrictive  measures  have 
not  as  yet,  in  all  the  history  of  civilization,  reformed  a  single 
criminal." 

"What  does  Hood  say?"  asked  Murdock. 

"That  we  are  puncture-proof,"  replied  Ames  with  a  light 
laugh. 

"But  what  about  your  indictment  in  that  cotton  deal?  Is 
Hood  going  to  find  you  law-proof  there?" 

"The  case  is  settled,"  said  Ames  easily.  "I  went  into  court 
this  morning  and  plead  guilty  to  the  indictment  for  conspiring 
to  corner  the  cotton  market  two  years  ago.  I  admitted  that  I 
violated  the  Sherman  law.  The  judge  promptly  fined  me  three 
thousand  dollars,  for  which  I  immediately  wrote  a  check,  leav 
ing  me  still  the  winner  by  some  two  million  seven  hundred 
thousand  dollars  on  the  deal,  to  say  nothing  of  compound  inter 
est  on  the  three  thousand  for  the  past  two  years.  You  see  the 
beneficent  effect  of  legislation,  do  you  not?" 

"By  George,  Ames,  you  certainly  were  stingy  not  to  let  us 
in  on  that!"  exclaimed  Kane. 

"Cotton  belongs  to  me,  gentlemen,"  replied  Ames  simply. 
"You  will  have  to  keep  out." 

"Well,"  remarked  Fitch,  glancing  about  the  table,  "suppose 
we  get  down  to  the  business  of  the  evening — if  agreeable  to 
our  hostess,"  bowing  in  the  direction  of  the  Beaubien. 

The  latter  nodded  her  approval  of  the  suggestion.  "Has 
any  one  anything  new  to  offer?"  she  said. 

Some  moments  of  silence  followed.  Then  Ames  spoke. 
"There  is  a  little  matter,"  he  began,  "that  I  have  been  revolving 
for  some  days.  Perhaps  it  may  interest  you.  It  concerns  the 
Albany  post  road.  It  occurred  to  me  some  time  ago  that  a 
franchise  for  a  trolley  line  on  that  road  could  be  secured  and 
ultimately  sold  for  a  round  figure  to  the  wealthy  residents 
whose  estates  lie  along  it,  and  wrho  would  give  a  million  dollars 
rather  than  have  a  line  built  there.  After  some  preliminary 
examination  I  got  Hood  to  draft  a  bill  providing  for  the  build 
ing  of  the  road,  and  submitted  it  to  Jacobson,  Commissioner 
of  Highways.  He  reported  that  it  would  be  the  means  of  de 
stroying  the  post  road.  I  convinced  him,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  it  would  be  the  means  of  lining  his  purse  with  fifty  thou- 

94 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


sand  dollars.  So  he  very  naturally  gave  it  his  endorsement.  I 
then  got  in  consultation  with  Senator  Gossitch,  and  had  him 
arrange  a  meeting  with  the  Governor,  in  Albany.  I  think,"  he 
concluded,  "that  about  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  will 
grease  the  wheels  all  'round.  I've  got  the  Governor  on  the  hip 
in  that  Southern  Mexican  deal,  and  he  is  at  present  eating  out 
of  my  hand.  I'll  lay  this  project  on  the  table  now,  and  you 
can  take  it  up  if  you  so  desire." 

"The  scheme  seems  all  right,"  commented  Weston,  after  a 
short  meditation.  "But  the  profits  are  not  especially  large. 
What  else  have  you?" 

"Well,  a  net  profit  of  half  a  million  to  split  up  among  us 
would  at  least  provide  for  a  yachting  party  next  summer,"  re 
marked  Ames  sententiously.  "And  no  work  connected  with 
it — in  fact,  the  work  has  been  done.  I  shall  want  an  additional 
five  per  cent  for  handling  it." 

An  animated  discussion  followed;  and  then  Fitch  offered  a 
motion  that  the  group  definitely  take  up  the  project.  The 
Beaubien  put  the  vote,  and  it  was  carried  without  dissent. 

"What  about  that  potato  scheme  you  were  figuring  on, 
Ames?"  asked  Fitch  at  this  juncture.  "Anything  ever  come 
of  it?" 

Ames's  eyes  twinkled.  "I  didn't  get  much  encouragement 
from  my  friends,"  he  replied.  "A  perfectly  feasible  scheme, 
too." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  put  in  Weston  emphatically.  "It  never 
could  be  put  through." 

"I  have  one  million  dollars  that  says  it  could,"  returned 
Ames  calmly.  "Will  you  cover  it?" 

Weston  threw  up  his  hands  in  token  of  surrender.  "Not 
I!"  he  exclaimed,  scurrying  for  cover. 

Ames  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "suppose  we  look  into  the 
scheme  and  see  if  we  don't  want  to  handle  it.  It  simply  calls 
for  a  little  thought  and  work.  The  profits  would  be  tremen 
dous.  Shall  I  explain?"  He  stopped  and  glanced  at  the  Beau 
bien  for  approval.  She  nodded,  and  he  went  on: 

"I  have  lately  been  investigating  the  subject  of  various 
food  supplies  other  than  wheat  and  corn  as  possible  bases  for 
speculation,  and  my  attention  has  been  drawn  strongly  to  a 
very  humble  one,  potatoes." 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  announcement.  But  Ames 
continued  unperturbed: 

"I  find  that  in  some  sections  of  the  West  potatoes  are  so 
plentiful  at  times  that  they  bring  but  twenty  cents  a  bushel. 
My  investigations  have  covered  a  period  of  several  months,  and 
now  I  have  in  my  possession  a  large  map  of  the  United  States 

95 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


with  the  potato  sections,  prices,  freight  rates  and  all  other  nec 
essary  data  indicated.  The  results  are  interesting.  My  idea 
is  to  send  agents  into  all  these  sections  next  summer  before 
the  potatoes  are  turned  up,  and  contract  for  the  entire  crop  at 
twenty-five  cents  a  bushel.  The  agents  will  pay  the  farmers 
cash,  and  agree  to  assume  all  expenses  of  digging,  packing, 
shipping,  and  so  forth,  allowing  the  farmer  to  take  wrhat  he 
needs  for  his  own  consumption.  Needless  to  say,  the  potatoes 
will  not  be  removed  from  the  fields,  but  will  be  allowed  to  rot 
in  the  ground.  Those  that  do  reach  the  market  will  sell  for 
a  dollar  and  a  half  in  New  York  and  Chicago." 

"In  other  words,"  added  Fitch,  "you  are  simply  figuring 
to  corner  the  market  for  the  humble  tuber,  eh?" 

"Precisely,"  said  Ames. 

"But — you  say  you  have  all  the  necessary  data  now?" 

"All,  even  to  the  selection  of  a  few  of  my  agents.  I  can 
control  freight  rates  for  what  we  may  wish  to  ship.  The  rest 
of  the  crop  will  be  left  to  rot.  The  farmers  will  jump  at  such 
a  bargain.  And  the  consumers  will  pay  our  price  for  what  they 
must  have." 

"Very  pretty,"  mused  Murdock.  "And  how  much  do  you 
figure  we  shall  need  to  round  the  corner?" 

"A  million,  cash  in  hand,"  replied  Ames. 

"Is  this  anything  that  the  \vomen  can  mix  into?"  asked 
Fitch  suddenly.  "You  know  they  forced  us  to  dump  tons  of 
our  cold-storage  stuff  onto  the  market  two  years  ago." 

"That  was  when  I  controlled  wheat,"  said  Ames,  "and  was 
all  tied  up.  But  this  is  a  wholly  different  proposition.  It  will 
be  done  so  quietly  and  thoroughly  that  it  will  all  be  over  and 
the  profits  pocketed  before  the  women  wake  up  to  what  we're 
doing.  In  this  case  there  will  be  nothing  to  store.  And  pota 
toes  exposed  in  the  field  rot  quickly,  you  know." 

The  rest  of  the  group  seemed  to  study  the  idea  for  some 
moments.  Then  the  practical  Murdock  inquired  of  Ames  if 
he  would  agree  to  handle  the  project,  provided  they  took  it 

UP*« 

"Yes,"  assented  Ames,  "on  a  five  per  cent  basis.    And  I  am 

ready  to  put  agents  in  the  field  to-morrow." 

"Then,  Madam  Beaubien,"  said  Fitch,  "I  move  that  we  adopt 
the  plan  as  set  forth  by  Mr.  Ames,  and  commission  him  to 
handle  it,  calling  upon  us  equally  for  whatever  funds  he  may 
need." 

A  further  brief  discussion  ensued;  and  then  the  resolution 
was  unanimously  adopted. 

"Say,  Ames,"  queried  Weston,  with  a  glint  of  mischief  in 
his  eyes,  "will  any  of  these  potatoes  be  shipped  over  the  C.  and 
R.?" 

96 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


A  laugh  went  up  around  the  table,  in  which  Ames  himself 
joined.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "potatoes  and  cotton  will  both  go  over 
that  road  next  summer,  and  I  shall  fix  the  rebates." 

"How  about  your  friend  Ketchim?"  suggested  Fitch,  with 
a  wink  at  Murdock. 

Ames's  mouth  set  grimly,  and  the  smile  left  his  face.  "Ket 
chim  is  going  to  Sing  Sing  for  that  little  deal,"  he  returned  in 
a  low,  cold  tone,  so  cold  that  even  the  Beaubien  could  not 
repress  a  little  shudder.  "I  had  him  on  Molino,  but  he  trumped 
up  a  new  company  which  absorbed  Molino  and  satisfied  every 
body,  so  I  am  blocked  for  the  present.  But,  mark  me,  I  shall 
strip  him  of  every  dollar,  and  then  put  him  behind  the  bars  be 
fore  I've  finished!" 

And  no  one  sought  to  refute  the  man,  for  they  knew  he 
spoke  truth. 

At  midnight,  while  the  cathedral  chimes  in  the  great  hall 
clock  were  sending  their  trembling  message  through  the  dark 
house,  the  Beaubien  rose,  and  the  dinner  was  concluded.  A 
few  moments  later  the  guests  were  spinning  in  their  cars  to 
their  various  homes  or  clubs — all  but  Ames.  As  he  was  pre 
paring  to  leave,  the  Beaubien  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Wait 
a  moment,  Wilton,"  she  said.  "I  have  something  important  to 
discuss  with  you."  She  led  him  into  the  morning  room,  where 
a  fire  was  blazing  cheerily  in  the  grate,  and  drew  up  a  chair 
before  it  for  him,  then  nestled  on  the  floor  at  his  feet. 

"I  sent  Gannette  home  this  evening,"  she  began,  by  way  of 
introduction.  "He  was  drunk.  I  would  drop  him  entirely,  only 
you  said — 

"We  need  him,"  interrupted  Ames.  "Hold  him  a  while 
longer." 

"I'll  soil  my  hands  by  doing  it;  but  it  is  for  you.  Now  tell 
me,"  she  went  on  eagerly,  "what  about  Colombia?  Have  you 
any  further  news  from  Wenceslas?" 

"A  cable  to-day.  Everything's  all  right.  Don't  worry. 
The  Church  is  with  the  Government,  and  they  will  win — al 
though  your  money  may  be  tied  up  for  a  few  years.  Still,  you 
can't  lose  in  the  end." 

The  woman  sat  for  some  moments  gazing  into  the  fire. 
Then  : 

"Lafelle  was  here  again  to-day." 

"Hold  him,  too,"  said  Ames  quickly.  "Looks  as  if  I  had 
made  you  a  sort  of  holding  company,  doesn't  it?"  he  added, 
with  a  chuckle.  "But  we  shall  have  good  use  for  these  fellows." 

"He  gave  me  some  very  interesting  news,"  she  said;  and 
then  went  on  to  relate  the  conversation  in  detail.  Ames  laughed 
loudly  as  he  listened. 

97 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"And  now,  Wilton,"  said  the  Beaubien,  a  determined  look 
coming  into  her  face,  "you  have  always  said  that  you  never 
forgave  me  for  making  you  let  Jim  Crowles  off,  when  you  had 
him  by  the  throat.  Well,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to  get 
more  than  even.  Jim's  fat  widow  is  after  your  wife's  scalp.  I 
intend  that  she  shall  lose  her  own  in  the  chase.  I've  got  my 
plans  all  laid,  and  I  want  your  wife  to  meet  the  lovely  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  at  the  Fitch's  next  Thursday  afternoon.  It 
will  be  just  a  formal  call — mutual  introductions — and,  later, 
an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Ames  to  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  Mean 
time,  I  want  you  to  get  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  involved  in  a 
financial  way,  and  shear  her  of  every  penny!  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

Ames  looked  at  her  quizzically.  Then  he  broke  into  an 
other  sharp  laugh.  "My  dear,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand,  "you 
are  charming  this  evening;  Added  years  only  make  you  more 
beautiful." 

"Nonsense,  Will!"  she  deprecated,  although  the  smile  she 
gave  him  attested  her  pleasure  in  the  compliment.  "Well,"  she 
continued  briskly,  "if  I'm  so  beautiful,  you  can't  help  loving 
me;  and  if  you  love  me,  you  will  do  what  I  ask." 

He  playfully  pinched  her  cheek.  "Why,  poor  old  Jim 
Crowles!  Really,  I've  long  since  forgotten  him.  Do  you  realize 
that  that  was  more  than  ten  years  ago?" 

"Please  don't  mention  years,  dear,"  she  murmured,  shud 
dering  a  little.  "Tell  me,  what  can  we  do  to  teach  this  fat  hussy 
a  lesson?" 

"Well,"  he  suggested,  laughing,  "we  might  get  Ketchim 
after  her,  to  sell  her  a  wad  of  his  worthless  stocks;  then  when 
he  goes  down,  as  he  is  going  one  of  these  days,  we  will  hope 
that  it  will  leave  her  on  the  rocks  of  financial  ruin,  eh?" 

"What's  Ketchim  promoting?"  she  asked.  "I  know  nothing 
about  him." 

"Why,  among  other  innocent  novelties,  a  scheme  bearing 
the  sonorous  title  of  Simiti  Development  Company,  I  am  told 
by  my  brokers." 

"Simiti !  Why — I've  heard  Carmen  mention  that  name. 
I  wonder — " 

"Well,  and  who  is  Carmen?"  he  asked  with  a  show  of  real 
interest. 

"My  little  friend — the  one  and  only  honest  person  I've  ever 
dealt  with,  excepting,  of  course,  present  company." 

"The  amendment  is  accepted.  And  now  where  does  this 
Carmen  enter  the  game?" 

"Why,  she's — surely  you  know  about  her!" 

"If  I  did  I  should  not  ask." 

98 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Well,  she  is  a  little  Colombian — 

"Colombian!" 

"Yes.  They  say  she's  an  Inca  princess.  Came  up  with  the 
engineers  who  went  down  there  for  Ketchim  to  examine  the 
Molino  properties.  She  lived  all  her  life  in  a  town  called  Simiti 
until  she  came  up  here." 

Ames  leaned  over  and  looked  steadily  into  the  fire.  "Never 
heard  of  the  place,"  he  murmured  dreamily. 

"Well,"  said  the  Beaubien  eagerly,  "she's  a — a  wonderful 
child!  I'm  different  when  I'm  with  her." 

He  roused  from  his  meditations  and  smiled  down  at  the 
woman.  "Then  I'd  advise  you  not  to  be  with  her  much,  for  I 
prefer  you  as  you  are." 

They  sat  some  minutes  in  silence.  Then  the  woman  looked 
up  at  her  companion.  "What  are  you  thinking  about  so 
seriously?"  she  asked. 

The  man  started;  then  drew  himself  up  and  gave  a  little 
nervous  laugh.  "Of  you,"  he  replied  evasively,  "always." 

She  reached  up  and  slapped  his  cheek  tenderly.  "You 
were  dreaming  of  your  awful  business  deals,"  she  said.  "What 
have  you  in  hand  now? — besides  the  revolution  in  Colombia, 
your  mines,  your  mills,  your  banks,  your  railroads  and  trolley 
lines,  your  wheat  and  potato  corners,  your  land  concessions 
and  cattle  schemes,  and — well,  that's  a  start,  at  least,"  she 
finished,  pausing  for  breath. 

"Another  big  deal,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Wheat,  again?" 

"No,  cotton.  I'm  buying  every  bale  I  can  find,  in  Europe, 
Asia,  and  the  States." 

"But,  Will,  you've  been  caught  in  cotton  before,  you  know. 
And  I  don't  believe  you  can  get  away  with  it  again.  Unless — 

"That's  it— unless,"  he  interrupted.  "And  that's  just  the 
part  I  have  taken  care  of.  It's  a  matter  of  tariff.  The  cotton 
schedule  will  go  through  as  I  have  it  outlined.  I  practically 
own  the  Commission.  They  don't  dare  refuse  to  pass  the 
measure.  Cotton  is  low  now.  In  a  few  months  the  tariff  on 
cotton  products  will  be  up.  The  new  tariff-wall  sends  the 
price  of  raw  stuff  soaring.  I  profit,  coming  and  going.  I  was 
beaten  on  the  last  deal  simply  because  of  faulty  weather  prog 
nostications.  I  made  a  bad  guess.  This  time  the  weather 
doesn't  figure.  I'll  let  you  in,  if  you  wish.  But  these  other 
fellows  have  got  to  stay  out." 

"I  haven't  a  penny  to  invest,  Will,"  she  replied  mournfully. 
"You  got  me  so  terribly  involved  in  this  Colombian  revolution." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  returned  easily,  "I'll  lend  you  what  you  need, 
any  amount.  And  you  can  give  me  your  advice  and  suggestions 

99 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


from  time  to  time.  As  for  your  Colombian  investments,  haven't 
I  guaranteed  them,  practically?" 

"Not  in  writing,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  twinkle 
in  her  eyes. 

"Bah!     Well,  do  you  want  that?" 

"No,  certainly  not,"  she  returned,  giving  him  a  glance  of 
admiration.  "But,  to  return,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  is  going  to 
be  received  into  your  wife's  set,  and  you  are  going  to  give  her  a 
good  financial  whipping?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it.  I'm  yours  to  command.  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  shall  go  to  the  poor-house,  if  you  say  the 
word.  But  now,  my  dear,  have  William  order  my  car.  And, 
let  me  see,  Mrs.  Ames  is  to  meet  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  at 
Fitch's?  Just  a  chance  call,  I  take  it." 

"Yes,  dear,"  murmured  the  Beaubien,  reaching  up  and  kiss 
ing  him;  "next  Thursday  at  three.  Good  night.  Call  me  on 
the  'phone  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  12 

Ames  building,  a  block  from  the  Stock  Exchange,  was 
originally  only  five  stories  in  height.  But  as  the  Ames 
interests  grew,  floor  after  floor  was  added,  until,  on  the 
day  that  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  pointed  it  out  to  Carmen  from 
the  window  of  her  limousine,  it  had  reached,  tower  and  all,  a 
height  of  twenty-five  stories,  and  was  increasing  at  an  average 
rate  of  two  additional  a  year.  It  was  not  its  size  that  aroused 
interest,  overtopped  as  it  was  by  many  others,  but  its  unique 
ness;  for,  though  a  hive  of  humming  industry,  it  did  not  house 
a  single  business  that  was  not  either  owned  outright  or  con 
trolled  by  J.  Wilton  Ames,  from  the  lowly  cigar  stands  in  the 
marble  corridors  to  the  great  banking  house  of  Ames  and 
Company  on  the  second  floor.  The  haberdashers,  the  shoe- 
shining  booths,  the  soda  fountains,  and  the  great  commercial 
enterprises  that  dwelt  about  them,  each  and  all  acknowledged 
fealty  and  paid  homage  to  the  man  who  brooded  over  them 
in  his  magnificent  offices  on  the  twenty-fifth  floor  in  the  tower 
above. 

It  was  not  by  any  consensus  of  opinion  among  the  financiers 
of  New  York  that  Ames  had  assumed  leadership,  but  by  sheer 
force  of  \vhat  was  doubtless  the  most  dominant  character  de 
veloped  in  recent  years  by  those  peculiar  forces  which  have 
produced  the  American  multimillionaire.  "Mental  dynamite!" 
was  Weston's  characterization  of  the  man.  "And,"  he  once 

100 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


added,  when,  despite  his  anger,  he  could  not  but  admire  Ames's 
tactical  blocking  of  his  piratical  move,  which  the  former's  keen 
foresight  had  perceived  threatened  danger  at  Washington, 
"it  is  not  by  any  tacit  agreement  that  we  accept  him,  but  be 
cause  he  knows  ten  tricks  to  our  one,  that's  all." 

To  look  at  the  man,  now  in  his  forty-fifth  year,  meant, 
generally,  an  expression  of  admiration  for  his  unusual 
physique,  and  a  wholly  erroneous  appraisal  of  his  character. 
His  build  was  that  of  a  gladiator.  He  stood  six-feet-four  in 
height,  with  Herculean  shoulders  and  arms,  and  a  pair  of  legs 
that  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  the  great  pillars  which 
supported  the  facade  of  the  Ames  building.  Those  arms  and 
legs,  and  those  great  back-muscles,  had  sent  his  college  shell 
to  victory  every  year  that  he  had  sat  in  the  boat.  They  had 
won  every  game  on  the  gridiron  in  which  he  had  participated 
as  the  greatest  "center"  the  college  ever  developed.  For  base 
ball  he  was  a  bit  too  massive,  much  to  his  own  disappointment, 
but  the  honors  he  failed  to  secure  there  he  won  in  the  field 
events,  and  in  the  surreptitiously  staged  boxing  and  wrestling 
bouts  when,  hidden  away  in  the  cellar  of  some  secret  society 
hall,  he  would  crush  his  opponents  with  an  ease  and  a  peculiar 
glint  of  satisfaction  in  his  gray  eyes  that  was  grimly  prophetic 
of  days  to  come.  His  mental  attitude  toward  contests  for 
superiority  of  whatever  nature  did  not  differ  essentially  from 
that  of  the  Roman  gladiators:  he  entered  them  to  win.  If 
he  fell,  well  and  good;  he  expected  "thumbs  down."  If  he 
won,  his  opponent  need  look  for  no  exhibition  of  generosity 
on  his  part.  When  his  man  lay  prone  before  him,  he  stooped 
and  cut  his  throat.  And  he  would  have  loathed  the  one  who 
forbore  to  do  likewise  with  himself. 

In  scholarship  he  might  have  won  a  place,  had  not  the 
physical  side  of  his  nature  been  so  predominant,  and  his  re 
markable  muscular  strength  so  great  a  prize  to  the  various 
athletic  coaches  and  directors.  Ames  was  first  an  animal; 
there  was  no  stimulus  as  yet  sufficiently  strong  to  arouse  his 
latent  spirituality.  And  yet  his  intellect  was  keen;  and  to 
those  studies  to  which  he  was  by  nature  or  inheritance  espe 
cially  attracted,  economics,  banking,  and  all  branches  of 
finance,  he  brought  a  power  of  concentration  that  was  as  stu 
pendous  as  his  physical  strength.  His  mental  make-up  was 
peculiar,  in  that  it  was  the  epitome  of  energy — manifested  at 
first  only  in  brute  force — and  in  that  it  was  wholly  deficient  in 
the  sense  of  fear.  Because  of  this  his  daring  was  phenomenal. 

Immediately  upon  leaving  college  Ames  became  associated 
with  his  father  in  the  already  great  banking  house  of  Ames 
and  Company.  But  the  animality  of  his  nature  soon  found  the 

101 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


confinement  irksome;  his  father's  greater  conservatism  ham 
pered  his  now  rapidly  expanding  spirit  of  commercialism;  and 
after  a  few  years  in  the  banking  house  he  withdrew  and  set 
up  for  himself.  The  father,  while  lacking  the  boy's  fearless 
ness,  had  long  since  recognized  dominant  qualities  in  him 
which  he  himself  did  not  possess,  and  he  therefore  confidently 
acquiesced  in  his  son's  desire,  and,  in  addition,  gave  him  carte 
blanche  in  the  matter  of  funds  for  his  speculative  enterprises. 

Four  years  later  J.  Wilton  Ames,  rich  in  his  own  name, 
already  becoming  recognized  as  a  power  in  the  world  of  finance, 
with  diversified  enterprises  which  reached  into  almost  every 
country  of  the  globe,  hastened  home  from  a  foreign  land  in 
response  to  a  message  announcing  the  sudden  death  of  his 
father.  The  devolving  of  his  parent's  vast  fortune  upon  him 
self — he  was  the  sole  heir — then  necessitated  his  permanent 
location  in  New  York.  And  so,  reluctantly  giving  up  his 
travels,  he  gathered  his  agents  and  lieutenants  about  him,  con 
centrating  his  interests  as  much  as  possible  in  the  Ames 
building,  and  settled  down  to  the  enjoyment  of  expanding  his 
huge  fortune.  A  few  months  later  he  married,  and  the  union 
amalgamated  the  proud  old  Essex  stock  of  Ames,  whose  for 
bears  fought  under  the  Conqueror  and  were  written  in  the 
Doomsday  Book,  to  the  wealthy  and  aristocratic  Van  Heyse 
branch  of  old  Amsterdam.  To  this  union  were  born  a  son 
and  a  daughter,  twins. 

The  interval  between  his  graduation  from  college  and  the 
death  of  his  father  was  all  but  unknown  to  the  cronies  of  his 
subsequent  years  in  New  York.  Though  he  had  spent  much  of 
it  in  the  metropolis,  he  had  been  self-centered  and  absorbed, 
even  lonely,  wrhile  laying  his  plans  and  developing  the  schemes 
w'hich  resulted  in  financial  preeminence.  With  unlimited 
money  at  his  disposal,  he  was  unhampered  in  the  choice  of  his 
business  clientele,  and  he  formed  it  from  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.  Much  of  his  time  had  been  spent  abroad,  and  he  had 
become  as  well  known  on  the  Paris  bourse  and  the  exchanges 
of  Europe  as  in  his  native  land.  Confident  and  successful  from 
the  outset;  without  any  trace  of  pride  or  touch  of  hauteur  in 
his  nature;  as  wholly  lacking  in  ethical  development  and  in 
generosity  as  he  was  in  fear;  gradually  becoming  more  sociable 
and  companionable,  although  still  reticent  of  certain  periods 
of  his  past;  his  cunning  and  brutality  increasing  with  years; 
and  his  business  sagacity  and  keen  strategy  becoming  the  talk 
of  the  Street;  with  no  need  to  raise  his  eyes  beyond  the  low 
plane  of  his  material  endeavors;  he  pursued  his  business  partly 
for  the  pleasure  the  game  afforded  him,  partly  for  the  power 
which  his  accumulations  bestowed  upon  him,  and  mostly  be- 

102 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


cause  it  served  as  an  adequate  outlet  for  his  tremendous,  al 
most  superhuman,  driving  energy.  If  he  betrayed  and  de 
bauched  ideals,  it  was  because  he  was  utterly  incapable  of 
rising  to  them,  nor  felt  the  stimulus  to  make  the  attempt.  If 
he  achieved  no  noble  purpose,  it  was  because  when  he  glanced 
at  the  mass  of  humanity  about  him  he  looked  through  the 
lenses  of  self.  His  glance  fell  always  first  upon  J.  Wilton 
Ames — and  he  never  looked  beyond.  The  world  had  been 
created  for  him;  the  cosmos  but  expressed  his  Ego. 

On  the  morning  after  his  conversation  with  the  Beaubien 
regarding  the  social  aspirations  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  the 
financier  sat  at  his  rich  mahogany  desk  on  the  top  floor  of 
the  Ames  building  in  earnest  discussion  with  his  lawyer, 
Alonzo  Hood.  The  top  floor  of  the  tower  was  divided  into 
eight  rooms.  Two  of  these  constituted  Ames's  inner  sanctum; 
one  was  Hood's  private  office;  and  the  rest  were  devoted  to 
clerks  and  stenographers.  A  telegrapher  occupied  an  alcove 
adjoining  Hood's  room,  and  handled  confidential  messages 
over  private  wires  to  the  principal  cities  in  the  country.  A 
private  telephone  connected  Ames's  desk  with  the  Beaubien 
mansion.  Private  lines  ran  to  the  Stock  Exchange  and  to 
various  other  points  throughout  the  city.  The  telegraph  and 
telephone  companies  gave  his  messages  preference  over  all 
others.  At  a  word  he  would  be  placed  in  almost  instant  com 
munication  with  New  Orleans,  San  Francisco,  London,  Berlin, 
or  Cairo.  Private  lines  and  speaking  tubes  ran  to  every  room 
or  floor  of  the  building  where  a  company,  firm,  or  individual 
was  doing  business.  At  the  office  of  the  Telegraph  Service 
up-town  he  maintained  messengers  who  carried  none  but  his 
own  despatches.  In  the  railroad  yards  his  private  car  stood 
always  in  readiness;  and  in  the  harbor  his  yacht  was  kept  con 
stantly  under  steam.  A  motor  car  stood  ever  in  waiting  in 
the  street  below,  close  to  the  shaft  of  a  private  automatic  ele 
vator,  which  ran  through  the  building  for  his  use  alone.  This 
elevator  also  penetrated  the  restaurant  in  the  basement  of  the 
building,  where  a  private  room  and  a  special  waiter  were 
always  at  the  man's  disposal.  A  private  room  and  special 
attendant  were  maintained  in  the  Turkish  baths  adjoining,  and 
he  had  his  own  personal  suite  and  valet  at  his  favorite  club 
up-town. 

This  morning  he  was  at  his  desk,  as  usual,  at  eight  o'clock. 
Before  him  lay  the  various  daily  reports  from  his  mines,  his 
mills,  his  railroads,  and  his  bank.  These  disposed  of,  there 
followed  a  quick  survey  of  the  day's  appointments,  arranged 
for  him  by  his  chief  secretary.  Then  he  summoned  Hood.  As 
the  latter  entered,  Ames  was  absorbed  in  the  legend  of  the 
stock  ticker. 

103 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"C.  and  R.  closed  yesterday  at  twenty-six,"  he  commented. 
Then,  swinging  back  in  his  chair,  "What's  Stolz  doing?" 

"For  one  thing,  he  has  made  Miss  Fagin  his  private  stenog 
rapher,"  replied  Hood. 

Ames  chuckled.  "Now  we  will  begin  to  get  real  informa 
tion,"  he  remarked.  "Tell  Miss  Fagin  you  will  give  her  fifty 
dollars  a  week  from  now  on;  but  she  is  to  deliver  to  you  a 
carbon  copy  of  every  letter  she  writes  for  Stolz.  And  I  want 
those  copies  on  my  desk  every  morning  when  I  come  down. 
Hood,"  he  continued,  abruptly  turning  the  conversation,  "what 
have  you  dug  up  about  Ketchim's  new  company?" 

"Very  little,  sir,"  replied  Hood  with  a  trace  of  embarrass 
ment.  "His  lawyer  is  a  fledgeling  named  Cass,  young,  but  wise 
enough  not  to  talk.  I  called  on  him  yesterday  afternoon  to 
have  a  little  chat  about  the  old  Molino  company,  representing 
that  I  was  speaking  for  certain  stockholders.  But  he  told  me  to 
bring  the  stockholders  in  and  he  would  talk  with  them  person 
ally." 

Ames  laughed,  while  the  lawyer  grinned  sheepishly.  "Is 
that  the  sort  of  service  you  are  rendering  for  a  hundred-thou 
sand-dollar  salary?"  he  bantered.  "Hood,  I'm  ashamed  of 
you!" 

"I  can't  blame  you;  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  replied  the 
lawyer. 

"Well,"  continued  Ames  good-naturedly,  "leave  Ketchim 
to  me.  I've  got  three  men  now  buying  small  amounts  of  stock 
in  his  various  companies.  I'll  call  for  receiverships  pretty 
soon,  and  we  will  see  this  time  that  he  doesn't  refund  the 
money.  Now  about  other  matters:  the  Albany  post  trolley 
deal  is  to  go  through.  Also  the  potato  scheme.  Work  up  the 
details  and  let  me  have  them  at  once.  Have  you  got  the  senate 
bill  drawn  for  Gossitch?" 

"It  will  be  ready  this  afternoon.  As  it  stands  now,  the 
repealing  section  gives  any  city  the  right  to  grant  saloon 
licenses  of  indefinite  length,  instead  of  for  one  year." 

"That's  the  idea.  We  want  the  bill  so  drawn  that  it  will 
become  practically  impossible  to  revoke  a  license." 

"As  it  now  reads,"  said  Hood,  "it  makes  a  saloon  license 
assignable.  That  creates  a  property  right  that  can  hardly  be 
revoked." 

"Just  so,"  returned  Ames.  "As  I  figure,  it  will  create  a 
value  of  some  twenty  millions  for  those  who  own  saloons  in 
New  York.  A  tidy  sum!" 

"That  means  for  the  brewers." 

"And  distillers,  yes.  And  if  the  United  States  ever  reaches 
the  point  where  it  will  have  to  buy  the  saloons  in  order  to  wipe 
them  out,  it  will  face  a  very  handsome  little  expenditure." 

104 


"But,  Mr.  Ames,  a  very  large  part  of  the  stock  of  American 
brewing  companies  is  owned  in  Europe.  How  are  you — 

"Nominally,  it  is.  But  for  two  years,  and  more,  I  have 
been  quietly  gathering  in  brewing  stock  from  abroad,  and 
to-day  I  have  some  ten  millions  in  my  own  control,  from 
actual  purchases,  options,  and  so  forth.  I'm  going  to  organize 
a  holding  company,  when  the  time  arrives,  and  I  figure  that 
within  the  next  year  or  so  we  will  practically  control  the  pro 
duction  of  beer  and  spirituous  liquors  in  the  United  States  and 
Europe.  The  formation  of  that  company  will  be  a  task  worthy 
of  your  genius,  Hood." 

"It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  undertake  it,"  replied  Hood  with 
animation.  "By  the  way,  Mr.  Ames,  I  got  in  touch  with  Senator 
Mall  last  evening  at  the  club,  and  he  assures  me  that  the  senate 
committee  have  so  changed  the  phraseology  of  the  tariff  bill  on 
cotton  products  that  the  clause  you  wish  retained  will  be  con 
tinued  with  its  meaning  unaltered.  In  fact,  the  discrimination 
which  the  hosiery  interests  desire  will  be  fully  observed.  Your 
suggestion  as  to  an  ad  valorem  duty  of  fifty  per  cent  on  hose 
valued  at  less  than  sixty-five  cents  a  dozen  pairs  is  exceptionally 
clever,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  there  are  none  of  less  than  that 
value." 

Ames  laughed  again.  "Triumphant  Republicanism,"  he 
commented.  "And  right  in  the  face  of  the  President's  mes 
sage.  Wire  Mall  that  I  will  be  in  Washington  Thursday  eve 
ning  to  advise  with  him  further  about  it.  And  you  will  go 
with  me.  Hood,  we've  got  a  fight  on  in  regard  to  the  Presi 
dent's  idea  of  granting  permission  in  private  suits  to  use  judg 
ments  and  facts  brought  out  and  entered  in  government  suits 
against  combinations.  That  idea  has  got  to  be  killed!  And 
the  regulation  of  security  issues  of  railroads — preposterous! 
Why,  the  President's  crazy!  If  Mall  and  Gossitch  and  Wells 
don't  oppose  that  in  the  Senate,  I'll  see  that  they  are  up  before 
the  lunacy  commission — and  I  have  some  influence  with  that 
body!" 

"There  is  nothing  to  fear,  I  think,"  replied  Hood  reassur 
ingly.  "An  important  piece  of  business  legislation  like  that 
will  hardly  go  through  this  session.  And  then  we  will  have 
time  to  prepare  to  frustrate  it.  The  suggestion  to  place  the 
New  York  Stock  Exchange  under  government  supervision  is 
a  much  more  serious  matter,  I  think." 

"See  here,  Hood,"  said  Ames,  leaning  forward  and  laying 
a  hand  upon  that  gentleman's  knee,  "when  that  happens,  we'll 
have  either  a  Socialist  president  or  a  Catholic  in  the  White 
House,  with  Rome  twitching  the  string.  Then  I  shall  move  to 
my  Venezuelan  estates,  take  the  vow  of  poverty,  and  turn 
monk." 

105 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Which  reminds  me  again  that  by  your  continued  relations 
with  Rome  you  are  doing  much  to  promote  just  that  state  of 
affairs,"  returned  the  lawyer  sententiously. 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Ames.  "But  I  find  the  Catholic  Church 
convenient — indeed,  necessary — for  the  promotion  of  certain 
plans.  And  so  I  use  it.  The  Colombian  revolution,  for  ex 
ample.  But  I  shall  abruptly  sever  my  relations  with  that  in 
stitution  some  day — when  I  am  through  with  it.  At  present 
I  am  milking  the  Church  to  the  extent  of  a  brimming  pail  every 
year;  and  as  long  as  the  udder  is  full  and  accessible  I  shall 
continue  to  tap  it.  I  tapped  the  Presbyterian  Church,  through 
Borwell,  last  year,  if  you  remember." 

Willett,  chief  secretary  to  Ames,  entered  at  that  moment 
with  the  morning  mail,  opened  and  sorted,  and  replies  written 
to  letters  of  such  nature  as  he  could  attend  to  without  sugges 
tions  from  his  chief. 

"By  the  way,"  remarked  Hood  when  he  saw  the  letters, 
"I  had  word  from  Collins  this  morning  that  he  had  secured  a 
signed  statement  from  that  fellow  Marcus,  who  \vas  crushed 
in  the  Avon  mills  yesterday.  Marcus  accepted  the  medical 
services  of  our  physicians,  and  died  in  our  hospital.  Just 
before  he  went  off,  his  wife  accepted  a  settlement  of  one  hun 
dred  dollars.  Looked  big  to  her,  I  guess,  and  was  a  bird  in  the 
hand.  So  that  matter's  settled." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Ames,  looking  up  from  his  mail; 
"we  are  going  to  close  the  mills  earlier  this  year  on  account 
of  the  cotton  shortage." 

Hood  gave  a  low  whistle.  "That  spells  trouble,  in  capital 
letters!"  he  commented.  "Four  thousand  hands  idle  for  three 
months,  I  suppose.  By  George!  we  just  escaped  disaster  last 
year,  you  remember." 

"It  will  be  more  than  three  months  this  time,"  commented 
Ames  with  a  knowing  look.  Then — "Hood,  I  verily  believe  you 
are  a  coward." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ames,"  replied  the  latter  slowly,  "I  certainly 
would  hesitate  to  do  some  of  the  things  you  do.  Yet  you  seem 
to  get  away  with  them." 

"Perk  up,  Hood,"  laughed  Ames.  "I've  got  real  work  for 
you  as  soon  as  I  get  control  of  C.  and  R.  I'm  going  to  put  you 
in  as  president,  at  a  salary  of  one  hundred  thousand  per  an 
num.  Then  you  are  going  to  buy  the  road  for  me  for  about  two 
million  dollars,  and  I'll  reorganize  and  sell  to  the  stockholders 
for  five  millions,  still  retaining  control.  The  road  is  only  a 
scrap  heap,  but  its  control  is  the  first  step  toward  the  amalga 
mation  of  the  trolley  interests  of  New  England.  Laws  are 
going  to  be  violated,  Hood,  both  in  actual  letter  and  in  spirit. 

106 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


But  that's  your  end  of  the  business.  It's  up  to  you  to  get 
around  the  Interstate  Commerce  Commission  in  any  way  you 
can,  and  buttress  this  little  monopoly  against  competition  and 
reform-infected  legislatures.  I  don't  care  what  it  costs." 

"What  about  Crabbe?"  asked  Hood  dubiously. 

"We'll  send  Crabbe  to  the  Senate,"  Ames  coolly  replied. 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  senators  are  now  elected  by  the 
people,  Mr.  Ames." 

"I  forget  nothing,  sir.  The  people  are  New  York  City, 
Buffalo,  and  Albany.  Tammany  is  New  York.  And  Tammany 
at  present  is  in  my  pocket.  Buffalo  and  Albany  can  be  swept 
by  the  Catholic  vote.  And  I  have  that  in  the  upper  right  hand 
drawer  of  my  private  file.  The  'people'  will  therefore  elect  to 
the  Senate  the  man  I  choose.  In  fact,  I  prefer  direct  election 
of  senators  over  the  former  method,  for  the  people  are  greater 
fools  en  masse  than  any  State  Legislature  that  ever  assem 
bled." 

He  took  up  another  letter  from  the  pile  on  his  desk  and 
glanced  through  it.  "From  Borwell,"  he  commented.  "Pro 
tests  against  the  way  you  nullified  the  Glaze-Bassett  red-light 
injunction  bill.  Pretty  clever,  that,  Hood.  I  really  didn't  think 
it  was  in  you." 

"Invoking  the  referendum,  you  mean?"  said  Hood,  puffing 
a  little  with  pride. 

"Yes.  But  for  that,  the  passage  of  the  bill  would  have  wiped 
out  the  whole  red-light  district,  and  quartered  the  rents  I  now 
get  from  my  shacks  down  there.  Now  next  year  we  will  be 
better  prepared  to  fight  the  bill.  The  press  will  be  with  us 
then — a  little  cheaper  and  a  trifle  more  degraded  than  it  is 
to-day." 

A  private  messenger  entered  with  a  cablegram.  Ames  read 
it  and  handed  it  to  his  lawyer.  "The  Proteus  has  reached  the 
African  Gold  Coast  at  last,"  he  said.  Then  he  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed  heartily.  "Do  you  know,  Hood,  the  Proteus 
carried  two  missionaries,  sent  to  the  frizzle-topped  Zulus  by 
Borwell  and  his  outfit.  Deutsch  and  Company  cable  that  they 
have  arrived." 

"But,"  said  Hood  in  some  perplexity,  "the  cargo  of  the 
Proteus  was  rum!" 

"Just  so,"  roared  Ames;  "that's  where  the  joke  comes  in. 
I  make  it  a  point  that  every  ship  of  mine  that  carries  a  mis 
sionary  to  a  foreign  field  shall  also  carry  a  cargo  of  rum.  The 
combination  is  one  that  the  Zulu  finds  simply  irresistible!" 

"So,"  commented  Hood,  "the  Church  goes  down  to  Egypt 
for  help!" 

"Why   not?"    returned    Ames.      "I    carry   the   missionaries 

107 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


free  on  my  rum  boats.  Great  saving  to  the  Board  of  Foreign 
Missions,  you  know." 

Hood  looked  at  the  man  before  him  in  undisguised  admira 
tion  of  his  cunning.  "And  did  you  likewise  send  missionaries 
to  China  with  your  opium  cargoes?"  he  asked. 

Ames  chuckled.  "I  once  sent  Borwell  himself  to  Hong 
kong  on  a  boat  loaded  to  the  rails  with  opium.  We  had  in 
sisted  on  his  taking  a  needed  vacation,  and  so  packed  him  off 
to  Europe.  In  Bombay  I  cabled  him  to  take  the  Crotus  to 
Hongkong,  transportation  free.  That  was  my  last  consignment 
of  opium  to  China,  for  restrictions  had  already  fallen  upon 
our  very  Christian  England,  and  the  opium  traffic  was  killed. 
I  had  plans  laid  to  corner  the  entire  opium  business  in  India, 
and  I'd  have  cleaned  up  a  hundred  million  out  of  it,  but  for 
the  pressure  of  public  sentiment.  However,  we're  going  to 
educate  John  Chinaman  to  substitute  whiskey  for  opium.  But 
now,"  glancing  at  the  great  electric  wall  clock,  "I've  wasted 
enough  time  with  you.  By  the  way,  do  you  know  why  this 
Government  withheld  recognition  of  the  Chinese  Republic?" 

"No,"  replied  Hood,  standing  in  anticipation. 

"Thirty  thousand  chests  of  opium,"  returned  Ames  lacon 
ically.  "Value,  fifty  million  dollars." 

"Well?" 

"Ames  and  Company  had  advanced  to  the  English  banks  of 
Shanghai  and  Hongkong  half  this  amount,  loaned  on  the 
opium.  That  necessitated  a  few  plain  words  from  me  to  the 
President,  and  a  quick  trip  from  Washington  to  London  after 
wards  to  interview  his  most  Christian  British  Majesty.  A  very 
pleasant  and  profitable  trip,  Hood,  very!  Now  tell  Willett  I 
want  him." 

Hood  threw  his  chief  another  look  of  intense  admiration, 
and  left  the  room.  Willett's  entrance  followed  immediately. 

"Get  Lafelle  here  some  time  to-day  when  I  have  a  vacant 
hour,"  commanded  Ames.  "Cable  to  acting-Bishop  Wenceslas, 
of  Cartagena,  and  ask  him  if  an  American  mining  company  is 
registered  there  under  the  name  of  Simiti  Development  Com 
pany,  and  what  properties  they  have  and  where  located.  Tell 
him  to  cable  reply,  and  follow  with  detailed  letter." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  closed  his  eyes.  "The 
Congregation  of  the  Sacred  Index  has  laid  the  ban  on — what's 
the  name  of  the  book?"  He  drew  out  a  card-index  drawer  and 
selected  a  card,  which  he  tossed  to  the  secretary.  "There  it  is. 
Get  me  the  book  at  once."  He  seemed  to  muse  a  while,  then 
went  on  slowly.  "Carlos  Madero,  of  Mexico,  is  in  New  York. 
Learn  where  he  is  staying,  and  arrange  an  interview  for  me. 
Wire  Senator  Wells,  Washington,  that  the  bill  for  a  Children's 

108 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


Bureau  must  not  be  taken  from  the  table.  That's  final.  Wire 
the  Sequana  Coal  Company  that  I  want  their  report  to-morrow, 
without  fail.  Wire  Collins,  at  Avon,  to  tell  the  Spinners' 
Union  I  have  nothing  to  discuss  with  them.  Now  send  Hod- 
son  in." 

As  Hood  was  chief  of  the  Ames  legal  department,  and  Wil- 
lett  the  chief  of  his  army  of  secretaries,  so  Hodson  was  the 
captain  of  his  force  of  brokers,  a  keen,  sagacious  trader,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  market  and  whose  ability  in  the  matter  of 
stock  trading  was  almost  uncanny. 

"What's  your  selection  for  to-day,  Hodson?"  asked  Ames, 
as  the  man  entered. 

Hodson  laid  on  his  desk  three  lists  of  suggested  deals  on  the 
exchanges  of  New  York,  London,  and  Paris.  Ames  glanced 
over  them  hurriedly,  drawing  his  pencil  through  certain  that 
did  not  meet  his  approval,  and  substituting  others  in  which 
for  particular  reasons  he  wished  to  trade  that  morning. 
"What's  your  reason  for  thinking  I  ought  to  buy  Public  Utili 
ties?"  he  asked,  looking  up  at  his  broker. 

"They  have  the  letting  of  the  Hudson  river  tunnel  contract," 
replied  Hodson. 

Ames  studied  the  broker's  face  a  moment.  Then  his  own 
brightened,  as  he  began  to  divine  the  man's  reason.  "By 
George!"  he  ejaculated,  "you  think  there's  quicksand  along 
the  proposed  route?" 

"I  know  it,"  said  Hodson  calmly. 

"Pick  up  ten  thousand  shares,  if  you  can  get  them,"  re 
turned  Ames  quickly.  Then — "I'm  going  to  attend  a  meeting  of 
the  Council  of  American  Grain  Exchanges  at  two  to-day.  I 
want  you  to  be  just  outside  the  door." 

Hodson  nodded  understandingly.  Ames  concluded,  "I 
guess  that's  all.  I'm  at  the  bank  at  ten;  at  the  Board  of  Trade 
at  ten-thirty;  Stock  Exchange  at  eleven;  and  lunch  at  Rector's 
at  twelve  sharp,  returning  here  immediately  afterward." 

Hodsen  again  bowed,  and  left  the  office  to  undertake  his 
various  commissions. 

For  the  next  half  hour  Ames  pored  over  the  morning's 
quota  of  letters  and  messages,  making  frequent  notes,  and  often 
turning  to  the  telephone  at  his  hand.  Then  he  summoned  a 
stenographer  and  rapidly  dictated  a  number  of  replies.  Finally 
he  again  called  Willett. 

"In  my  next  vacant  hour,  following  the  one  devoted  to 
Lafelle,  I  want  to  see  Reverend  Darius  Borwell,"  he  directed. 
"Also,"  he  continued,  "wire  Strunz  that  I  want  a  meeting  of 
the  Brewers'  Union  called  at  the  earliest  possible  date.  By  the 
way,  ask  Lafelle  if  he  can  spend  the  night  with  me  on  board 

109 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


the  Cossack,  and  if  so,  notify  Captain  McCall.  That  will  save 
an  hour  in  the  day.  Here  is  a  bundle  of  requests  for  charity, 
for  contributions  to  hospitals,  orphan  asylums,  and  various 
homes.  Turn  them  all  down,  regretfully.  H'm!  'Phone  to  the 
City  Assessor  to  come  over  whenever  you  can  arrange  an  hour 
and  go  over  my  schedule  with  me.  By  the  way,  tell  Hood  to 
take  steps  at  once  to  foreclose  on  the  Bradley  estate.  Did  you 
find  out  where  Ketchim  does  his  banking?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  secretary,   "the  Commercial  State." 

"Very  well,  get  the  president,  Mr.  Colson,  on  the  wire." 

A  few  moments  later  Ames  had  purchased  from  the  Com 
mercial  State  bank  its  note  against  the  Ketchim  Realty  Com 
pany  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  "I  thought  Ketchim  would  be 
borrowing  again,"  he  chuckled,  \vhen  he  had  completed  the 
transaction.  "His  brains  are  composed  of  a  disastrous  mixture 
of  hypocrisy  and  greed.  I've  thrown  another  hook  into  him 
now." 

At  nine  forty-five  Ames  left  his  private  office  and  descended 
in  his  elevator  to  the  banking  house  on  the  second  floor.  He 
entered  the  directors'  room  with  a  determined  carriage,  nod 
ding  pleasantly  to  his  associates.  Taking  his  seat  as  chair 
man,  he  promptly  called  the  meeting  to  order. 

Some  preliminary  business  occupied  the  first  few  minutes, 
and  then  Ames  announced: 

"Gentlemen,  when  the  State  of  New  York  offered  the  public 
sixty  millions  of  four  per  cent  bonds  last  week,  and  I  ad 
vised  you  to  take  them  at  a  premium  of  six  per  cent,  you 
objected.  I  overruled  you,  and  the  bank  bought  the  bonds. 
Within  forty-eight  hours  they  were  resold  at  a  premium  of 
seven  per  cent,  and  the  bank  cleared  six  hundred  thousand.  A 
fair  two  days'  business.  Now  let  me  suggest  that  the  psychology 
of  this  transaction  is  worth  your  study.  A  commodity  is  a 
drug  on  the  market  at  one  dollar,  until  somebody  is  willing  to 
pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  it.  Then  a  lot  of  people  will  want 
it,  until  somebody  else  offers  a  bid  of  two.  Then  the  price  will 
soar,  and  the  number  of  those  who  covet  the  article  and 
scramble  for  it  will  increase  proportionably.  Take  this  thought 
home  with  you." 

A  murmur  of  admiration  rose  from  the  directors.  "I 
think,"  said  one,  "that  we  had  better  send  Mr.  Ames  to  Wash 
ington  to  confer  with  the  President  in  regard  to  the  proposed 
currency  legislation." 

"That  is  already  arranged,"  put  in  Ames.  "I  meet  the 
President  next  Thursday  for  a  conference  on  this  matter." 

"And  if  he  proves  intractable?"  queried  another. 

"Why,  in  that  case,"  returned  Ames  with  a  knowing  smile, 

110 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  think  we  had  better  give  him  a  little  lesson  to  take  out  of 
office  with  him — one  that  will  ruin  his  second-term  hopes — 
and  then  close  our  bank." 

From  the  bank,  the  Board  of  Trade,  the  Stock  Exchange, 
and  his  luncheon  with  Senator  Gossitch,  Ames  returned  to  his 
office  for  the  private  interviews  which  his  chief  secretary  had 
arranged.  Then  followed  further  consultations  with  Hood 
over  the  daily,  weekly,  and  monthly  reports  which  Ames  re 
quired  from  all  the  various  commercial,  financial,  and  mining 
enterprises  in  which  he  was  interested;  further  discussions  of 
plans  and  schemes;  further  receipt  and  transmission  of  cable, 
telegraphic,  and  telephone  messages;  and  meetings  with  his 
heads  of  departments,  his  captains,  lieutenants,  and  minor 
officers,  to  listen  to  their  reports  and  suggestions,  and  to  de 
liver  his  quick,  decisive  commands,  admonitions,  and  advice. 
From  eight  in  the  morning  until,  as  was  his  wont,  Ames  closed 
his  desk  and  entered  his  private  elevator  at  five-thirty  in  the 
evening,  his  office  flashed  with  the  superenergy  of  the  man, 
with  his  intense  activity,  his  decisive  words,  and  his  stu 
pendous  endeavors,  materialistic,  absorptive,  ruthless  en 
deavors.  If  one  should  ask  what  his  day  really  amounted  to, 
we  can  but  point  to  these  incessant  endeavors  and  their  re 
sults  in  augmenting  his  already  vast  material  interests  and  his 
colossal  fortune,  a  fortune  which  Hood  believed  ran  well  over  a 
hundred  millions,  and  which  Ames  himself  knew  multiplied 
that  figure  by  five  or  ten.  And  the  fortune  was  increasing  at 
a  frightful  pace,  for  he  gave  nothing,  but  continually  drew  to 
himself,  always  and  ever  drawing,  accumulating,  amassing, 
and  absorbing,  and  for  himself  alone. 

Snapping  his  desk  shut,  he  held  a  brief  conversation  over 
the  wire  with  the  Beaubien,  then  descended  to  his  waiting  car 
and  was  driven  hastily  to  his  yacht,  the  Cossack,  where  Mon- 
signor  Lafelle  awaited  as  his  guest.  It  was  one  of  the  few 
pleasures  which  Ames  allowed  himself  during  the  warm 
months,  to  drop  his  multifarious  interests  and  spend  the  night 
aboard  the  Cossack,  generally  alone,  rocking  gently  on  the  rest 
less  billows,  so  typical  of  his  own  heaving  spirit,  as  the 
beautiful  craft  steamed  noiselessly  to  and  fro  along  the  coast, 
well  beyond  the  roar  of  the  huge  arena  where  human  beings, 
formed  of  dust,  yet  fatuously  believing  themselves  made  in  the 
image  of  infinite  Spirit,  strive  and  sweat,  curse  and  slay,  in 
the  struggle  to  prove  their  doubtful  right  to  live. 


Ill 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  13 

THE  Cossack,  with  its  great  turbines  purring  like  a  sleeping 
kitten,  and  its  twin  screws  turning  lazily,  almost  im 
perceptibly  in  the  dark  waters,  moved  through  the  frosty 
night  like  a  cloud  brooding  over  the  deep.  Yet  it  was  a  cloud 
of  tremendous  potentiality,  enwrapping  a  spirit  of  energy  in 
carnate.  From  far  aloft  its  burning  eye  pierced  a  channel  of 
light  through  the  murky  darkness  ahead.  In  its  wake  it  drew 
a  swell  of  sparkling  phosphorescence,  which  it  carelessly 
tossed  off  on  either  side  as  a  Calif  might  throw  handfuls  of 
glittering  coins  to  his  fawning  beggars.  From  somewhere  in 
the  structure  above,  the  crackling,  hissing  wireless  mechanism 
was  thrusting  its  invisible  hands  out  into  the  night  and  catch 
ing  the  fleeting  messages  that  were  borne  on  the  intangible 
pulsations  of  the  mysterious  ether.  From  time  to  time  these 
messages  were  given  form  and  body,  and  despatched  to  the 
luxurious  suite  below,  where,  in  the  dazzling  sheen  of  silver 
and  cut  glass,  spread  out  over  richest  napery,  and  glowing  be 
neath  a  torrent  of  white  light,  sat  the  gigantic  being  whose 
will  directed  the  movements  of  this  floating  palace. 

"You  see,  Lafelle,  I  look  upon  religion  with  the  eye  of  the 
cold-blooded  business  man,  without  the  slightest  trace  of 
sentimentalism.  From  the  business  standpoint,  the  Protestant 
Church  is  a  dead  failure.  It  doesn't  get  results  that  are  in  any 
way  commensurate  with  its  investment.  But  your  Church  is  a 
success — from  the  point  of  dollars  and  cents.  In  fact,  in  the 
matter  of  forming  and  maintaining  a  monopoly,  I  take  off  my 
hat  to  the  Vatican.  You  fellows  have  got  us  all  beaten.  Every 
day  I  learn  something  of  value  by  studying  your  methods  of 
operating  upon  the  public.  And  so  you  see  why  I  take  such 
pleasure  in  talking  with  really  astute  churchmen  like  your 
self." 

Monsignor  Lafelle  studied  the  man  without  replying,  un 
certain  just  what  interpretation  to  put  upon  the  remark.  The 
Japanese  servant  was  clearing  away  the  remnants  of  the  meal, 
having  first  lighted  the  cigars  of  the  master  and  guest. 

"Now,"  continued  Ames,  leaning  back  in  his  luxurious  chair 
and  musing  over  his  cigar,  "the  purgatory  idea  is  one  of  the 
cleverest  schemes  ever  foisted  upon  the  unthinking  masses, 
and  it  has  proved  a  veritable  Klondike.  Gad!  if  I  could  think 
up  and  put  over  a  thing  like  that  I'd  consider  myself  really 
possessed  of  brains." 

Lafelle's  eyes  twinkled.  "I  fear,  Mr.  Ames,"  he  replied 
adroitly,  "you  do  not  know  your  Bible." 

112 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"No,  that's  true.  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  in  my  life  read  a 
whole  chapter  in  the  book.  I  can't  swallow  such  stuff,  Lafelle 
— utterly  unreasonable,  wholly  inconsistent  with  facts  and 
natural  laws,  as  we  know  and  are  able  to  observe  them.  Even 
as  a  child  I  never  had  any  use  for  fairy-tales,  or  wonder- 
stories.  I  always  wanted  facts,  tangible,  concrete,  irrefutable 
facts,  not  hypotheses.  The  Protestant  churches  hand  out  a 
mess  of  incoherent  guesswork,  based  on  as  many  interpreta 
tions  of  the  Bible  as  there  are  human  minds  sufficiently  inter 
ested  to  interpret  it,  and  then  wax  hot  and  angry  when  hard- 
headed  business  men  like  myself  refuse  to  subscribe  to  it.  It's 
preposterous,  Lafelle!  If  they  had  anything  tangible  to  offer, 
it  would  be  different.  But  I  go  to  church  for  the  looks  of  the 
thing,  and  for  business  reasons;  and  then  stick  pins  into  myself 
to  keep  awake  while  I  listen  to  pedagogical  Borwell  tell  what  he 
doesn't  know  about  God  and  man.  Then  at  the  close  of  the 
service  I  drop  a  five-dollar  bill  into  the  plate  for  the  enter 
tainment,  and  go  away  with  the  feeling  that  I  didn't  get  my 
money's  worth.  From  a  business  point  of  view,  a  Protestant 
church  service  is  worth  about  twenty-five  cents  for  the  music, 
and  five  cents  for  the  privilege  of  sleeping  on  a  soft  cushion. 
So  you  see  I  lose  four  dollars  and  seventy  cents  every  time  I 
attend.  You  Catholic  fellows,  with  your  ceremonial  and  leger 
demain,  give  a  much  better  entertainment.  Besides,  I  like  to 
hear  your  priests  soak  it  to  their  cowering  flocks." 

Lafelle  sighed.  "I  shall  have  to  class  you  with  the  incorri- 
gibles,"  he  said  with  a  rueful  air.  "I  am  sorry  you  take  such  a 
harsh  attitude  toward  us.  We  are  really  more  spiritual- 
Ames  interrupted  with  a  roar  of  laughter.  "Don't!  don't!" 
he  pleaded,  holding  up  a  hand.  "Why,  Lafelle,  you  old  fraud, 
I  look  upon  your  Church  as  a  huge  business  institution,  a 
gigantic  trust,  as  mercenary  and  merciless  as  Steel,  Oil,  or 
Tobacco!  Why,  you  and  I  are  in  the  same  business,  that  of 
making  money!  And  I'd  like  to  borrow  some  of  your  methods. 
You  catch  'em  through  religion.  I  have  to  use  other  methods. 
But  the  end  is  the  same.  Only,  you've  got  it  over  me,  for  you 
hurl  the  weight  of  centuries  of  authority  upon  the  poor,  trem 
bling  public;  and  I  have  to  beat  them  down  with  clubs  of  my 
own  making.  Moreover,  the  law  protects  you  in  all  your  pious 
methods;  while  I  have  to  hire  expensive  legal  talent  to  get 
around  it." 

"You  seem  to  be  fairly  successful,  even  at  that,"  retorted 
Lafelle.  Then,  too  politic  to  draw  his  host  into  an  acrimonious 
argument  that  might  end  in  straining  their  now  cordial  and 
mutually  helpful  friendship,  he  observed,  looking  at  his  cigar: 
"May  I  ask  what  you  pay  for  these? — for  only  an  inexhaustible 
bank  reserve  can  warrant  their  like." 

113 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


He  had  struck  the  right  chord,  and  Ames  softened  at 
once.  "These,"  he  said,  tenderly  regarding  the  thick,  black 
weed  in  his  fingers,  "are  grown  exclusively  for  me  on  my  own 
plantation  in  Colombia.  They  cost  me  about  one  dollar  and 
sixty-eight  cents  each,  laid  down  at  my  door  in  New  York.  I 
searched  the  world  over  before  I  found  the  only  spot  where 
such  tobacco  could  be  grown." 

"And  this  wine?"  continued  Lafelle,  lifting  his  glass  of 
sparkling  champagne. 

"On  a  little  hillside,  scarcely  an  acre  in  extent,  in  Granada, 
Spain,"  replied  Ames.  "I  have  my  own  wine  press  and  bottling 
plant  there." 

Lafelle  could  not  conceal  his  admiration  for  this  man  of 
luxury.  "And  does  your  exclusiveness  extend  also  to  your  tea 
and  coffee?"  he  ventured,  smiling. 

"It  does,"  said  Ames.  "I  grow  tea  for  my  table  in  both 
China  and  Ceylon.  And  I  have  exclusive  coffee  plantations  in 
Java  and  Brazil.  But  I'm  now  negotiating  for  one  in  Colombia, 
for  I  think  that,  without  doubt,  the  finest  coffee  in  the  world 
is  grown  there,  although  it  never  gets  beyond  the  coast  line." 

"Fortuna  non  deo,"  murmured  the  churchman;  "you  man 
of  chance  and  destiny!" 

Ames  laughed  genially.  "My  friend,"  said  he,  "I  have 
always  insisted  that  I  possessed  but  a  modicum  of  brains;  but 
I  am  a  gambler.  My  god  is  chance.  With  ordinary  judgment 
and  horse-sense,  I  take  risks  that  no  so-called  sane  man  would 
consider.  The  curse  of  the  world  is  fear — the  chief  instrument 
that  you  employ  to  hold  the  masses  to  your  churchly  system. 
I  was  born  without  it.  I  know  that  as  long  as  a  business  oppo 
nent  has  fear  to  contend  with,  I  am  his  master.  Fear  is  at  the 
root  of  every  ailment  of  mind,  body,  or  environment.  I  repeat, 
I  know  not  the  meaning  of  the  wrord.  Hence  my  position  in 
the  business  world.  Hence,  also,  my  freedom  from  the  limita 
tions  of  superstition,  religious  or  otherwise.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lafelle,  drawing  a  long  sigh,  "in  a  sense  I 
do.  But  you  greatly  err,  my  friend,  in  deprecating  your  own 
powerful  intellect.  I  know  of  no  brain  but  yours  that  could 
have  put  South  Ohio  Oil  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  up 
to  over  two  thousand  a  share.  I  had  a  few  shares  of  that  stock 
myself.  But  I  held  until  it  broke." 

Ames  smiled  knowingly.  "Sorry  I  didn't  know  about  it," 
he  said.  "I  could  have  saved  you.  I  didn't  own  a  dollar's 
worth  of  South  Ohio.  Oh,  yes,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  Lafelle's 
eyes  widening  in  surprise,  "I  pushed  the  market  up  until  a 
certain  lady,  whom  you  and  I  both  know,  thought  it  unwise  to 
go  further,  and  then  I  sprung  the  sudden  discovery  of  Colom- 

114 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


bian  oil  fields  on  them;  and  the  market  crashed  like  a  burst 
balloon.  The  lady  cleared  some  two  millions  on  the  rig.  No, 
I  didn't  have  a  drop  of  Colombian  oil  to  grease  the  chute.  It 
was  American  nerve,  that's  all." 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Lafelle.  "If  you  had  lived  in  the  Middle 
Ages  you'd  have  been  burnt  for  possessing  a  devil!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  quickly  amended  Ames,  his  eyes  twink 
ling,  "I'd  have  been  made  a  Cardinal." 

Both  men  laughed  over  the  retort;  and  then  Ames  sum 
moned  the  valet  to  set  in  motion  the  great  electrical  pipe-organ, 
and  to  bring  the  whiskey  and  soda. 

For  the  next  hour  the  two  men  gave  themselves  up  to  the 
supreme  luxury  of  their  magnificent  environment,  the  stimula 
tion  of  their  beverage  and  cigars,  and  the  soothing  effect  of  the 
soft  music,  combined  with  the  gentle  movement  of  the  boat. 
Then  Ames  took  his  guest  into  the  smoking  room  proper,  and 
drew  up  chairs  before  a  small  table,  on  which  were  various 
papers  and  writing  materials. 

"Now,"  he  began,  "referring  to  your  telephone  message  of 
this  morning,  what  is  it  that  you  want  me  to  do  for  you?  Is 
it  the  old  question  of  establishing  a  nunciature  at  Washing 
ton?" 

Lafelle  had  been  impatiently  awaiting  this  moment.  He 
therefore  plunged  eagerly  into  his  subject.  "Mr.  Ames,"  said 
he,  "I  know  you  to  have  great  influence  at  the  Capital.  In 
the  interests  of  humanity,  I  ask  you  to  use  that  influence  to 
prevent  the  passage  of  the  immigration  bill  which  provides  for 
a  literacy  test." 

Ames  smiled  inwardly.  There  was  no  need  of  this  request; 
for,  in  the  interests,  not  of  humanity,  but  of  his  own  steamship 
companies,  he  intended  that  there  should  be  no  restriction 
imposed  upon  immigration.  But  the  Church  was  again  playing 
into  his  hands,  coming  to  him  for  favors.  And  the  Church 
always  paid  heavily  for  his  support.  "Well!  well!"  he  ex 
claimed  with  an  assumption  of  interest,  "so  you  ask  me  to 
impugn  my  own  patriotism!" 

Lafelle  looked  perplexed.  "I  don't  quite  understand,"  he 
said. 

"Why,"  Ames  explained,  "how  long  do  you  figure  it  will 
take,  with  unrestricted  immigration,  for  the  Catholics  to  so 
outnumber  the  Protestants  in  the  United  States  as  to  establish 
their  religion  by  law  and  force  it  into  the  schools?" 

Lafelle  flushed.  "But  your  Constitution  provides  toleration 
for  all  religions!" 

"And  the  Constitution  is  quite  flexible,  and  wholly  subject 
to  amendment,  is  it  not?" 

115 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Lafelle  flared  out  in  unrestrained  anger.  "What  a  bugaboo 
you  Protestants  make  of  Roman  Catholicism!"  he  cried.  "Great 
heavens!  Why,  one  would  think  that  we  Catholics  were  all 
anarchists !  Are  we  such  a  menace,  such  a  curse  to  your 
Republican  institutions?  Do  you  ever  stop  to  realize  what  the 
Church  has  done  for  civilization,  and  for  your  own  country? 
And  where,  think  you,  would  art  and  learning  be  now  but  for 
her?  Have  you  any  adequate  idea  what  the  Church  is  doing 
to-day  for  the  poor,  for  the  oppressed?  Good  God!  You  Prot 
estants,  a  thousand  times  more  intolerant  than  we,  treat  us 
as  if  we  were  Hindoo  pariahs!  This  whole  country  is  suffering 
from  the  delirium  of  Roman  Catholic-phobia!  Will  you  drive 
us  to  armed  defense?" 

"There,  my  friend,  calm  yourself,"  soothed  Ames,  laying  a 
hand  on  the  irate  churchman's  arm.  "And  please  do  not  class 
me  with  the  Protestants,  for  I  am  not  one  of  them.  You 
Catholic  fellows  have  made  admirable  gains  in  the  past  few 
years,  and  your  steady  encroachments  have  netted  you  about 
ninety  per  cent  of  all  the  political  offices  in  and  about  Wash 
ington,  so  you  have  no  complaint,  even  if  the  Church  isn't  in 
politics.  H'm!  So  you  wrant  my  help,  eh?" 

He  stopped  and  drummed  on  the  table.  Meantime,  his 
brain  was  working  rapidly.  "By  the  way,  Lafelle,"  he  said, 
abruptly  resuming  the  conversation,  "you  know  all  about 
church  laws  and  customs,  running  way  back  to  mediaeval 
times.  Can't  you  dig  up  some  old  provision  whereby  I  can 
block  a  fellow  who  claims  to  own  a  gold  mine  down  in  Colom 
bia?  If  you  can,  I'll  see  that  the  President  vetoes  every  ob 
noxious  immigration  bill  that's  introduced  this  term." 

Lafelle  roused  from  his  sulk  and  gulped  down  his  wrath. 
Ames  went  on  to  express  his  desire  for  vengeance  upon  one 
obscure  Philip  O.  Ketchim,  broker,  promoter,  church  elder, 
and  Sunday  school  superintendent.  Lafelle  became  interested. 
The  conversation  grew  more  and  more  animated.  Hours 
passed. 

Then  at  length  Ames  rose  and  rang  for  his  valet.  "My 
God,  Lafelle,  the  idea's  a  corker!"  he  cried,  his  eyes  ablaze. 
"Where'd  you  get  it?" 

Lafelle  laughed  softly.  "From  a  book  entitled  'Confessions 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  Priest,'  written  anonymously,  but,  they 
say,  by  a  young  attache  of  the  Vatican  who  was  insane  at  the 
time.  I  never  learned  his  name.  However,  he  was  apparently 
well  informed  on  matters  Colombian." 

"And  what  do  you  call  the  law?" 

"The  law  of  'en  manos  muertas',"  replied  Lafelle. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Ames,  "again  I  take  off  my  hat  to  your 

116 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


churchly  system!  And  now,"  he  continued  eagerly,  "cable  the 
Pope  at  once.  1^11  have  the  operator  send  your  code  ashore  by 
wireless,  and  the  message  will  go  to  Rome  to-night.  Tell  the 
old  man  you've  got  influence  at  work  in  Washington  that  is — 
well,  more  than  strong,  and  that  the  prospects  for  defeating 
the  immigration  bill  are  excellent." 

Lafelle  arose  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  about  the 
room.  "Before  I  retire,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "I  would  like  to 
express  again  the  admiration  wrhich  the  tasteful  luxury  of  this 
smoking  room  has  aroused  in  me,  and  to  ask,  if  I  may,  whether 
those  stained-glass  windows  up  there  are  merely  fanciful 
portraits?" 

Ames  quickly  glanced  up  at  the  faces  of  the  beautiful 
\vomen  portrayed  in  the  rectangular  glass  windows  which  lined 
the  room  just  below  the  ceiling.  They  were  exquisitely  painted, 
in  vivid  colors,  and  so  set  as  to  be  illuminated  during  the  day 
by  sunlight,  and  at  night  by  strong  electric  lamps  behind 
them.  "Why  do  you  ask?"  he  inquired  in  wonder. 

"Because,"  returned  Lafelle,  "if  I  mistake  not,  I  have  seen 
a  portrait  similar  to  that  one,"  pointing  up  at  one  of  the  win 
dows,  where  a  sad,  wistful  face  of  rare  loveliness  looked  down 
upon  them. 

Ames  started  slightly.  "Where,  may  I  ask?"  he  said  in  a 
controlled  voice. 

Lafelle  reflected.  In  his  complete  absorption  he  had  not 
noticed  the  effect  of  his  query  upon  Ames.  "I  do  not  know," 
he  replied  slowly.  "London — Paris — Berlin — -no,  not  there. 
And  yet,  it  was  in  Europe,  I  am  sure.  Ah,  I  have  it!  In  the 
Royal  Gallery,  at  Madrid." 

Ames  stared  at  him  dully.  "In  the — Royal  Gallery — at 
Madrid!"  he  echoed  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yes,"  continued  Lafelle  confidently,  still  studying  the  por 
trait,  "I  am  certain  of  it.  But,"  turning  abruptly  upon  Ames, 
"you  may  have  known  the  original?" 

Ames  had  recovered  his  composure.  "I  assure  you  I  never 
had  that  pleasure,"  he  said  lightly.  "These  art  windows  were 
set  in  by  the  designer  of  the  yacht.  Clever  idea,  I  thought. 
Adds  much  to  the  general  effect,  don't  you  think?  By  the  way, 
if  a  portrait  similar  to  that  one  hangs  in  the  Royal  Gallery  at 
Madrid,  you  might  try  to  learn  the  identity  of  the  original  for 
me.  It's  quite  interesting  to  feel  that  one  may  have  the  picture 
of  some  bewitching  member  of  royalty  hanging  in  his  own 
apartments.  By  all  means  try  to  learn  who  the  lady  is — unless 
you  know."  He  stopped  and  searched  the  churchman's  face. 

But  Lafelle  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  do  not  know  her.  But 
— that  picture  has  haunted  me  from  the  day  I  first  saw  it  in 
the  Royal  Gallery.  Who  designed  your  yacht?" 

117 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Crafts,  of  'Storrs  and  Crafts,'  "  replied  Ames.  "But  he 
died  a  year  ago.  Storrs  is  gone,  too.  No. help  from  that 
quarter." 

Lafelle  moved  thoughtfully  toward  the  door.  The  valet 
appeared  at  that  moment. 

"Show  Monsignor  to  his  stateroom,"  commanded  Ames. 
"Good  night,  Monsignor,  good  night.  Remember,  we  dock  at 
seven-thirty,  sharp." 

Returning  to  the  table,  Ames  sat  down  and  rapidly  com 
posed  a  message  for  his  wireless  operator  to  send  across  the 
dark  waters  to  the  city,  and  thence  to  acting-Bishop  Wenceslas, 
in  Cartagena.  This  done,  he  extinguished  all  the  lights  in  the 
room  excepting  those  which  illuminated  the  stained-glass  win 
dows  above.  Drawing  his  chair  up  in  front  of  the  one  which 
had  stirred  Lafelle's  query,  he  sat  before  it  far  into  the  morn 
ing,  in  absorbed  contemplation,  searching  the  sad  features  of 
the  beautiful  face,  pondering,  revolving,  sometimes  murmur 
ing  aloud,  sometimes  passing  a  hand  across  his  brow,  as  if  he 
would  erase  from  a  relentless  memory  an  impression  made 
long  since  and  worn  ever  deeper  by  the  recurrent  thought  of 
many  years. 

CHAPTER  14 

ALMOST  within  the  brief  period  of  a  year,  the  barefoot, 
calico-clad  Carmen  had  been  ejected  from  unknown 
Simiti  and  dropped  into  the  midst  of  the  pyrotechnical 
society  life  of  the  great  New  World  metropolis.  Only  an  un 
usual  interplay  of  mental  forces  could  have  brought  about 
such  an  odd  result.  But  that  it  was  a  very  logical  outcome  of 
the  reaction  upon  one  another  of  human  ambitions,  fears,  lust, 
and  greed,  operating  through  the  types  of  mind  among  which 
her  life  had  been  cast,  those  who  have  followed  our  story  thus 
far  can  have  no  doubt.  The  cusp  of  the  upward-sweeping  curve 
had  been  reached  through  the  insane  eagerness  of  Mrs.  Haw- 
ley-Crowles  to  outdo  her  wealthy  society  rivals  in  an  arrogant 
display  of  dress,  living,  and  vain,  luxurious  entertaining,  and 
the  acquisition  of  the  empty  honor  attaching  to  social  leader 
ship.  The  coveted  prize  was  now  all  but  within  the  shallow 
woman's  grasp.  Alas!  she  knew  not  that  when  her  itching 
fingers  closed  about  it  the  golden  bauble  would  crumble  to 
ashes. 

The  program  as  outlined  by  the  Beaubien  had  been  faith 
fully  followed.  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames  had  met  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles — whom,  of  course,  she  had  long  desired  to  know  more 

118 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


intimately — and  an  interchange  of  calls  had  ensued,  succeeded 
by  a  grand  reception  at  the  Ames  mansion,  the  first  of  the 
social  season.  To  this  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  floated,  as  upon 
a  cloud,  attired  in  a  French  gown  which  cost  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  and  shoes  on  her  disproportioned  feet  for  which  she 
had  rejoiced  to  pay  thirty  dollars  each,  made  as  they  had  been 
from  specially  selected  imported  leather,  dyed  to  match  her 
rich  robe.  It  was  true,  her  pleasure  had  not  been  wholly  un 
alloyed,  for  she  had  been  conscious  of  a  trace  of  supercilious 
ness  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  gorgeous  birds  of  paradise, 
twittering  and  hopping  in  their  hampering  skirts  about  the 
Ames  parlors,  and  pecking,  with  milk-fed  content,  at  the  rare 
cakes  and  ices.  But  she  only  held  her  empty  head  the  higher, 
and  fluttered  about  the  more  ostentatiously  and  clumsily,  while 
anticipating  the  effect  which  her  charming  and  talented  ward 
would  produce  when  she  should  make  her  bow  to  these  same 
vain,  haughty  devotees  of  the  cult  of  gold.  And  she  had 
wisely  planned  that  Carmen's  debut  should  follow  that  of 
Kathleen  Ames,  that  it  might  eclipse  her  rival's  in  its  wanton 
display  of  magnificence. 

On  the  heels  of  the  Ames  reception  surged  the  full  flood 
of  the  winter's  social  orgy.  Early  in  November  Kathleen  Ames 
was  duly  presented.  The  occasion  was  made  one  of  such 
stupendous  display  that  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  first  gasped,  then 
shivered  with  apprehension,  lest  she  be  unable  to  outdo  it. 
She  went  home  from  it  in  a  somewhat  chastened  frame  of 
mind,  and  sat  down  at  her  escritoire  to  make  calculations. 
Could  she  on  her  meager  annual  income  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  hope  to  meet  the  Ames  millions?  She  had 
already  allowed  that  her  wardrobe  would  cost  not  less  than 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  the  addi 
tional  expense  of  properly  dressing  Carmen.  But  she  now 
saw  that  this  amount  was  hopelessly  inadequate.  She  there 
fore  increased  the  figure  to  seventy-five  thousand.  But  that 
took  half  of  her  income.  Could  she  maintain  her  city  home, 
entertain  in  the  style  now  demanded  by  her  social  position, 
and  spend  her  summers  at  Newport,  as  she  had  planned? 
Clearly,  not  on  that  amount.  No,  her  income  would  not  suffice; 
she  would  be  obliged  to  draw  on  the  principal  until  Carmen 
could  be  married  off  to  some  millionaire,  or  until  her  own 
father  died.  Oh,  if  he  would  only  terminate  his  useless  ex 
istence  soon! 

But,  in  lieu  of  that  delayed  desideratum,  some  expedient 
must  be  devised  at  once.  She  thought  of  the  Beaubien.  That 
obscure,  retiring  woman  was  annually  making  her  millions. 
A  tip  now  and  then  from  her,  a  word  of  advice  regarding  the 

119 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


market,  and  her  own  limited  income  would  expand  accord 
ingly.  She  had  not  seen  the  Beaubien  since  becoming  a  mem 
ber  of  Holy  Saints.  But  on  that  day,  and  again,  two  months 
later,  when  the  splendid  altar  to  the  late  lamented  and  pa 
triotic  citizen,  the  Honorable  James  Hawley-Crowles,  was  dedi 
cated,  she  had  marked  the  woman,  heavily  veiled,  sitting  alone 
in  the  rear  of  the  great  church.  What  had  brought  her  there? 
she  wondered.  She  had  shuddered  as  she  thought  the  tall, 
black-robed  figure  typified  an  ominous  shadow  falling  athwart 
her  own  foolish  existence. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  of  Carmen's  hold  on  the  strange, 
tarnished  woman.  And  so,  smothering  her  doubts  and  pocket 
ing  her  pride,  she  again  sought  the  Beaubien,  ostensibly  in  re 
gard  to  Carmen's  forthcoming  'debut;  and  then,  very  adroitly 
and  off-handedly,  she  brought  up  the  subject  of  investments, 
alleging  that  the  added  burden  of  the  young  girl  now  rendered 
it  necessary  to  increase  the  rate  of  interest  which  her  securi 
ties  were  yielding. 

The  Beaubien  proved  herself  the  soul  of  candor  and  gen 
erosity.  Not  only  did  she  point  out  to  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
how  her  modest  income  might  be  quadrupled,  but  she  even 
offered,  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  utterly  impossible  for  that 
lady  to  take  offense,  to  lend  her  whatever  amount  she  might 
need,  at  any  time,  to  further  Carmen's  social  conquest.  And 
during  the  conversation  she  announced  that  she  herself  was 
acting  on  a  suggestion  dropped  by  the  great  financier,  Ames, 
and  was  buying  certain  stocks  now  being  offered  by  a  coming 
power  in  world  finance,  Mr.  Philip  O.  Ketchim. 

Why,  to  be  sure,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  heard  of  this 
man!  Was  he  not  promoting  a  company  in  which  her  sister's 
husband,  and  the  girl  herself,  were  interested?  And  if  such 
investments  were  good  enough  for  a  magnate  of  Ames's  stand 
ing,  they  certainly  were  good  enough  for  her.  She  would  see 
Mr.  Ketchim  at  once.  Indeed,  why  had  she  not  thought  of 
this  before !  She  would  get  Carmen  to  hypothecate  her  own 
interest  in  this  new  company,  if  necessary.  That  interest  of 
itself  was  worth  a  fortune. 

Quite  true.  And  if  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  Carmen  so 
desired,  the  Beaubien  would  advance  them  whatever  they  might 
need  on  that  security  alone.  Or,  she  would  take  the  personal 
notes  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles — "For,  you  know,  my  dear," 
she  said  sweetly,  "when  your  father  passes  away  you  are  going 
to  be  very  well  off,  indeed,  and  I  can  afford  to  discount  that 
inevitable  event  somewhat,  can  I  not?"  And  she  not  only  could, 
but  did. 

Then  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  soared  into  the  empyrean,  and 

120 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


this  self-absorbed  woman,  who  never  in  her  life  had  earned 
the  equivalent  of  a  single  day's  food,  launched  the  sweet,  white- 
souled  girl  of  the  tropics  upon  the  oozy  waters  of  New  York 
society  with  such  eclat  that  the  Sunday  newspapers  devoted 
a  whole  page,  profusely  illustrated,  to  the  gorgeous  event  and 
dilated  with  much  extravagance  of  expression  upon  the  charms 
of  the  little  Inca  princess,  and  upon  the  very  important  and 
gratifying  fact  that  the  three  hundred  fashionable  guests  pres 
ent  displayed  jewels  to  the  value  of  not  less  than  ten  million 
dollars. 

The  function  took  the  form  of  a  musicale,  in  which  Car 
men's  rich  voice  was  first  made  known  to  the  beau  monde. 
The  girl  instantly  swept  her  auditors  from  their  feet.  The 
splendid  pipe-organ,  which  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  hurriedly 
installed  for  the  occasion,  became  a  thing  inspired  under  her 
deft  touch.  It  seemed  in  that  garish  display  of  worldliness  to 
voice  her  soul's  purity,  its  wonder,  its  astonishment,  its  la 
ment  over  the  vacuities  of  this  highest  type  of  human  society, 
its  ominous  threats  of  thundered  denunciation  on  the  day  when 
her  tongue  should  be  loosed  and  the  present  mesmeric  spell 
broken— for  she  was  under  a  spell,  even  that  of  this  new  world 
of  tinsel  and  material  veneer. 

The  decrepit  old  Mrs.  Gannette  wept  on  Carmen's  shoulder, 
and  went  home  vowing  that  she  would  be  a  better  woman  and 
cut  out  her  night-cap  of  Scotch-and-soda.  Others  crowded 
about  the  girl  and  showered  their  fulsome  praise  upon  her. 
But  not  so  Mrs.  Ames  and  her  daughter  Kathleen.  They  stared 
at  the  lovely  debutante  with  wonder  and  chagrin  written  legi 
bly  upon  their  bepowdered  visages.  And  before  the  close  of 
the  function  Kathleen  had  become  so  angrily  jealous  that  she 
was  grossly  rude  to  Carmen  when  she  bade  her  good  night. 
For  her  own  feeble  light  had  been  drowned  in  the  powerful 
radiance  of  the  girl  from  Simiti.  And  from  that  moment  the 
assassination  of  the  character  of  the  little  Inca  princess  was 
decreed. 

But,  what  with  incessant  striving  to  adapt  herself  to  her 
environment,  that  she  might  search  its  farthest  nook  and  angle; 
what  with  ceaseless  efforts  to  check  her  almost  momentary 
impulse  to  cry  out  against  the  vulgar  display  of  modernity  and 
the  vicious  inequity  of  privilege  which  she  saw  on  every  hand; 
what  with  her  purity  of  thought;  her  rare  ideals  and  selfless 
motives;  her  boundless  love  for  humanity;  and  her  passionate 
desire  to  so  live  her  "message"  that  all  the  world  might  see 
and  light  their  lamps  at  the  torch  of  her  burning  love  for  God 
and  her  fellow-men,  Carmen  found  her  days  a  paradox,  in  that 
they  were  literally  full  of  emptiness.  After  her  dtbut,  event 

121 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


followed  event  in  the  social  life  of  the  now  thoroughly  gay 
metropolis,  and  the  poor  child  found  herself  hustled  home 
from  one  function,  only  to  change  her  attire  and  hurry  again, 
weary  of  spirit,  into  the  waiting  car,  to  be  whisked  off  to  an 
other  equally  vapid.  It  seemed  to  the  bewildered  girl  that  she 
would  never  learn  what  was  de  rigue.ur;  what  conventions 
must  be  observed  at  one  social  event,  but  amended  at  another. 
Her  tight  gowns  and  limb-hampering  skirts  typified  the  soul- 
limitation  of  her  tinsel  environment;  her  high-heeled  shoes 
were  exquisite  torture;  and  her  corsets,  which  her  French 
maid  drew  until  the  poor  girl  gasped  for  air,  seemed  to  her 
the  cruellest  device  ever  fashioned  by  the  vacuous,  enslaved 
human  mind.  Frequently  she  changed  her  clothing  completely 
three  and  four  times  a  day  to  meet  her  social  demands.  Night 
became  day;  and  she  had  to  learn  to  sleep  until  noon.  She 
found  no  time  for  study;  none  even  for  reading.  And  conversa 
tion,  such  as  was  indulged  under  the  Hawley-Crowles  roof, 
was  confined  to  insipid  society  happenings,  with  frequent 
sprinklings  of  racy  items  anent  divorce,  scandal,  murder,  or 
the  debauch  of  manhood.  From  this  she  drew  more  and  more 
aloof  and  became  daily  quieter. 

It  was  seldom,  too,  that  she  could  escape  from  the  jaded 
circle  of  society  revelers  long  enough  to  spend  a  quiet  hour 
with  the  Beaubien.  But  when  she  could,  she  would  open  the 
reservoirs  of  her  soul  and  give  full  vent  to  her  pent-up  emo 
tions.  "Oh,"  she  would  often  exclaim,  as  she  sat  at  the  feet 
of  the  Beaubien  in  the  quiet  of  the  darkened  music  room,  and 
gazed  into  the  crackling  fire,  "how  can  they — how  can  they!" 

Then  the  Beaubien  would  pat  her  soft,  glowing  cheek  and 
murmur,  "Wait,  dearie,  wait."  And  the  tired  girl  would  sigh 
and  close  her  eyes  and  dream  of  the  quiet  of  little  Simiti  and 
of  the  dear  ones  there  from  whom  she  now  heard  no  word, 
and  yet  whom  she  might  not  seek,  because  of  the  war  which 
raged  about  her  lowly  birthplace. 

The  gay  season  was  hardly  a  month  advanced  when  Mrs. 
Ames  angrily  admitted  to  herself  that  her  own  crown  was  in 
gravest  danger.  The  South  American  girl — and  because  of  her, 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her  blase  sister — had  completely 
captured  New  York's  conspicuous  circle.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
apparently  did  not  lack  for  funds,  but  entertained  with  a  dis 
play  of  reckless  disregard  for  expense,  and  a  carelessness  of 
critical  comment,  that  stirred  the  city  to  its  depths  and  aroused 
expressions  of  wonder  and  admiration  on  every  hand.  The 
newspapers  were  full  of  her  and  her  charming  ward.  Surely, 
if  the  girl's  social  prestige  continued  to  soar,  the  Ames  family 
soon  would  be  relegated  to  the  social  "has-beens."  And  Mrs. 

122 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Ames   and  her  haughty  daughter  held   many   a   serious   con 
ference  over  their  dubious  prospects. 

Ames  himself  chuckled.  Night  after  night,  when  the  Beau- 
bien's  dinner  guests  had  dispersed,  he  would  linger  to  discuss 
the  social  war  now  in  full  progress,  and  to  exchange  with  her 
witty  comments  on  the  successes  of  the  combatants.  One  night 
he  announced,  "Lafelle  is  in  England;  and  when  he  returns  he 
is  coming  by  way  of  the  West  Indies.  I  shall  cable  him  to 
stop  for  a  week  at  Cartagena,  to  see  Wenceslas  on  a  little  mat 
ter  of  business  for  me." 

The  Beaubien  smiled  her  comprehension.  "Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  has  become  nicely  enmeshed  in  his  net,"  she  returned. 
"The  altar  to  friend  Jim  is  a  beauty.  Also,  I  hear  that  she  is 
going  to  finance  Ketchim's  mining  company  in  Colombia." 

"Fine!"  said  Ames.  "I  learned  to-day  that  Ketchim's  engi 
neer,  Harris,  has  returned  to  the  States.  Couldn't  get  up  tho 
Magdalena  river,  on  account  of  the  fighting.  There  will  be 
nothing  doing  there  for  a  year  yet." 

"Just  as  well,"  commented  the  Beaubien.  Then  abruptly 
— "By  the  way,  I  now  hold  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles's  notes  to  the 
amount  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  I  want 
you  to  buy  them  from  me  and  be  ready  to  turn  the  screws 
when  I  tell  you." 

Ames  roared  with  laughter.  "Shrewd  girl!"  he  exclaimed, 
pinching  her  cheek.  "All  right.  I'll  take  them  off  your  hands 
to-morrow.  And  by  the  way,  I  must  meet  this  Carmen." 

"You  let  her  alone,"  said  the  Beaubien  quickly  in  a  low 
voice. 

Ames  wondered  vaguely  what  she  meant. 

****** 

The  inauguration  of  the  Grand  Opera  season  opened  to 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  another  avenue  for  her  astonishing  social 
activities.  With  rare  shrewdness  she  had  contrived  to  outwit 
Mrs.  Ames  and  secure  the  center  box  in  the  "golden  horse 
shoe"  at  the  Metropolitan.  There,  like  a  gaudy  garden  spider 
in  its  glittering  web,  she  sat  on  the  opening  night,  with  her 
rapt  protegee  at  her  side,  and  sent  her  insolent  challenge  broad 
cast.  Multimillionaires  and  their  haughty,  full-toileted  dames 
were  ranged  on  either  side  of  her,  brewers  and  packers,  dis 
tillers  and  patent  medicine  concoctors,  railroad  magnates  and 
Board  of  Trade  plungers,  some  under  indictment,  others  under 
the  shadow  of  death,  all  under  the  mesmeric  charm  of  gold. 
In  the  box  at  her  left  sat  the  Ames  family,  with  their  newly 
arrived  guests,  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Altern  and  her  son. 
Though  inwardly  boiling,  Mrs.  Ames  was  smiling  and  affable 
when  she  exchanged  calls  with  the  gorgeous  occupants  of  the 
Hawley-Crowles  box. 

123 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"So  chawmed  to  meet  you,"  murmured  the  heir  of  Altern, 
a  callow  youth  of  twenty-three,  bowing  over  the  dainty,  gloved 
hand  of  Carmen.  Then,  as  he  adjusted  his  monocle  and  fixed 
his  jaded  eyes  upon  the  fresh  young  girl,  "Bah  Jove!" 

The  gigantic  form  of  Ames  wedged  in  between  the  young 
man  and  Carmen.  "I've  heard  a  lot  about  you,"  he  said  genial 
ly,  in  a  heavy  voice  that  harmonized  well  with  his  huge  frame; 
"but  we  haven't  had  an  opportunitv  to  get  acquainted  until  to 
night." 

For  some  moments  he  stood  holding  her  hand  and  looking 
steadily  at  her.  The  girl  gazed  up  at  him  writh  her  trustful 
brown  eyes  alight,  and  a  smile  playing  about  her  mouth. 
"My,  but  you  are  big!"  she  naively  exclaimed. 

While  she  chatted  brightly  Ames  held  her  hand  and  laughed 
at  her  frank,  often  witty,  remarks.  But  then  a  curious,  eager 
look  came  into  his  face,  and  he  became  quiet  and  reflective. 
He  seemed  unable  to  take  his  eyes  from  her.  And  when  the 
girl  gently  drew  her  hand  from  his  he  laughed  again,  nervously. 

"I — I  know  something  about  Colombia,"  he  said,  "and  speak 
the  language  a  bit.  We'll  have  to  get  together  often,  so's  I 
can  brush  up." 

Then,  apparently  noticing  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her 
sister  for  the  first  time — "Oh,  so  glad  to  see  you  both!  Camor- 
so's  in  fine  voice  to-night,  eh?" 

He  wheeled  about  and  stood  again  looking  at  Carmen,  until 
she  blushed  under  his  close  gaze  and  turned  her  head  away. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  box.  But  throughout  the  evening, 
whenever  the  girl  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  Ames  family, 
she  met  the  steady,  piercing  gaze  of  the  man's  keen  gray  eyes. 
And  they  seemed  to  her  like  sharp  steel  points,  cutting  into 
the  portals  of  her  soul. 

Night  after  night  during  the  long  season  Carmen  sat  in  the 
box  and  studied  the  operas  that  were  produced  on  the  boards 
before  her  wondering  gaze.  Always  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was 
with  her.  And  generally,  too,  the  young  heir  of  Altern  was 
there,  occupying  the  chair  next  to  the  girl — which  was  quite  as 
the  solicitous  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  planned. 

"Awr — deucedly  fine  show  to-night,  Miss  Carmen,"  the  youth 
ventured  one  evening,  as  he  took  his  accustomed  place  close  to 
her. 

"The  music  is  always  beautiful,"  the  girl  responded.  "But 
the  play,  like  most  of  Grand  Opera,  is  drawn  from  the  darkest 
side  of  human  life.  It  is  a  sordid  picture  of  licentiousness  and 
cruelty.  Only  for  its  setting  in  wonderful  music,  Grand  Opera 
is  generally  such  a  depiction  of  sex-passion,  of  lust  and  mur 
der,  that  it  would  not  be  permitted  on  the  stage.  A  few  years 

124 


C  ARM  EN     ARIZ  A 


from  now  people  will  be  horrified  to  remember  that  the  pre 
ceding  generation  reveled  in  such  blood  scenes — just  as  we 
now  speak  with  horror  of  the  gladiatorial  contests  in  ancient 
Rome." 

The  young  man  regarded  her  uncertainly.  "But — aw — Miss 
Carmen,"  he  hazarded,  "we  must  be  true  to  life,  you  know!" 
Having  delivered  himself  of  this  oracular  statement,  the  youth 
adjusted  his  monocle  and  settled  back  as  if  he  had  given  final 
ity  to  a  weighty  argument. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  pityingly.  "You  voice  the  cant  of 
the  modern  writer,  'true  to  life.'  True  to  the  horrible,  human 
sense  of  life,  that  looks  no  higher  than  the  lust  of  blood,  and 
is  satisfied  with  it,  I  admit.  True  to  the  unreal,  temporal 
sense  of  existence,  that  is  here  to-day,  and  to-morrow  has  gone 
out  in  the  agony  of  self-imposed  suffering  and  death.  True 
to  that  awful,  false  sense  of  life  which  we  must  put  off  if  we 
would  ever  rise  into  the  consciousness  of  real  life,  I  grant  you. 
But  the  production  of  these  horrors  on  the  stage,  even  in  a 
framework  of  marvelous  music,  serves  only  to  hold  before  us 
the  awful  models  from  which  we  must  turn  if  we  would  hew 
out  a  better  existence.  Are  you  the  better  for  seeing  an  exhibi 
tion  of  wanton  murder  on  the  stage,  even  though  the  partici 
pants  wondrously  sing  their  words  of  vengeance  and  passion?" 

"But — aw — they  serve  as  warnings;  they  show  us  the  things 
we  ought  not  to  do,  don't  you  know." 

She  smiled.  "The  sculptor  who  would  chisel  a  beautiful 
form,  does  he  set  before  him  the  misshapen  body  of  a  hunch 
back,  in  order  that  he  may-  see  what  not  to  carve?"  she  asked. 
"And  we  who  would  transform  the  human  sense  of  life  into  one 
of  freedom  from  evil,  can  we  build  a  perfect  structure  with 
such  grewsome  models  as  this  before  us?  You  don't  see  it 
now,"  she  sighed;  "you  are  in  the  world,  and  of  it;  and  the 
world  is  deeply  under  the  mesmeric  belief  of  evil  as  a  stern 
reality.  But  the  day  is  coming  when  our  musicians  and  au 
thors  will  turn  from  such  base  material  as  this  to  nobler  themes 
—themes  which  will  excite  our  wonder  and  admiration,  and 
stimulate  the  desire  for  purity  of  thought  and  deed — themes 
that  will  be  beacon  lights,  and  true  guides.  You  don't  under 
stand.  But  you  will,  some  day." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  frowned  heavily  as  she  listened  to 
this  conversation,  and  she  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  Carmen, 
sensing  the  futility  of  any  attempt  to  impress  her  thought  upon 
the  young  man,  turned  to  topics  which  he  could  discuss  with 
some  degree  of  intelligence. 

Late  in  the  evening  Ames  dropped  in  and  came  directly  to 
the  Hawley-Crowles  box.  He  brought  a  huge  box  of  imported 

42  125 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


candy  and  a  gorgeous  bouquet  of  orchids,  which  he  presented 
to  Carmen.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  beamed  upon  him  like  the 
effulgent  midday  sun. 

"Kathleen  wants  you,  Reggy,"  Ames  abruptly  announced  to 
the  young  man,  whose  lips  were  molding  into  a  pout.  "Little 
gathering  up  at  the  house.  Take  my  car."  His  huge  bulk 
loomed  over  the  younger  man  like  a  mountain  as  he  took  him 
by  the  shoulders  and  turned  him  toward  the  exit. 

"But  I  wish  to  see  the  opera!"  protested  the  youth,  with 
a  vain  show  of  resistance. 

Ames  said  nothing;  but  his  domineering  personality  forced 
the  boy  out  of  the  box  and  into  the  corridor. 

"But— Uncle  Wilton—!" 

Ames  laughed  curtly.  Then  he  took  the  seat  which  his 
evicted  nephew  had  vacated,  and  bent  over  Carmen.  With  a 
final  hopeless  survey  of  the  situation,  Reginald  turned  and  de 
scended  to  the  cloak  room,  muttering  dire  but  futile  threats 
against  his  irresistible  relative. 

"Now,  little  girl!"  Ames's  manner  unconsciously  assumed 
an  air  of  patronage.  "This  is  the  first  real  opportunity  I've 
had  to  talk  with  you.  Tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of  New 
York?" 

Carmen  smiled  up  at  him.  "Well,"  she  began  uncertainly, 
"since  I  have  thawed  out,  or  perhaps  have  become  more  ac 
customed  to  the  cold,  I  have  begun  to  make  mental  notes.  Al 
ready  I  have  thousands  of  them.  But  they  are  not  yet  classi 
fied,  and  so  I  can  hardly  answer  your  question,  Mr.  Ames.  But 
I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  for  the  first  few  months 
I  was  here  I  was  too  cold  to  even  think!" 

Ames  laughed.  "Yes,"  he  agreed,  "the  change  from  the 
tropics  was  somewhat  abrupt.  But,  aside  from  the  climate?" 

"It  is  like  awaking  from  a  deep  sleep,"  answered  Carmen 
meditatively.  "In  Simiti  we  dream  our  lives  away.  In  New 
York  all  is  action;  loud  wrords;  harsh  commands;  hurry;  rush; 
endeavor,  terrible,  materialistic  endeavor!  Every  person  I  see 
seems  to  be  going  somewrhere.  He  may  not  know  where  he  is 
going — but  he  is  on  the  way.  He  may  not  know  why  he  is 
going — but  he  must  not  be  stopped.  He  has  so  few  years  to 
live;  and  he  must  pile  up  money  before  he  goes.  He  must  own 
an  automobile;  he  must  do  certain  things  which  his  more  fortu 
nate  neighbor  does,  before  his  little  flame  of  life  goes  out  and 
darkness  falls  upon  him.  I  sometimes  think  that  people  here 
are  trying  to  get  away  from  themselves,  but  they  don't  know 
it.  I  think  they  come  to  the  opera  because  they  crave  any  sort 
of  diversion  that  will  make  them  forget  themselves  for  a  few 
moments,  don't  you?" 

126 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"H'm!  well,  I  can't  say,"  was  Ames's  meaningless  reply,  as 
he  sat  regarding  the  girl  curiously. 

"And,"  she  continued,  as  if  pleased  to  have  an  auditor  who 
at  least  pretended  to  understand  her,  "the  thing  that  now 
strikes  me  most  forcibly  is  the  great  confusion  that  prevails 
here  in  everything,  in  your  government,  in  your  laws,  in  your 
business,  in  your  society,  and,  in  particular,  in  your  religion. 
Why,  in  that  you  have  hundreds  of  sects  claiming  a  monopoly 
of  truth;  you  have  hundreds  of  churches,  hundreds  of  religious 
or  theological  beliefs,  hundreds  of  differing  concepts  of  God — 
but  you  get  nowhere!  Why,  it  has  come  to  such  a  pass  that, 
if  Jesus  were  to  appear  physically  on  earth  to-day,  I  am  sure 
he  would  be  evicted  from  his  own  Church!" 

"Well,  yes,  I  guess  that's  so,"  commented  Ames,  quite  at 
sea  in  such  conversation.  "But  we  solid  business  men  have 
found  that  religious  emotion  never  gets  a  man  anywhere.  It's 
weakening.  Makes  a  man  effeminate,  and  utterly  unfits  him 
for  business.  I  wouldn't  have  a  man  in  my  employ  who  was  a 
religious  enthusiast." 

"But  Jesus  was  a  religious  enthusiast,"  she  protested. 

"I  doubt  if  there  ever  was  such  a  person,"  he  answered 
dryly. 

"Why,  the  Bible—" 

"Is  the  most  unfortunate  and  most  misunderstood  piece  of 
literature  ever  written,"  he  interrupted.  "And  the  Church, 
well,  I  regard  it  as  the  greatest  fraud  ever  perpetrated  upon  the 
human  race." 

"You  mean  that  to  apply  to  every  church?" 

"It  fits  them  all." 

She  studied  his  face  for  a  few  moments.  He  returned  her 
glance  as  steadily.  But  their  thoughts  were  running  in  widely 
divergent  channels.  The  conversational  topic  of  the  moment 
had  no  interest  whatsoever  for  the  man.  But  this  brilliant, 
sparkling  girl — there  was  something  in  those  dark  eyes,  that 
soft  voice,  that  brown  hair — by  what  anomaly  did  this  beauti 
ful  creature  come  out  of  desolate,  mediaeval  Simiti? 

"Mr.  Ames,  you  do  not  know  what  religion  is." 

"No?    Well,  and  what  is  it?" 

"It  is  that  which  binds  us  to  God." 

"And  that?" 

"Love." 

No,  he  knew  not  the  meaning  of  the  word.  Or — wait — did 
he?  His  thought  broke  restraint  and  flew  wildly  back — but  he 
caught  it,  and  rudely  forced  it  into  its  wonted  channel.  But, 
did  he  love  his  fellow-men?  Certainly  not!  What  would  that 
profit  him  in  dollars  and  cents?  Did  he  love  his  wife?  his 

127 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


children?  The  thought  brought  a  cynical  laugh  to  his  lips. 
Carmen  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly.  "You  will  have  to, 
you  know,"  she  said  quixotically. 

Then  she  reached  out  a  hand  and  laid  it  on  his.  He  looked 
down  at  it,  so  soft,  so  white,  so  small,  and  he  contrasted  it 
with  the  huge,  hairy  bulk  of  his  own.  This  little  girl  was 
drawing  him.  He  felt  it,  felt  himself  yielding.  He  was  be 
ginning  to  look  beyond  the  beautiful  features,  the  rare  grace 
and  charm  of  physical  personality,  which  had  at  first  attracted 
only  the  baser  qualities  of  his  nature,  and  was  seeing  glimpses 
of  a  spiritual  something  which  lay  back  of  all  that — infinitely 
more  beautiful,  unspeakably  richer,  divine,  sacred,  untouch 
able. 

"Of  course  you  will  attend  the  Charity  Ball,  Mr.  Ames?" 
The  thin  voice  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  jarred  upon  his  ear 
like  a  shrill  discord.  Ames  turned  savagely  upon  her.  Then 
he  quickly  found  himself  again. 

"No,"  he  laughed  harshly.  "But  I  shall  be  represented  by 
my  family.  And  you?"  He  looked  at  Carmen. 

"Most  assuredly,"  returned  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  taking 
the  query  to  herself.  "That  is,  if  my  French  dressmaker  does 
not  fail  me.  She  is  dreadfully  exasperating!  What  will  Mrs. 
Ames  wrear,  do  you  think?"  She  arched  her  brows  at  him  as 
she  propounded  this  innocent  question. 

Ames  chuckled.  "I'll  tell  you  \vhat  it  is  this  year,"  he 
sagely  replied.  "It's  diamonds  in  the  heels!"  He  gave  a 
sententious  nod  of  his  head.  "I  overheard  Kathleen  and  her 
mother  discussing  plans.  And — do  you  want  to  know  next 
season's  innovation?  By  George!  I'm  a  regular  spy."  He 
stopped  and  laughed  heartily  at  his  own  treasonable  deceit. 

"Yes!  yes!"  whispered  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  eagerly,  as  she 
drew  her  chair  closer.  "What  is  it?" 

"One  condition,"  replied  Ames,  holding  up  a  thick  finger. 

"Of  course!     Anything!"  returned  the  grasping  woman. 

"Well,  I  want  to  get  better  acquainted  with  your  charming 
ward,"  he  whispered. 

"Of  course;  and  I  want  you  to  know  her  better.  That  can 
be  arranged  very  easily.  Now  what's  the  innovation?" 

"Colored  wigs,"  said  Ames,  with  a  knowing  look. 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  settled  back  with  a  smile  of  supreme 
satisfaction.  She  would  boldly  anticipate  next  season  at  the 
coming  Charity  Ball.  Then,  leaning  over  toward  Ames,  she 
laid  her  fan  upon  his  arm.  "Can't  you  manage  to  come  and  see 
us  some  time,  my  sister  and  Carmen?  Any  time,"  she  added. 
"Just  call  me  up  a  little  in  advance." 

The  blare  of  trumpets  and  the  crash  of  drums  drew  their 

128 


attention  again  to  the  stage.  Ames  rose  and  bowed  his  de 
parture.  A  business  associate  in  a  distant  box  had  beckoned 
him.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  dismissed  him  reluctantly;  then 
turned  her  wandering  attention  to  the  play. 

But  Carmen  sat  shrouded  in  thoughts  that  were  not  stimu 
lated  by  the  puppet-show  before  her.  The  tenor  shrieked  out 
his  tender  passion,  and  the  tubby  soprano  sank  into  his  inade 
quate  arms  with  languishing  sighs.  Carmen  heeded  not  their 
stage  amours.  She  saw  in  the  glare  before  her  the  care-lined 
face  of  the  priest  of  Simiti;  she  saw  the  grim  features  and 
set  jaw  of  her  beloved,  black-faced  Rosendo,  as  he  led  her 
through  the  dripping  jungle;  she  saw  Anita's  blind,  helpless 
babe;  she  saw  the  little  newsboy  of  Cartagena;  and  her  heart 
welled  with  a  great  love  for  them  all;  and  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  wept  softly. 


CHAPTER  15 

"TTTAIT,  my  little  princess,  wait,"  the  Beaubien  had  said, 

V  V     when  Carmen,  her  eyes  flowing  and  her  lips  quivering, 

had  again  thrown  herself  into  that  strange  woman's 

arms  and  poured  out  her  heart's   surcease.     "It  will  not  be 

long  now.     I  think  I  see  the  clouds  forming." 

"I  want  to  go  back  to  Simiti,  to  Padre  Jose,  to  my  home," 
wailed  the  girl.  "I  don't  understand  the  ways  and  the  thoughts 
of  these  people.  They  don't  know  God — they  don't  know  what 
love  is — they  don't  know  anything  but  money,  and  clothes,  and 
sin,  and  death.  When  I  am  with  them  I  gasp,  I  choke—" 

"Yes,  dearest,  I  understand,"  murmured  the  woman  softly, 
as  she  stroked  the  brown  head  nestling  upon  her  shoulder. 
"It  is  social  asphyxia.  And  many  even  of  the  'four  hundred' 
are  suffering  from  the  same  disease;  but  they  would  die  rather 
than  admit  it.  Poor,  blind  fools!" 

To  no  one  could  the  attraction  which  had  drawn  Carmen 
and  the  Beaubien  together  seem  stranger,  more  inexplicable, 
than  to  that  lone  woman  herself.  Yet  it  existed,  irresistible. 
And  both  acknowledged  it,  nor  would  have  had  it  otherwise. 
To  Carmen,  the  Beaubien  was  a  sympathetic  confidante  and  a 
wise  counselor.  The  girl  knew  nothing  of  the  woman's  past 
or  present  life.  She  tried  to  see  in  her  only  the  reality  which 
she  sought  in  every  individual — the  reality  which  she  felt  that 
Jesus  must  have  seen  clearly  back  of  every  frail  mortal  con 
cept  of  humanity.  And  in  doing  this,  who  knows? — she  may 
have  transformed  the  sordid,  soiled  woman  of  the  world  into 

129 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


something  more  than  a  broken  semblance  of  the  image  of  God. 
To  the  Beaubien,  this  rare  child,  the  symbol  of  love,  of  purity, 
had  become  a  divine  talisman,  touching  a  dead  soul  into  a 
sense  of  life  before  unknown.  If  Carmen  leaned  upon  her,  she, 
on  the  other  hand,  bent  daily  closer  to  the  beautiful  girl; 
opened  her  slowly  warming  heart  daily  wider  to  her;  twined 
her  lonely  arms  daily  closer  about  the  radiant  creature  who 
had  come  so  unexpectedly  into  her  empty,  sinful  life. 

"But,  mother  dear" — the  Beaubien  had  long  since  begged 
Carmen  always  to  address  her  thus  when  they  were  sharing 
alone  these  hours  of  confidence — "they  will  not  listen  to  my 
message!  They  laugh  and  jest  about  real  things!" 

"True,  dearie.  And  yet  you  tell  me  that  the  Bible  says 
wise  men  laughed  at  the  great  teacher,  Jesus." 

"Oh,  yes!  And  his  message — oh,  mother  dearest,  his  mes 
sage  would  have  helped  them  so,  if  they  had  only  accepted  it! 
It  would  have  changed  their  lives,  healed  their  diseases,  and 
saved  them  from  death.  And  my  message" — her  lip  quivered 
— "my  message  is  only  his — it  is  the  message  of  love.  But 
they  won't  let  me  tell  it." 

"Then,  sweet,  live  it.    They  can  not  prevent  that,  can  they?" 

"I  do  live  it.  But — I  am  so  out  of  place  among  them.  They 
scoff  at  real  things.  They  mock  all  that  is  noble.  Their  talk 
is  so  coarse,  so  low  and  degraded.  They  have  no  culture. 
They  worship  money.  They  don't  know  what  miserable  fail 
ures  they  all  are.  And  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles — 

The  Beaubien's  jaw  set.  "The  social  cormorant!"  she  mut 
tered. 

" — she  will  not  let  me  speak  of  God  in  her  house.  She  told 
me  to  keep  my  views  to  myself  and  never  voice  them  to  her 
friends.  And  she  says  I  must  marry  either  a  millionaire  or  a 
foreign  noble." 

"Humph!  And  become  a  snobbish  expatriate!  Marry  a 
decadent  count,  and  then  shake  the  dust  of  this  democratic 
country  from  your  feet  forever!  Go  to  London  or  Paris  or 
Vienna,  and  wear  tiaras  and  coronets,  and  speak  of  disgrace 
ful,  boorish  America  in  hushed  whispers!  The  empty-headed 
fool!  She  forgets  that  the  tarnished  name  she  bears  was 
dragged  up  out  of  the  ruck  of  the  impecunious  by  me  when  I 
received  Jim  Crowles  into  my  house!  And  that  I  gave  him 
what  little  gloss  he  was  able  to  take  on!" 

"Mother  dear — I  would  leave  them — only,  they  need  love, 
oh,  so  much!" 

The  Beaubien  strained  her  to  her  bosom.  "They  need  you, 
dearie;  they  little  realize  how  they  need  you!  I,  myself,  did 
not  know  until  you  came  to  me.  There,  I  didn't  mean  to  let 

130 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


those  tears  get  away  from  me."  She  laughed  softly  as  Carmen 
looked  up  anxiously  into  her  face.  "Now  come,"  she  went  on 
brightly,  "we  must  plan  for  the  Charity  Ball." 

A  look  of  pain  swept  over  the  girl's  face.  The  Beaubien 
bent  and  kissed  her.  "Wait,  dearie,"  she  repeated.  "You  will 
not  leave  society  voluntarily.  Keep  your  light  burning.  They 
can  not  extinguish  it.  They  will  light  their  own  lamps  at 
yours — or  they  will  thrust  you  from  their  doors.  And  then," 
she  muttered,  as  her  teeth  snapped  together,  "you  will  come  to 
me." 

Close  on  the  heels  of  the  opera  season  followed  the  Charity 
Ball,  the  Horse  Show,  and  the  Fashion  Show  in  rapid  succes 
sion,  with  numberless  receptions,  formal  parties,  and  non 
descript  social  junketings  interspersed.  During  these  fleeting 
hours  of  splash  and  glitter  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  trod  the  air 
with  the  sang-froid  and  exhilaration  of  an  expert  aviator. 
Backed  by  the  Beaubien  millions,  and  with  the  wonderful 
South  American  girl  always  at  her  right  hand,  the  worldly 
ambitious  woman  swept  everything  before  her,  cut  a  social 
swath  far  wider  than  the  glowering  Mrs.  Ames  had  ever  at 
tempted,  and  marched  straight  to  the  goal  of  social  leadership, 
almost  without  interference.  She  had  apparently  achieved 
other  successes,  too,  of  the  first  importance.  She  had  secured 
the  assistance  of  Ames  himself  in  matters  pertaining  to  her 
finances;  and  the  Beaubien  was  actively  cooperating  with  her 
in  the  social  advancement  of  Carmen.  It  is  true,  she  gasped 
whenever  her  thought  wandered  to  her  notes  which  the  Beau 
bien  held,  notes  which  demanded  every  penny  of  her  principal 
as  collateral.  And  she  often  meditated  very  soberly  over  the 
large  sums  which  she  had  put  into  the  purchase  of  Simiti  stock, 
at  the  whispered  suggestions  of  Ames,  and  under  the  irre 
sistibly  pious  and  persuasive  eloquence  of  Philip  O.  Ketchim, 
now  president  of  that  flourishing  but  as  yet  non-productive 
company.  But  then,  one  day,  an  idea  occurred  to  her,  and  she 
forthwith  summoned  Carmen  into  the  library. 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  she  said,  after  expounding  to  the  girl 
certain  of  her  thoughts  anent  the  famous  mine,  "I  do  not  want 
Mr.  Ketchim  to  have  any  claim  upon  you  for  the  expense  which 
he  incurred  on  account  of  your  six  months  in  the  Elwin  school. 
That  thought,  as  well  as  others  relating  to  your  complete  pro 
tection,  makes  it  seem  advisable  that  you  transfer  to  me  your 
share  in  the  mine,  or  in  the  Simiti  company.  See,  I  give  you  a 
receipt  for  the  same,  showing  that  you  have  done  this  as  part 
payment  for  the  great  expense  to  which  I  have  been  put  in 
introducing  you  to  society  and  in  providing  for  your  wants 
here.  It  is  merely  formal,  of  course.  And  it  keeps  your  share 

131 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


still  in  our  family,  of  which  you  are  and  always  will  be  a 
member;  but  yet  removes  all  liability  from  you.  Of  course, 
you  know  nothing  about  business  matters,  and  so  you  must 
trust  me  implicitly.  Which  I  am  sure  you  do,  in  view  of 
what  I  have  done  for  you,  don't  you,  dear?" 

Of  course  Carmen  did;  and  of  course  she  unhesitatingly 
transferred  her  claim  on  La  Libertad  to  the  worthy  Mrs.  Haw- 
ley-Crowles.  Whereupon  the  good  woman  tenderly  kissed  the 
innocent  child,  and  clasped  a  string  of  rich  pearls  about  the 
slender,  white  neck.  And  Carmen  later  told  the  Beaubien, 
who  said  nothing,  but  frowned  darkly  as  she  repeated  the 
tidings  over  her  private  wire  to  J.  Wilton  Ames.  But  that 
priest  of  finance  only  chuckled  and  exclaimed:  "Excellent, 
my  dear!  Couldn't  be  better!  By  the  way,  I  had  a  cable  from 
Lafelle  this  morning,  from  Cartagena.  Oh,  yes,  everything's 
all  right.  Good-bye."  But  the  Beaubien  hung  up  the  receiver 
with  a  presentiment  that  everything  was  far  from  right,  de 
spite  his  bland  assurance.  And  she  regretted  bitterly  now 
that  she  had  not  warned  Carmen  against  this  very  thing. 

The  Charity  Ball  that  season  was  doubtless  the  most  bril 
liant  function  of  its  kind  ever  held  among  a  people  who  deny 
the  impossible.  The  newspapers  had  long  vied  with  one  an 
other  in  their  advertisements  and  predictions;  they  afterward 
strove  mightily  to  outdo  themselves  in  their  vivid  descriptions 
of  the  gorgeous  fete.  The  decorative  effects  far  excelled  any 
thing  ever  attempted  in  the  name  of  "practical"  charity.  The 
display  of  gowns  had  never  before  been  even  closely  approxi 
mated.  The  scintillations  from  jewels  whose  value  mounted 
into  millions  was  like  the  continuous  flash  of  the  electric  spark. 
And  the  huge  assemblage  embraced  the  very  cream  of  the 
nobility,  the  aristocracy,  the  rich  and  exclusive  caste  of  a  great 
people  whose  Constitution  is  founded  on  the  equality  of  men, 
and  who  are  wont  to  gather  thus  annually  for  a  few  hours  to 
parade  their  material  vestments  and  divert  their  dispirited 
mentalities  under  the  guise  of  benefaction  to  a  class  for  whom 
they  rarely  hold  a  loving  thought. 

Again  the  subtle  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  planned  and 
executed  a  coup.  Mrs.  Ames  had  subscribed  the  munificent 
sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  to  charity  a  week  before 
the  ball.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  waited  for  this.  Then 
she  gloated  as  she  telephoned  to  the  various  newspaper  offices 
that  her  subscription  would  be  fifty  thousand.  Did  she  give 
a  new  note  to  the  Beaubien  for  this  amount?  That  she  did — 
and  she  obtained  the  money  on  the  condition  that  the  little 
Inca  princess  should  lead  the  grand  march.  Of  course,  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  knew  that  she  must  gracefully  yield  first  place 

132 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


to  the  South  American  girl;  and  yet  she  contrived  to  score  a 
triumph  in  apparent  defeat.  For,  stung  beyond  endurance, 
Mrs.  Ames  and  her  daughter  Kathleen  at  the  last  moment 
refused  to  attend  the  function,  alleging  fatigue  from  a  season 
unusually  exacting.  The  wily  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  pre 
viously  secured  the  languid  young  Duke  of  Altern  as  a  partner 
for  Carmen— and  then  was  most  agreeably  thwarted  by  Ames 
himself,  who,  learning  that  his  wife  and  daughter  would  not 
attend,  abruptly  announced  that  he  himself  would  lead  the 
march  with  Carmen. 

Why  not?  Was  it  not  quite  proper  that  the  city's  leading 
man  of  finance  should,  in  the  absence  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  with  their  full  and  gratuitous  permission — nay,  at  their 
urgent  request,  so  it  was  told — lead  with  this  fair  young  dam 
sel,  this  tropical  flower,  who,  as  rumor  had  it,  was  doubtless 
a  descendant  of  the  royal  dwellers  in  ancient  Cuzco? 

"Quite  proper,  0  tempora,  0  mores!"  murmured  one  Amos 
A.  Hitt,  erstwhile  Presbyterian  divine,  explorer,  and  gentleman 
of  leisure,  as  he  settled  back  in  his  armchair  in  the  fashionable 
Weltmore  apartments  and  exhaled  a  long  stream  of  tobacco 
smoke  through  his  wride  nostrils.  "And,  if  I  can  procure  a 
ticket,  I  shall  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  this  sacred 
spectacle,  produced  under  the  deceptive  mask  of  charity,"  he 
added. 

In  vain  the  Beaubien  labored  with  Ames  when  she  learned 
of  his  intention — though  she  said  nothing  to  Carmen.  Ames 
had  yielded  to  her  previously  expressed  wish  that  he  refrain 
from  calling  at  the  Hawley-Crowles  mansion,  or  attempting  to 
force  his  attentions  upon  the  young  girl.  But  in  this  matter 
he  remained  characteristically  obdurate.  And  thereby  a  little 
rift  was  started.  For  the  angry  Beaubien,  striving  to  shield 
the  innocent  girl,  had  vented  her  abundant  wrath  upon  the 
affable  Ames,  and  had  concluded  her  denunciation  with  a  hint 
of  possible  exposure  of  certain  dark  facts  of  which  she  was 
sole  custodian.  Ames  smiled,  bowed,  and  courteously  kissed 
her  hand,  as  he  left  her  stormy  presence;  but  he  did  not  yield. 
And  Carmen  went  to  the  Ball. 

Through  the  perfumed  air  and  the  garish  light  tore  the 
crashing  notes  of  the  great  band.  The  loud  hum  of  voices 
ceased,  and  all  eyes  turned  to  the  leaders  of  the  grand  march, 
as  they  stepped  forth  at  one  end  of  the  great  auditorium.  Then 
an  involuntary  murmur  arose  from  the  multitude — a  murmur 
of  admiration,  of  astonishment,  of  envy.  The  gigantic  form  of 
Ames  stood  like  a  towering  pillar,  the  embodiment  of  potential 
force,  the  epitome  of  human  power,  physical  and  mental.  His 
massive  shoulders  were  thrown  back  as  if  in  haughty  defiance 

133 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  comment,  critical  or  commendatory.  The  smile  which  flitted 
about  his  strong,  clean-shaven  face  bespoke  the  same  caution 
as  the  gentle  uplifting  of  a  tiger's  paw — behind  it  lay  all  that 
was  humanly  terrible,  cunning,  heartless,  and  yet,  in  a  sense, 
fascinating.  His  thick,  brown  hair,  scarcely  touched  with  gray, 
lay  about  his  great  head  like  a  lion's  mane.  He  raised  a  hand 
and  gently  pushed  it  back  over  the  lofty  brow.  Then  he  bent 
and  offered  an  arm  to  the  slender  wisp  of  a  girl  at  his  side. 

"Good  God!"  murmured  a  tall,  angular  man  in  the  crowd. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know,  Hitt,"  replied  the  friend  addressed.  "But 
they  say  she  belongs  to  the  Inca  race." 

The  graceful  girl  moving  by  the  side  of  her  giant  escort 
seemed  like  a  slender  ray  of  light,  a  radiant,  elfish  form,  trans 
parent,  intangible,  gliding  softly  along  with  a  huge,  black 
shadow.  She  was  simply  clad,  all  in  white.  About  her  neck 
hung  a  string  of  pearls,  and  at  her  waist  she  wore  the  rare 
orchids  which  Ames  had  sent  her  that  afternoon.  But  no  one 
saw  her  dress.  No  one  marked  the  pure  simplicity  of  her 
attire.  The  absence  of  sparkling  jewels  and  resplendent  rai 
ment  evoked  no  comment.  The  multitude  saw  but  her  won 
derful  face;  her  big  eyes,  uplifted  in  trustful  innocence  to  the 
massive  form  at  her  side;  her  rich  brown  hair,  which  glittered 
like  string-gold  in  the  strong  light  that  fell  in  torrents  upon  it. 

"Hitt,  she  isn't  human!     There's  a  nimbus  about  her  head!" 

"I  could  almost  believe  it,"  whispered  that  gentleman, 
straining  his  long  neck  as  she  passed  before  him.  "God!  has 
she  fallen  into  Ames's  net?" 

Immediately  behind  Carmen  and  Ames  strode  the  enrap 
tured  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  wrho  saw  not,  neither  heard,  and 
who  longed  for  no  further  taste  of  heaven  than  this  stupendous 
triumph  which  she  had  won  for  herself  and  the  girl.  Her 
heavy,  unshapely  form  was  squeezed  into  a  marvelous  cos 
tume  of  gold  brocade.  A  double  ballet  ruffle  of  stiff  white  tulle 
encircled  it  about  the  hips  as  a  drapery.  The  bodice  was  of 
heavy  gold  net.  A  pleated  band  of  pale  moire,  in  a  delicate 
shade  of  pink,  crossed  the  left  shoulder  and  was  caught  at  the 
waist  in  a  large  rose  bow,  ambassadorial  style.  A  double  neck 
lace  of  diamonds,  one  bearing  a  great  pendant  of  emeralds,  and 
the  other  an  alternation  of  emeralds  and  diamonds,  encircled 
her  short,  thick  neck.  A  diamond  coronet  fitted  well  around 
her  wonderful  amber-colored  wig — for,  true  to  her  determina 
tion,  she  had  anticipated  the  now  passee  Mrs.  Ames  and  had 
boldly  launched  the  innovation  of  colored  wigs  among  the 
smart  set.  An  ivory,  hand-painted  fan,  of  great  value,  dangled 
from  her  thick  wrist.  And,  as  she  lifted  her  skirts  to  an  un- 

134 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


necessary  height,  the  gaping  people  caught  the  glitter  of  a  row 
of  diamonds  in  each  high,  gilded  heel. 

At  her  side  the  young  Duke  of  Altern  shuffled,  his  long,  thin 
body  curved  like  a  kangaroo,  and  his  monocle  bent  super 
ciliously  upon  the  mass  of  common  clay  about  him.  "Aw, 
beastly  crush,  ye  know,"  he  murmured  from  time  to  time  to 
the  unhearing  dame  at  his  right.  And  then,  as  she  replied  not, 
he  fell  to  wondering  if  she  fully  realized  who  he  was. 

Around  and  across  the  great  hall  the  gorgeous  pageant 
swept.  The  big-mouthed  horns  bellowed  forth  their  noisy 
harmony.  In  the  distant  corridors  great  illuminated  fountains 
softly  plashed.  At  the  tables  beyond,  sedulous,  touting  waiters 
were  hurriedly  extracting  corks  from  frosted  bottle  necks. 
The  rare  porcelain  and  cut  glass  shone  and  glittered  in  rain 
bow  tints.  The  revelers  waxed  increasingly  merry  and  care 
free  as  they  lightly  discussed  poverty  over  rich  viands  and 
sparkling  Burgundy.  Still  further  beyond,  the  massive  oak 
doors,  with  their  leaded-glass  panes,  shut  out  the  dark  night 
and  the  bitter  blasts  of  winter.  And  they  shut  out,  too,  another, 
but  none  the  less  unreal,  externalization  of  the  mortal  thought 
which  has  found  expression  in  a  social  system  "too  wicked  for 
a  smile." 

"God,  no— I'd  get  arrested!     I  can't!" 

The  frail,  hungry  woman  who  stood  before  the  great  doors 
clutched  her  wretched  shawl  closer  about  her  thin  shoulders. 
Her  teeth  chattered  as  she  stood  shivering  in  the  chill  wind. 
Then  she  hurried  away. 

At  the  corner  of  the  building  the  cold  blast  almost  swept 
her  off  her  feet.  A  man,  dirty  and  unkempt,  who  had  been 
waiting  in  an  alley,  ran  out  and  seized  her. 

"I  say,  Jude,  ain't  ye  goin'  in?  Git  arrested — ye'd  spend  the 
night  in  a  warm  cell,  an'  that's  better'n  our  bunk,  ain't  it?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  French  Lucy's,"  the  woman  whispered 
hoarsely.  "I'm  dead  beat!" 

"Huh!  Ye've  lost  yer  looks,  Jude,  an'  oP  Lucy  ain't  a-goin' 
to  take  ye  in.  We  gotta  snipe  somepin  quick — or  starve! 
Look,  we'll  go  down  to  Mike's  place,  an'  then  come  back  here 
when  it's  out,  and  ye  kin  pinch  a  string,  or  somepin,  eh?  Gawd, 
it's  cold!" 

The  woman  glanced  back  at  the  lights.     For  a  moment  she 
stood  listening  to  the  music  from  within.     A  sob  shook  her, 
and  she  began  to  cough  violently.    The  man  took  her  arm,  not 
unkindly;  and  together  they  moved  away  into  the  night. 
****** 

"Well,  little  girl,  at  last  we  are  alone.  Now  we  can  ex 
change  confidences."  It  was  Ames  talking.  He  had,  late  in 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  evening,  secured  seats  well  hidden  behind  a  mass  of  palms, 
and  thither  had  led  Carmen.  "What  do  you  think  of  it  all? 
Quite  a  show,  eh?  Ever  see  anything  like  this  in  Simiti?" 

Carmen  looked  up  at  him.  She  thought  him  wonderfully 
handsome.  She  was  glad  to  get  a\vay  for  a  moment  from  the 
crowd,  from  the  confusion,  and  from  the  unwelcome  attentions 
of  the  now  thoroughly  smitten  young  Duke  of  Altern. 

"No,"  she  finally  made  answer,  "I  didn't  know  there  were 
such  things  in  the  world." 

Ames  laughed  pleasantly.  How  refreshing  was  this  ingenu 
ous  girl !  And  \vhat  a  discovery  for  him !  A  new  toy — one 
that  would  last  a  long  time.  But  he  must  be  careful  of  her. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  genially,  "I'll  wager  there's  millions  of 
dollars'  worth  of  jewelry  here  to-night." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Carmen.  "And  are  the  people  going  to  sell  it 
and  give  the  money  to  the  poor?" 

"Sell  it!     Ha!  ha!     Well,  I  should  say  not!" 

"But — this  is  a — a  charity — 

"Oh,  I  see.  Quite  so.  No,  it's  the  money  derived  from  the 
sale  of  tickets  that  goes  to  the  poor." 

"And  how  much  is  that?" 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea." 

"But — aren't  you  interested  in  the  poor?" 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  he  hastened  to  assure  her,  in  his 
easy  casual  tone. 

For  a  long  time  the  girl  sat  reflecting,  while  he  studied 
her,  speculating  eagerly  on  her  next  remark.  Then  it  came 
abruptly: 

"Mr.  Ames,  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  I  think 
you  people  by  your  charity,  such  as  this,  only  make  more  char 
ity  necessary.  Why  don't  you  do  away  with  poverty  alto 
gether?" 

"Do  away  with  it?  Well,  that's  quite  impossible,  you  know. 
'The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you',  eh?  You  see,  I  know  my 
Bible." 

She  threw  him  a  glance  of  astonishment.  He  was  mocking 
her!  She  was  deeply  serious,  for  charity  to  her  meant  love, 
and  love  was  all  in  all. 

"No,"  she  finally  replied,  shaking  her  head,  "you  do  not 
know  your  Bible.  It  is  the  poor  thought  that  you  have  always 
with  you,  the  thought  of  separation  from  good.  And  that 
thought  becomes  manifested  outwardly  in  what  is  called 
poverty." 

He  regarded  her  quizzically,  while  a  smile  played  about  his 
mouth. 

"Why  don't  you  get  at  the  very  root  of  the  trouble,  and  de- 

136 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


stroy  the  poverty-thought,  the  thought  that  there  can  be  any 
separation  from  God,  who  is  infinite  good?"  she  continued  ear 
nestly. 

"Well,  my  dear  girl,  as  for  me,  I  don't  know  anything  about 
God.  As  for  you,  well,  you  are  very  innocent  in  worldly  mat 
ters.  Poverty,  like  death,  is  inevitable,  you  know." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said  simply.  "Neither  is  inevita 
ble." 

"Well,  well,"  he  returned  brightly,  "that's  good  news!  Then 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  'the  survival  of  the  fittest,'  and  the 
weak  needn't  necessarily  sink,  eh?" 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "Do  you  consider,  Mr. 
Ames,  that  you  have  survived  as  one  of  the  fittest?" 

"H'm!     Well,  now — what  would  you  say  about  that?" 

"I  should  say  decidedly  no,"  was  the  blunt  reply. 

A  dark  shade  crossed  his  face,  and  he  bit  his  lip.  People 
did  not  generally  talk  thus  to  him.  And  yet — this  wisp  of  a 
girl!  Pshaw!  She  was  very  amusing.  And,  heavens  above! 
how  beautiful,  as  she  sat  there  beside  him,  her  head  erect,  and 
her  face  delicately  flushed.  He  reached  over  and  took  her  hand. 
Instantly  she  drew  it  away. 

"You  are  the  kind,"  she  went  on,  "who  give  money  to  the 
poor,  and  then  take  it  away  from  them  again.  All  the  money 
which  these  rich  people  here  to-night  are  giving  to  charity  has 
been  wrested  from  the  poor.  And  you  give  only  a  part  of  it 
back  to  them,  at  that.  This  Ball  is  just  a  show,  a  show  of 
dress  and  jewels.  Why,  it  only  sets  an  example  which  makes 
others  unhappy,  envious,  and  discontented.  Don't  you  see 
that?  You  ought  to." 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  he  said  in  a  patronizing  tone,  "don't 
you  think  you  are  assuming  a  great  deal?  I'm  sure  I'm  not 
half  so  bad  as  you  paint  me." 

Carmen  smiled.  "Well,  the  money  you  give  away  has  got 
to  come  from  some  source,  hasn't  it?  And  you  manipulate  the 
stock  market  and  put  through  wheat  corners  and  all  that,  and 
catch  the  poor  people  and  take  their  money  from  them!  Char 
ity  is  love.  But  your  idea  of  charity  makes  me  pity  you.  Up 
here  I  find  a  man  can  pile  up  hundreds  of  millions  by  stifling 
competition,  by  debauching  legislatures,  by  piracy  and  legalized 
theft,  and  then  give  a  tenth  of  it  to  found  a  university,  and  so 
atone  for  his  crimes.  That  is  called  charity.  Oh,  I  know  a  lot 
about  such  things!  I've  been  studying  and  thinking  a  great 
deal  since  I  came  to  the  United  States." 

"Have  you  come  with  a  mission?"  he  bantered.  And  there 
was  a  touch  of  aspersion  in  his  voice. 

"I've  come  with  a  message,"  she  replied  eagerly. 

137 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Well,"  he  said  sharply,  "let  me  warn  and  advise  you:  don't 
join  the  ranks  of  the  muck-rakers,  as  most  ambitious  reformers 
with  messages  do.  We've  plenty  of  'em  now.  I  can  tear  down 
as  easily  as  you  or  anybody  else.  But  to  build  something  better 
is  entirely  another  matter." 

"But,  Mr.  Ames,  I've  got  something  better!" 

"Yes?"  His  tone  spoke  incredulous  irony.  "Well,  what  is 
it,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"Love." 

"Love,  eh?  Well,  perhaps  that's  so,"  he  said,  bending  to 
ward  her  and  again  attempting  to  take  her  hand. 

"I  guess,"  she  said,  drawing  back  quickly,  "you  don't  know 
what  love  is,  do  you?" 

"No,"  he  whispered  softly.  "I  don't  really  believe  I  do.  Will 
you  teach  me?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  said  brightly.  "But  you'll  have  to 
live  it.  And  you'll  have  to  do  just  as  I  tell  you,"  holding  up  an 
admonitory  finger. 

"I'm  yours  to  command,  little  woman,"  he  returned  in  mock 
seriousness. 

"Well,"  she  began  very  softly,  "you  must  first  learn  that 
love  is  just  as  much  a  principle  as  the  Binomial  Theorem  in 
algebra.  Do  you  know  what  that  is?  And  you  must  apply  it 
just  as  you  would  apply  any  principle,  to  everything.  And,  oh, 
it  is  important!" 

"You  sweet  little  thing,"  he  murmured  absently,  gazing 
down  into  her  glowing  face.  "Who  taught  you  such  stuff? 
WThere  did  you  learn  it?  I  wonder — I  wonder  if  you  really  are 
a  daughter  of  the  Incas." 

She  leaned  back  and  laughed  heartily.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I 
am  a  princess.  Of  course!  Don't  I  look  like  one?" 

"You  look  like — I  wonder — pshaw!"  he  passed  his  hand 
across  his  eyes.  "Yes,  you  certainly  are  a  princess.  And — do 
you  know? — I  wish  I  might  be  your  prince." 

"Oh,  you  couldn't!  Padre  Jose  has  that  honor."  But  then 
her  bright  smile  faded,  and  she  looked  off  wistfully  down  the 
long  corridor. 

"Who  is  he?"  demanded  Ames  savagely.  "I'll  send  him  a 
challenge  to-night!" 

"No,"  she  murmured  gently,  "you  can't.  He's  way  down 
in  Simiti.  And,  oh,  he  was  so  good  to  me!  He  made  me  leave 
that  country  on  account  of  the  war." 

The  man  started  slightly.  This  innocent  girl  little  knew 
that  one  of  the  instigators  of  that  bloody  revolution  sat  there 
beside  her.  Then  a  new  thought  flashed  into  his  brain.  "What 
is  the  full  name  of  this  priest?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

138 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Jose — Jose  de  Rincon,"  she  whispered  reverently. 

Jose  de  Rincon — of  Simiti — whom  Wenceslas  had  made  the 
scapegoat  of  the  revolution!  Why,  yes,  that  was  the  man! 
And  who,  according  to  a  recent  report  from  Wenceslas,  had 
been  arrested  and — 

"A — a — where  did  you  say  this — this  Jose  was,  little  girl?" 
he  asked  gently. 

"In  Simiti,"  she  replied.     "He  is  working  out  his  problem." 

His  eyes  shifted  quickly  from  hers.  But  he  could  not  hold 
them  away. 

"His  problem?" 

"Yes.  You  know,  he  never  was  a  priest  at  heart.  But, 
though  he  saw  the  truth,  in  part,  he  was  not  able  to  prove  it 
enough  to  set  himself  free;  and  so  when  I  came  away  he  stayed 
behind  to  work  out  his  problem.  And  he  will  work  it  all  out," 
she  mused  abstractedly,  looking  off  into  the  distance;  "he  will 
work  it  all  out  and  come — to  me.  I  am — I  am  working  with 
him,  now — and  for  him.  And—  '  her  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper,  "I  love  him,  oh,  so  much!" 

Ames's  steely  eyes  narrowed.  His  mouth  opened;  then 
shut  again  with  a  sharp  snap.  That  beautiful  creature  now 
belonged  to  him,  and  to  none  other!  Were  there  other  claim 
ants,  he  would  crush  them  without  mercy!  As  for  this  apostate 
priest,  Jose — humph!  if  he  still  lived  he  should  rot  the  rest  of 
his  days  in  the  reeking  dungeons  of  San  Fernando! 

Carmen  looked  up.  "When  he  comes  to  me,"  she  said 
softly,  "we  are  going  to  give  ourselves  to  the  whole  world." 

Ames  appeared  not  to  hear. 

"And — perhaps — perhaps,  by  that  time,  you  will  be — be — " 

"Well?"  snapped  the  man,  irritated  by  the  return  of  her 
thought  to  himself. 

"Different,"  finished  the  girl  gently. 

"Humph!     Different,  eh?" 

"Yes.  Perhaps  by  that  time  you  will — you  will  love  every 
body,"  she  murmured.  "Perhaps  you  won't  go  on  piling  up 
big  mountains  of  money  that  you  can't  use,  and  that  you  won't 
let  anybody  else  use." 

Ames  frowned  upon  her.    "Yes?"  he  said  ironically. 

"You  will  know  then  that  Jesus  founded  his  great  empire  on 
love.  Your  empire,  you  know,  is  human  business.  But  you 
will  find  that  such  empires  crumble  and  fall.  And  yours  will, 
like  all  the  rest." 

"Say,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  full  upon  her  and  seeming  to 
bear  her  down  by  his  tremendous  personality,  "you  young  and 
inexperienced  reformers  might  learn  a  few  things,  too,  if  your 
prejudices  could  be  surmounted.  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you 

139 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


that  we  men  of  business  think  not  so  much  about  accumulat 
ing  money  as  about  achieving  success?  Do  you  suppose  you 
could  understand  that  money-making  is  but  a  side  issue  with 
us?" 

"Achieving  success!"  she  echoed,  looking  wonderingly  at 
him.  "Well — are  you — a  success?" 

He  started  to  reply.  Then  he  checked  himself.  A  flush 
stole  across  his  face.  Then  his  eyes  narrowed. 

"Yes,"  the  girl  went  on,  as  if  in  quiet  soliloquy,  "I  suppose 
you  are — a  tremendous  worldly  success.  And  this  Ball — it  is 
a  splendid  success,  too.  Thousands  of  dollars  will  be  raised  for 
the  poor.  And  then,  next  year,  the  same  thing  will  have  to  be 
done  again.  Your  charities  cost  you  hundreds  of  millions  every 
year  up  here.  And,  meantime,  you  rich  men  will  go  right  on 
making  more  money  at  the  expense  of  your  fellow-men — and 
you  will  give  a  little  of  it  to  the  poor  when  the  next  Charity 
Ball  comes  around.  It's  like  a  circle,  isn't  it?"  she  said,  smiling 
queerly  up  at  him.  "It  has  no  end,  you  know." 

Ames  had  now  decided  to  swallow  his  annoyance  and  meet 
the  girl  with  the  lance  of  frivolity.  "Yes,  I  guess  that's  so,"  he 
began.  "But  of  course  you  will  admit  that  the  world  is  slowly 
getting  better,  and  that  world-progress  must  of  necessity  be 
gradual.  We  can't  reform  all  in  a  minute,  can  we?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know  how  fast  you  might  re 
form  if  you  really,  sincerely  tried.  But  I  think  it  would  be 
very  fast.  And  if  you,  a  great,  big,  powerful  man,  with  the 
most  wonderful  opportunities  in  the  world,  should  really  try 
to  be  a  success,  why — well,  I'm  sure  you'd  make  very  rapid 
progress,  and  help  others  like  you  by  setting  such  a  great  ex 
ample.  For  you  are  a  wonderful  man — you  really  are." 

Ames  looked  at  her  long  and  quizzically.  What  did  the  girl 
mean?  Then  he  took  her  hand,  this  time  without  resistance. 

"Tell  me,  little  girl — although  I  know  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  it — are  you  a  success?" 

She  raised  her  luminous  eyes  to  his.  "Yes,"  she  replied 
simply. 

He  let  fall  her  hand  in  astonishment.  "Well!"  he  ejaculated, 
"would  you  mind  telling  me  just  why?" 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  and  her  sweet  trustfulness  drew  his 
sagging  heartstrings  suddenly  taut. 

"Because,"  she  said  simply,  "I  strive  every  moment  to  'ac 
quire  that  mind  which  was  in  Christ  Jesus.' ' 

Silence  fell  upon  them.  From  amusement  to  wonder,  to 
irritation,  to  anger,  then  to  astonishment,  and  a  final  approxi 
mation  to  something  akin  to  reverent  awe  had  been  the  swift 
course  of  the  man's  emotions  as  he  sat  in  this  secluded  nook 

140 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


beside  this  strange  girl.  The  poisoned  arrows  of  his  worldly 
thought  had  broken  one  by  one  against  the  shield  of  her  pro 
tecting  faith.  His  badinage  had  returned  to  confound  himself. 
The  desire  to  possess  had  utterly  fled  before  the  conviction  that 
such  thought  was  as  wildly  impossible  as  iniquitous. 

Then  he  suddenly  became  conscious  that  the  little  body  be 
side  him  had  drawn  closer — that  it  was  pressing  against  him — 
that  a  little  hand  had  stolen  gently  into  his — and  that  a  soft 
voice,  soft  as  the  summer  winds  that  sigh  among  the  roses,  was 
floating  to  his  ears. 

"To  be  really  great  is  to  be  like  that  wonderful  man,  Jesus. 
It  is  to  know  that  through  him  the  great  Christ-principle  worked 
and  did  those  things  which  the  world  will  not  accept,  because  it 
thinks  them  miracles.  It  is  to  know  that  God  is  love,  and  to 
act  that  knowledge.  It  is  to  know  that  love  is  the  Christ-princi 
ple,  and  that  it  will  destroy  every  error,  every  discord,  every 
thing  that  is  unlike  itself.  It  is  to  yield  your  present  false 
sense  of  happiness  and  good  to  the  true  sense  of  God  as  in 
finite  good.  It  is  to  bring  every  thought  into  captivity  to  this 
Christ-principle,  love.  It  is  to  stop  looking  at  evil  as  a  reality. 
It  is  to  let  go  your  hold  on  it,  and  let  it  fade  away  before  the 
wonderful  truth  that  God  is  everywhere,  and  that  there  isn't 
anything  apart  from  Him.  Won't  you  try  it?  You  will  have 
to,  some  day.  I  have  tried  it.  I  know  it's  true.  I've  proved  it." 

How  long  they  sat  in  the  quiet  that  followed,  neither  knew. 
Then  the  man  suffered  himself  to  be  led  silently  back  to  the 
ball  room  again.    And  when  he  had  recovered  and  restored  his 
worldly  self,  the  bright  little  image  was  no  longer  at  his  side. 
****** 

"Stand  here,  Jude,  an'  when  they  begins  to  come  out  to  their 
gasoline  carts  grab  anything  ye  can,  an'  git.  I'll  work  over  by 
the  door." 

The  shivering  woman  crept  closer  to  the  curb,  and  the  man 
slouched  back  against  the  wall  close  to  the  exit  from  which  the 
revelers  would  soon  emerge.  A  distant  clock  over  a  jeweler's 
window  chimed  the  hour  of  four.  A  moment  later  the  door 
opened,  and  a  lackey  came  out  and  loudly  called  the  number  of 
the  Hawley-Crowles  car.  That  ecstatically  happy  woman,  with 
Carmen  and  the  obsequious  young  Duke  of  Altern,  appeared 
behind  him  in  the  flood  of  light. 

As  the  big  car  drew  softly  up,  the  wretched  creature  whom 
the  man  had  called  Jude  darted  from  behind  it  and  plunged  full 
at  Carmen.  But  the  girl  had  seen  her  coming,  and  she  met  her 
with  outstretched  arm.  The  glare  from  the  open  door  fell  full 
upon  them. 

"Jude!" 

141 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"God!"  cried  the  woman.     "It's  the  little  kid!" 

She  turned  to  flee.  Carmen  held  her.  With  a  quick  move 
ment  the  girl  tore  the  string  of  pearls  from  her  neck  and  thrust 
it  into  Jude's  hand.  The  latter  turned  swiftly  and  darted  into 
the  blackness  of  the  street.  Then  Carmen  hurriedly  entered 
the  car,  followed  by  her  stupified  companions.  It  had  all  been 
done  in  a  moment  of  time. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  when  she  had 
recovered  her  composure  sufficiently  to  speak.  "What  does  this 
mean?  What  did  you  do?" 

But  Carmen  replied  not.  And  the  Duke  of  Altern  rubbed 
his  weak  eyes  and  tried  hard  to  think. 


CHAPTER  16 

BEFORE  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  sought  her  bed  that  morning 
the  east  was  red  with  the  winter  sun.     "The  loss  of  the 
pearls  is  bad  enough,"  she  exclaimed  in  conclusion,  glow 
ering  over  the  young  girl  who  sat  before  her,  "for  I  paid  a  good 
three  thousand  for  the  string!     But,  in  addition,  to  scandalize 
me  before  the  world — oh,  how  could  you?    And  this  unspeaka 
ble  Jude — and  that  awful  house — heavens,  girl!     Who  would 
believe  your  story  if  it  should  get  out?"    The  worried  woman's 
face  was  bathed  in  cold  perspiration. 

"But — she  saved  me  from — from  that  place,"  protested  the 
harassed  Carmen.  "She  was  poor  and  cold — I  could  see  that. 
Why  should  I  have  things  that  I  don't  need  when  others  are 
starving?" 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  shook  her  weary  head  in  despair.  Her 
sister,  Mrs.  Reed,  who  had  sat  fixing  the  girl  with  her  cold 
eyes  throughout  the  stormy  interview  following  their  return 
from  the  ball,  now  offered  a  suggestion.  "The  thing  to  do  is  to 
telephone  immediately  to  all  the  newspapers,  and  say  that  her 
beads  were  stolen  last  night." 

"But  they  weren't  stolen,"  asserted  the  girl.  "I  gave  them 
to  her— 

"Go  to  your  room!"  commanded  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  at 
the  limit  of  her  endurance.  "And  never,  under  any  circum 
stances,  speak  of  this  affair  to  any  one — never!" 

The  social  crown,  which  had  rested  none  too  securely  upon 
the  gilded  wig  of  the  dynamic  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  had  been 
given  a  jolt  that  set  it  tottering. 

****** 

It  was  very  clear  to  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames  after  the  Charity 

142 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Ball  that  she  was  engaged  in  a  warfare  to  the  death,  and  with 
the  most  relentless  of  enemies.  Nothing  short  of  the  miraculous 
could  now  dethrone  the  detested  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her 
beautiful,  mysterious  ward.  She  dolefully  acknowledged  to 
herself  and  to  the  sulking  Kathleen  that  she  had  been  asleep, 
that  she  had  let  her  foot  slip,  and  that  her  own  husband's  con 
duct  in  leading  the  grand  march  with  Carmen  bade  fair  to  give 
the  coup  de  grace  to  a  social  prestige  which  for  many  weeks 
had  been  decidedly  on  the  wane. 

"Mamma,  we'll  have  to  think  up  some  new  stunts,"  said  the 
dejected  Kathleen  over  the  teacups  the  noon  following  the  ball. 
"Why,  they've  even  broken  into  the  front  page  of  the  news 
papers  with  a  fake  jewelry  theft!  Look,  they  pretend  that  the 
little  minx  was  robbed  of  her  string  of  pearls  last  night  on 
leaving  the  hall.  I  call  that  pretty  cheap  notoriety!" 

Mrs.  Ames's  lip  curled  in  disdain  as  she  read  the  news 
item.  "An  Inca  princess,  indeed!  Nobody  knows  who  she  is, 
nor  what !  Why  doesn't  somebody  take  the  trouble  to  inves 
tigate  her?  They'd  probably  find  her  an  outcast." 

"Couldn't  papa  look  her  up?"  suggested  Kathleen. 

Mrs.  Ames  did  not  reply.  She  had  no  wish  to  discuss  her 
husband,  after  the  affair  of  the  previous  evening.  And,  even 
in  disregard  of  that,  she  would  not  have  gone  to  him  with  the 
matter.  For  she  and  her  consort,  though  living  under  the 
same  roof,  nevertheless  saw  each  other  but  seldom.  At  times 
they  met  in  the  household  elevator;  and  for  the  sake  of  ap 
pearances  they  managed  to  dine  together  with  Kathleen  in  a 
strained,  unnatural  way  two  or  three  times  a  week,  at  which 
times  no  mention  was  ever  made  of  the  son  who  had  been 
driven  from  the  parental  roof.  There  were  no  exchanges  of 
confidences  or  affection,  and  Mrs.  Ames  knew  but  little  of  the 
working  of  his  mentality.  She  was  wholly  under  the  dominance 
of  her  masterful  husband,  merely  an  accessory  to  his  mode  of 
existence.  He  used  her,  as  he  did  countless  others,  to  buttress 
a  certain  side  of  his  very  complex  life.  As  for  assistance  in 
determining  Carmen's  status,  there  was  none  to  be  obtained 
from  him,  strongly  attracted  by  the  young  girl  as  he  had  al 
ready  shown  himself  to  be.  Indeed,  she  might  be  grateful  if 
the  attachment  did  not  lead  to  far  unhappier  consequences! 

"Larry  Beers  said  yesterday  that  he  had  something  new," 
she  replied  irrelevantly  to  Kathleen's  question.  "He  has  in 
tow  a  Persian  dervish,  who  sticks  knives  through  his  mouth, 
and  drinks  melted  lead,  and  bites  red-hot  pokers,  and  a  lot  of 
such  things.  Larry  says  he's  the  most  wonderful  he's  ever 
seen,  and  I'm  going  to  have  him  and  a  real  Hindu  swami  for 
next  Wednesday  evening." 

143 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


New  York's  conspicuous  set  indeed  would  have  languished 
often  but  for  the  social  buffoonery  of  the  clever  Larry  Beers, 
who  devised  new  diversions  and  stimulating  mental  condiments 
for  the  jaded  brains  of  that  gilded  cult.  His  table  ballets,  his 
bizarre  parlor  circuses,  his  cunningly  devised  fads  in  which  he 
set  forth  his  own  inimitable  antics,  won  him  the  motley  and 
the  cap  and  bells  of  this  tinseled  court,  and  forced  him  well 
out  into  the  glare  of  publicity,  which  was  wThat  he  so  much 
desired. 

And  by  that  much  it  made  him  as  dangerous  as  any  stupid 
anarchist  wTho  toils  by  candle-light  over  his  crude  bombs.  For 
by  it  he  taught  the  great  mass  of  citizenship  who  still  retained 
their  simple  ideals  of  reason  and  respect  that  there  existed  a 
social  caste,  worshipers  of  the  golden  calf,  to  whom  the  simple, 
humdrum  virtues  were  quite  unendurable,  and  who,  utterly 
devoid  of  conscience,  would  quaff  champagne  and  dance  on  the 
raw,  quivering  hearts  of  their  fellow-men  with  glee,  if  thereby 
their  jaded  appetites  for  novelty  and  entertainment  might  be 
for  the  moment  appeased. 

And  so  Larry  Beers  brought  his  swami  and  dervish  to  the 
Ames  mansion,  and  caused  his  hostess  to  be  well  advertised 
in  the  newspapers  the  following  day.  And  he  caused  the  eyes 
of  Carmen  to  bulge,  and  her  thought  to  swell  with  wonder,  as 
she  gazed.  And  he  caused  the  bepowdered  nose  of  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  to  stand  a  bit  closer  to  the  perpendicular,  while  she 
sat  devising  schemes  to  cast  a  shade  over  this  clumsy  enter 
tainment. 

The  chief  result  was  that,  a  week  later,  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  still  running  true  to  form,  retorted  with  a  superb 
imitation  of  the  French  Bal  de  /'Opera,  once  so  notable  under 
the  Empire.  The  Beaubien  had  furnished  the  inspiring  idea — 
and  the  hard  cash. 

"I  wonder  why  I  do  it?"  that  woman  had  meditated.  "Why 
do  I  continue  to  lend  her  money  and  take  her  notes?  I  wanted 
to  ruin  her,  at  first.  I  don't — I  don't  seem  to  feel  that  way 
now.  Is  it  because  of  Carmen?  Or  is  it  because  I  hate  that 
Ames  \voman  so?  I  wonder  if  I  do  still  hate  her?  At  any  rate 
I'm  glad  to  see  Carmen  oust  the  proud  hussy  from  her  place. 
It's  worth  all  I've  spent,  even  if  I  burn  the  notes  I  hold  against 
Jim  Crowles's  widow." 

And  often  after  that,  when  at  night  the  Beaubien  had  sought 
her  bed,  she  would  lie  for  hours  in  the  dim  light  meditating, 
wondering.  "It's  Carmen!"  she  would  always  conclude.  "It's 
Carmen.  She's  making  me  over  again.  I'm  not  the  same 
woman  I  was  when  she  came  into  my  life.  Oh,  God  bless  her 
— if  there  is  a  God!" 

144 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  mock  Bal  de  I'Opera  was  a  magnificent  fete.  All  the 
members  of  the  smart  set  were  present,  and  many  appeared  in 
costumes  representing  flowers,  birds,  and  vegetables.  Carmen 
went  as  a  white  rose;  and  her  great  natural  beauty,  set  off  by 
an  exquisite  costume*  made  her  the  fairest  flower  of  the  whole 
garden.  The  Duke  of  Altern,  costumed  as  a  long  carrot,  fawned 
in  her  wake  throughout  the  evening.  The  tubbily  girthy  Gan- 
nette,  dressed  to  represent  a  cabbage,  opposed  her  every  step 
as  he  bobbed  before  her,  showering  his  viscous  compliments 
upon  the  graceful  creature.  Kathleen  Ames  appeared  as  a 
bluebird;  and  she  would  have  picked  the  fair  white  rose  to 
pieces  if  she  could,  so  wildly  jealous  did  she  become  at  the 
sight  of  Carmen's  further  triumph. 

About  midnight,  when  the  revelry  was  at  its  height,  a  door 
at  the  end  of  the  hall  swung  open,  and  a  strong  searchlight 
was  turned  full  upon  it.  The  orchestra  burst  into  the  wailing 
dead  march  from  Saul,  and  out  through  the  glare  of  light 
stalked  the  giant  form  of  J.  Wilton  Ames,  gowned  in  dead  black 
to  represent  a  King  Vulture,  and  wTith  a  blood-red  fez  sur 
mounting  his  cruel  mask.  As  he  stepped  out  upon  the  plat 
form  which  had  been  constructed  to  represent  the  famous 
bridge  in  "Sumurun,"  and  strode  toward  the  main  floor,  a 
murmur  involuntarily  rose  from  the  assemblage.  It  was  a 
murmur  of  awe,  of  horror,  of  fear.  The  "monstrum  horren- 
dum"  of  Poe  was  descending  upon  them  in  the  garb  which  alone 
could  fully  typify  the  character  of  the  man!  When  he  reached 
the  end  of  the  bridge  the  huge  creature  stopped  and  distended 
his  enormous  sable  wings. 

"Good  God!"  cried  Gannette,  as  he  thought  of  his  tre 
mendous  financial  obligations  to  Ames. 

Carmen  shuddered  and  turned  away  from  the  awful  spec 
tacle.  "I  want  to  go,"  she  said  to  the  petrified  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  who  had  known  nothing  of  this  feature  of  the  pro 
gram. 

Straight  to  the  trembling,  white-clad  girl  the  great,  black 
vulture  stalked.  The  revelers  fell  away  from  him  on  either 
side  as  he  approached.  Carmen  turned  again  and  watched  him 
come.  Her  face  was  ashen.  "God  is  everywhere,"  she  mur 
mured. 

Then  her  anxious  look  faded.  A  light  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  a  smile  wreathed  her  mouth.  And  when  Ames  reached  her 
and  extended  his  huge,  black  wings  again,  she  walked  straight 
into  them  \vith  a  look  of  joy  upon  her  beautiful  face.  Then  the 
wings  closed  and  completely  hid  the  fair,  white  form  from  the 
gaping  crowd. 

For  a  few  moments  dead  silence  reigned  throughout  the 

145 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


hall.  Then  the  orchestra  crashed,  the  vulture's  wings  slowly 
opened,  and  the  girl,  who  would  have  gone  to  the  stake  with 
the  same  incomprehensible  smile,  stepped  out.  The  black 
monster  turned  and  strode  silently,  ominously,  back  to  the  end 
of  the  hall,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  disappeared  through  the 
door  which  opened  at  his  approach. 

"I'm  going  home!"  said  the  shaken  Gannette  to  his  perspir 
ing  wife.  "That  looks  bad  to  me!  That  girl's  done  for;  and 
Ames  has  taken  this  way  to  publicly  announce  the  fact!  My 
God!" 

There  was  another  astonished  watcher  in  the  audience  that 
evening.  It  was  the  eminent  Monsignor  Lafelle,  recently  back 
from  Europe  by  way  of  the  West  Indies.  And  after  the  episode 
just  related,  he  approached  Carmen  and  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles. 

"A  very  clever,  if  startling,  performance,"  he  commented; 
"and  with  two  superb  actors,  Mr.  Ames  and  our  little  friend 
here,"  bowing  over  Carmen's  hand. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  could  accept  our  invitation,  Monsignor. 
But,  dear  me !  I  haven't  got  my  breath  yet,"  panted  the  steam 
ing  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  "Do  take  us,  Monsignor,  to  the 
refectory.  I  feel  faint." 

A  few  moments  later,  over  their  iced  drinks,  Lafelle  was 
relating  vivid  incidents  of  his  recent  travels,  and  odd  bits  of 
news  from  Cartagena.  "No,  Miss  Carmen,"  he  said,  in  reply  to 
her  anxious  inquiries,  "I  did  not  meet  the  persons  you  have 
mentioned.  And  as  for  getting  up  the  Magdalena  river,  it 
would  have  been  quite  impossible.  Dismiss  from  your  mind  all 
thought  of  going  down  there  now.  Cartagena  is  tense  with 
apprehension.  The  inland  country  is  seething.  And  the  little 
town  of  Simiti  which  you  mention,  I  doubt  not  it  is  quite  shut 
off  from  the  world  by  the  war." 

Carmen  turned  aside  that  he  might  not  see  the  tears  which 
welled  into  her  eyes. 

"Your  entertainment,  Madam,"  continued  Lafelle,  addressing 
the  now  recovered  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  "is  superb,  as  have 
been  all  of  your  social  projects  this  winter,  I  learn.  The 
thought  which  you  expressed  to  me  some  months  ago  regard 
ing  Catholic  activity  in  social  matters  certainly  was  wrell 
founded.  I  perceive  that  our  Protestant  rivals  have  all  but 
retired  from  the  field." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  swelled  with  pride.  Carmen  regarded 
the  churchman  with  wonder. 

"And  have  you  not  found  a  sense  of  peace,  of  satisfaction 
and  comfort,  since  you  united  with  the  true  Church?"  Lafelle 
went  on.  "Are  you  not  at  last  at  rest?" 

"Quite  so,"  sighed  the  lady,  though  the  sigh  was  scarcely 
one  of  unalloyed  relief. 

146 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Lafelle  turned  to  Carmen.  "And  our  little  friend  here — 
can  she  still  remain  an  alien,  now  that  she  has  some  knowledge 
of  her  indebtedness  to  the  Church?" 

Carmen  looked  blank.  "My  indebtedness  to  the  Church!" 
she  repeated.  "Why — 

It  was  now  Lafelle's  turn  to  sigh,  as  he  directed  himself 
again  to  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles.  "She  does  not  see,  Madam,  that 
it  was  by  the  ladder  of  Holy  Church  that  she  mounted  to  her 
present  enviable  social  height." 

"But — what — what  do  you  mean?"  stammered  the  bewil 
dered  girl. 

"May  I  not  come  and  explain  it  to  her?"  said  Lafelle.  Then 
he  suddenly  thought  of  his  last  conversation  with  the  Beaubien. 
But  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  a  defiant  look  sat  upon 
his  features. 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  dared  not  refuse  the  request.  She 
knew  she  was  now  too  deeply  enmeshed  for  resistance,  and 
that  Lafelle's  control  over  her  was  complete — unless  she  dared 
to  face  social  and  financial  ruin.  And  under  that  thought  she 
paled  and  grew  faint,  for  it  raised  the  curtain  upon  chaos  and 
black  night. 

"Would  it  be  convenient  for  me  to  call  to-morrow  after 
noon?"  continued  the  churchman. 

"Certainly,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice. 

"By  the  way,"  Lafelle  said,  suddenly  turning  the  conversa 
tion,  "how,  may  I  ask,  is  our  friend,  Madam  Beaubien?" 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  again  trembled  slightly.  "I — I  have 
not  seen  her  much  of  late,  Monsignor,"  she  said  feebly. 

"A  strong  and  very  liberal-minded  woman,"  returned  Lafelle 
with  emphasis.  "I  trust,  as  your  spiritual  adviser,  Madam,  I 
may  express  the  hope  that  you  are  in  no  way  influenced  by 
her." 

"Sir!"  cried  Carmen,  who  had  bounded  to  her  feet,  her  eyes 
ablaze,  "Madam  Beaubien  is  a  noble  woman!" 

"My  dear  child!"  Lafelle  grasped  her  hand  and  drew  her 
back  into  her  chair.  "You  misunderstand  me,  quite.  Madam 
Beaubien  is  a  very  dear  friend  of  ours,  and  we  greatly  admire 
her  strength  of  character.  She  certainly  does  not  require  your 
defense!  Dear!  dear!  you  quite  startled  me." 

A  few  moments  later  he  rose  and  offered  his  arms  to  his 
companions  to  lead  them  back  to  the  hall.  Delivering  Carmen 
into  the  charge  of  the  eagerly  waiting  Duke  of  Altern,  Lafelle 
remarked,  as  he  took  leave  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  "I  trust 
you  will  permit  me  to  talk  with  your  beautiful  ward  to-morrow 
afternoon — alone."  And  when  the  lady  interpreted  the  signifi- 

147 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


cance  of  his  look,  her  heart  beat  rapidly,  as  she  bowed  her 
acknowledgment  of  abject  submission. 

"Bah  Jove!"  ejaculated  the  young  Duke,  clutching  Carmen. 
"Ye  know,  I  was  deucedly  afraid  you  had  gone  home,  or  that 
Uncle  Wilton  had  you.  Ye  know,  I  think  I'm  jealous  of  him!" 

Carmen  laughed  merrily  at  the  fellow.  His  grotesque  cos 
tume  made  him  appear  still  more  ridiculous. 

"It's  nothing  to  laugh  at,  Miss  Carmen!  It's  a  bally  bore  to 
have  a  regular  mountain  like  him  always  getting  in  the  way; 
and  to-night  I  just  made  up  my  mind  I  wouldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,  bah  Jove!  I  say,  come  on!" 

He  fixed  his  monocle  savagely  in  his  eye  and  strode  rapidly 
toward  the  refreshment  hall.  Carmen  went  in  silence.  She 
heard  his  murmur  of  gratification  when  his  gaze  lighted  upon 
the  chairs  and  table  which  he  had  evidently  arranged  previously 
in  anticipation  of  this  tete-a-tete. 

"Ye  knowr,"  he  finally  began,  after  they  were  seated  and  he 
had  sat  some  minutes  staring  at  the  girl,  "ye  know,  you're 
deucedly  clevah,  Miss  Carmen!  I  told  mother  so  to-day,  and 
this  time  she  had  to  agree.  And  that  about  your  being  an  Inca 
princess — ye  know,  I  could  see  that  from  the  very  first  day  I 
met  you.  Mighty  romantic,  and  all  that,  don't  ye  know!" 

"Indeed,  yes!"  replied  the  girl,  her  thought  drifting  back  to 
distant  Simiti. 

"And  all  about  that  mine  you  own  in  South  America — and 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  making  you  her  heiress— and  all  that — 
bah  Jove!  It's — it's  romantic,  I  tell  you!"  His  head  continued 
to  nod  emphasis  to  his  thought  long  after  he  finished  speaking. 

"Ye  know,"  he  finally  resumed,  drawing  a  gold-crested  case 
from  a  pocket  and  lighting  a  monogrammed  cigarette,  "a  fellow 
can  always  tell  another  who  is — well,  who  belongs  to  the 
aristocracy.  Mrs.  Ames,  ye  know,  said  she  had  some  suspicions 
about  you.  But  I  could  see  right  off  that  it  was  because  she 
was  jealous.  Mother  and  I  knew  what  you  were  the  minute  we 
clapped  eyes  on  you.  That's  because  we  belong  to  the  nobility, 
ye  know." 

He  smoked  in  silence  for  some  moments.  Carmen  was  far, 
far  away. 

"Bah  Jove,  Miss  Carmen,  I'm  going  to  say  it!"  he  suddenly 
blurted.  "Mother  wanted  me  to  marry  Lord  Cragmont's  filly; 
but,  bah  Jove,  I  say,  I'm  going  to  marry  you!" 

Carmen  now  heard,  and  she  quickly  sat  up,  her  eyes  wide 
and  staring.  "Marry  me!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on.  "Oh,  it's  all  right.  You're  a  princess, 
ye  know,  and  so  you're  in  our  class.  I'm  not  one  of  the  kind 
that  hands  out  a  title  to  the  red-nosed  daughter  of  any  American 

148 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


pork  packer  just  to  get  her  money.  Not  me!  The  girl  I 
marry  has  got  to  be  my  equal." 

"Oh!"  murmured  the  astonished  Carmen. 

"It's  all  right  for  you  to  have  money,  of  course.  I  won't 
marry  a  pauper,  even  if  she's  a  duchess.  But  you  and  I,  Miss 
Carmen,  are  just  suited  to  each  other — wealth  and  nobility  on 
each  side.  I've  got  thirty  thousand  good  British  acres  in  my 
own  right,  bah  Jove!" 

By  now  Carmen  had  fully  recovered  from  her  surprise.  She 
reflected  a  moment,  then  determined  to  meet  the  absurd  youth 
with  the  spirit  of  levity  which  his  audacity  merited.  "But, 
Reginald,"  she  said  in  mock  seriousness,  "though  your  father 
was  a  duke,  how  about  your  mother?  Was  she  not  just  an 
ordinary  American  girl,  a  sister  of  plain  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames? 
Where's  the  aristocracy  there?  Now  on  my  side — •" 

"Now,  Miss  Carmen,"  cried  the  boy  petulantly,  "can't  you 
see  that,  by  marrying  my  father,  my  mother  became  ennobled? 
Bah  Jove,  you  don't  understand!  Were  your  parents  both 
noble?" 

"Indeed  they  were!"  said  Carmen.  "They  were  both  chil 
dren  of  a  king." 

"You  don't  say!"  he  whispered,  leaning  far  over  the  table 
toward  her.  "Then  we've  simply  got  to  marry!" 

"But,"  protested  the  girl,  "in  my  country  people  love  those 
whom  they  marry.  I  haven't  heard  a  word  of  that  from  you." 

"Now,  I  say!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  was  just  getting  round  to 
that.  It  was  love  that  made  me  offer  you  my  name  and  title!" 

"Yes?    Love  of  what?" 

"Why — you — of  course!" 

She  laughed  musically.  "My  dear  Reginald,  you  don't  love 
me.  It  is  yourself  that  you  love.  You  are  madly  in  love,  it  is 
true;  but  it  is  with  the  young  Duke  of  Altern." 

"See  here,  you  can't  talk  to  me  that  way,  ye  know!"  he 
flared  out.  "Bah  Jove,  I'm  offering  to  make  you  a  duchess — 
and  I  love  you,  too,  though  you  may  not  think  it!" 

"Of  course  you  love  me,  Reginald,"  said  Carmen  in  gentle 
reply,  now  relinquishing  her  spirit  of  badinage;  "and  I  love 
you.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you." 

The  young  man  started  under  the  shock  and  stared  at  her 
in  utter  lack  of  comprehension.  Was  it  possible  that  this  un 
known  girl  was  refusing  him,  a  duke?  She  must  be  mad! 

"A — a — I  don't  get  you,  Miss  Carmen,"  he  stammered. 

"Come,"  she  said,  rising  and  holding  out  a  hand.  "Let's 
not  talk  about  this  any  more.  We  must  go  back  to  the  hall.  I 
do  love  you,  Reginald,  but  not  in  the  way  that  perhaps  you 
would  like.  I  love  the  real  you;  not  the  vain,  foolish,  self- 

149 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


adoring  human  concept,  called  the  Duke  of  Altern.  And  the 
love  I  feel  for  you  will  help  you,  oh,  far  more  than  if  I  married 
you!  Come." 

"But — Miss  Carmen!"  He  stood  before  her  with  mouth 
open. 

"Yes,  Reginald." 

"I — I  expected  we'd  be  engaged — I  told  mother — " 

"Very  well,  Reginald,  we  are  engaged.  Engaged  in  handling 
this  little  problem  that  has  presented  itself  to  you.  Do  you 
see?  And  I  will  help  you  to  solve  it  in  the  right  way.  For  you 
need  help.  Reginald  dear,  I  didn't  mean  to  treat  your  proposal 
so  lightly.  I  am  sorry.  There,  give  me  your  hand.  We're  just 
awfully  good  friends,  aren't  we?  And  I  do  love  you,  more  than 
you  think." 

Leaving  the  bewildered  youth  in  the  hall,  Carmen  fell  afoul 
of  the  very  conservative  Mrs.  Gannette,  whose  husband,  suffer 
ing  from  a  sense  of  nausea  since  the  appearance  of  Ames  as  a 
King  Vulture,  had  some  moments  before  summoned  his  car  and 
driven  to  his  favorite  club  to  flood  his  apprehensions  with  Scotch 
high-balls. 

"Ah,  little  sly-boots!"  piped  Mrs.  Gannette,  shaking  a  finger 
at  Carmen.  "I  saw  you  with  Reginald  just  now.  I'm  awfully 
wise  about  such  things.  Tell  me,  dear,  when  shall  we  be  able 
to  call  you  the  Duchess  of  Altern?  You  lucky  girl!" 

Carmen's  spirits  sank,  as,  without  reply,  she  submitted  to 
the  banal  boredom  of  this  blustering  dame's  society  gabble. 
Mrs.  Gannette  hooked  her  arm  into  the  girl's  and  led  her  to  a 
divan.  "It's  a  great  affair,  isn't  it?"  she  panted,  settling  her 
round,  unshapely  form  out  over  the  seat.  "Dear  me!  I  did 
intend  to  come  in  costume.  Was  coming  as  a  tomato.  Ha!  ha! 
Thought  that  was  better  adapted  to  my  shape.  But  when  I  got 
the  cloth  form  around  me,  do  you  know,  I  couldn't  get  through 
the  door!  And  my  unlovely  pig  of  a  husband  said  if  I  came 
looking  like  that  he'd  get  a  divorce."  The  corpulent  dame 
shook  and  wheezed  with  the  expression  of  her  abundant  mer 
riment. 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "it  wasn't  his  threat  that  hindered 
me,  goodness  knows!  A  divorce  would  be  a  relief,  after  living 
forty  years  with  him!  Say,  there  goes  young  Doctor  Worley. 
Speaking  of  divorce,  he's  just  got  one.  It  all  came  round 
through  a  joke.  Billy  Patterson  dared  him  to  exchange  wives 
with  him  one  evening  when  they  were  having  a  little  too  much 
gaiety  at  the  Worley  home,  and  the  doctor  took  the  dare.  Ha! 
ha!  The  men  swapped  wives  for  two  days.  What  do  you  think 
of  that!  And  this  divorce  was  the  result.  But  Billy  took  his 
wife  back.  He  thought  it  wras  just  a  good  joke.  Kate  Worley 

150 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


gets  an  alimony  of  fifty  thousand  per.  But  the  doctor  can 
stand  it.  Why,  he  has  a  practice  of  not  less  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  a  year!" 

"I  supposed,"  murmured  Carmen,  "that  amount  of  money 
is  a  measure  of  his  ability,  a  proof  of  his  great  usefulness." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Gannette.  "He's  simply 
in  with  the  wealthy,  that's  all.  Dear!  dear!  Do  look  at  that 
fright  over  there!  It's  Lizzie  Wall.  Now  isn't  she  simply 
hideous!  Those  diamonds  are  nothing  but  paste!  The  hussy!" 

Carmen  glanced  at  the  pale,  slender  woman  across  the 
hall,  seated  alone,  and  wearing  a  look  of  utter  weariness. 

"I'd  like  to  meet  her,"  she  said,  suddenly  drawn  by  the 
woman's  mute  appeal  for  sympathy. 

"Don't  do  it!"  hastily  interposed  Mrs.  Gannette.  "She's 
going  to  be  dropped.  Name's  already  on  the  black  list.  I  don't 
know  what  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was  thinking  of  to  invite  her 
to-night!  Her  estate  is  being  handled  by  Ames  and  Company, 
and  J.  Wilton  says  there  won't  be  much  left  when  it's  settled — 

"My  goodness!"  she  exclaimed,  abruptly  flitting  to  another 
topic.  "There  goes  Miss  Tottle.  Look  at  her  skirt — flounced 
at  the  knees,  and  full  in  the  back  so's  to  give  a  bustle  effect. 
My!  I  wish  I  could  wear  togs  cut  that  way — 

"They  say,  my  dear,"  the  garrulous  old  worldling  prattled 
on,  "that  next  season's  styles  will  be  very  ultra.  Butterfly  idea, 
I  hear.  Hats  small  and  round,  like  the  heads  of  butterflies. 
Waists  and  jackets  very  full  and  quite  loose  in  the  back  and 
shoulders,  so's  to  give  the  appearance  of  wings.  Belts,  but  no 
drawing  in  at  the  waist.  Skirts  plaited,  plaits  opening  wide 
at  the  knees  and  coming  close  together  again  at  the  ankle,  so's 
to  look  like  the  body  of  a  butterfly.  Then  butterfly  bows 
sprinkled  all  over." 

She  paused  for  breath.  Then  she  drew  a  long  sigh.  "Oh 
dear,"  she  lamented,  "I'd  give  anything  if  I  had  a  decent  shape! 
I'd  like  to  wear  those  shimmering,  flowing,  transparent  summer 
things  over  silk  tights.  But,  mercy  me!  I'd  look  like  a  potato 
busted  wide  open.  Now  you  can  wear  those  X-ray  dresses  all 
right — 

"Say,  Kathleen  Ames  has  a  new  French  gown  to  wear  to  the 
Dog  Show.  Skirt  slit  clear  to  the  knee,  with  diamond  garter 
around  the  leg  just  below.  How  I'd  look!  I  have  a  leg  like  a 
ham!" 

Carmen  heard  little  of  this  vapid  talk,  as  she  sat  studying 
the  pale  woman  across  the  hall.  She  had  resolved  to  meet  her 
just  as  soon  as  the  loquacious  Mrs.  Gannette  should  seek  an 
other  victim.  But  that  genial  old  gossip  gave  no  present  evi 
dence  of  a  desire  to  change. 

151 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I'm  so  glad  you're  going  to  marry  young  Altern,"  she  said, 
again  swerving  the  course  of  her  conversation.  "He's  got  a 
fine  old  ruined  castle  somewhere  in  England,  and  seems  to 
have  wads  of  money,  though  I  hear  that  everything  is  mort 
gaged  to  Ames.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised.  Still,  his  bare  title 
is  worth  something  to  an  American  girl.  Besides,  you've  got 
money.  And  you'll  do  a  lot  for  his  family.  You  know — but 
don't  breathe  a  word  of  this!— his  mother  never  was  recognized 
socially  in  England,  and  she  finally  had  to  give  up  the  fight. 
For  a  while  Ames  backed  her,  but  it  wouldn't  do.  His  millions 
couldn't  buy  her  the  court  entree,  and  she  just  had  to  quit. 
That's  why  she's  over  here  now7.  The  old  Duke — he  was  lots 
older  than  she — died  a  couple  of  years  ago.  Ran  through  every 
thing  and  drank  himself  to  death.  Before  and  since  that  happy 
event  the  Duchess  did  everything  under  the  heavens  to  get  a 
bid  to  court.  She  gave  millions  to  charity  and  to  entertain 
ments.  She  sacrificed  everything.  But,  no  sir!  It  wouldn't 
do.  She  had  no  royal  blood.  But  with  you  it  will  be  different. 
You're  a  princess,  royal  Inca,  and  such  like.  You  qualify  right 
from  the  jump.  So  you  see  what  you're  expected  to  do  for  the 
Altern  crowd — 

"Dear!  dear!"  catching  her  breath  and  switching  quickly 
to  another  theme,  "have  you  heard  about  the  Hairton  scandal? 
It's  simply  rich!  You  see,  young  Sidney  Ames — 

Carmen's  patience  had  touched  its  limit.  "Don't,  please 
don't!"  she  begged,  holding  out  a  hand.  "I  do  not  wish  to 
hear  it!" 

Mrs.  Gannette  raised  her  lorgnette  and  looked  at  the  girl. 
"Why,  my  dear!  what's  the  matter?  The  scandal's  about 
Ames's  son,  you  know.  The  reason  he  doesn't  go  in  society. 
Just  come  to  light.  You  see — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Gannette,"  Carmen  looked  up  at  her  with  a 
beseeching  smile.  "You  wouldn't  deliberately  give  me  poison 
to  drink,  would  you?" 

"Why,  certainly  not!"  blustered  that  garrulous  lady  in  as 
tonishment. 

"Then  why  do  you  poison  my  mind  with  such  conversa 
tion?" 

"What!" 

"You  sit  there  pouring  into  my  mentality  thought  after 
thought  that  is  deadly  poisonous,  don't  you  know  it?" 

"Why—!" 

"You  don't  mean  to  harm  me,  I  know7,"  pleaded  the  girl. 
"But  if  you  only  understood  mental  laws  you  would  know  that 
every  thought  entering  one's  mind  tends  to  become  manifested 
in  some  way.  Thoughts  of  disease,  disaster,  death,  scandal — • 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


all  tend  to  become  externalized  in  discordant  ways,  either  on 
the  body,  or  in  the  environment.  You  don't  want  any  such 
things  manifested  to  me,  do  you?  But  you  might  just  as  well 
hand  me  poison  to  drink  as  to  sit  there  and  pour  such  deadly 
conversation  into  me." 

Mrs.  Gannette  slowly  drew  herself  up  with  the  hauteur  of 
a  grandee.  Carmen  seized  her  hand.  "I  do  not  want  to  listen 
to  these  unreal  things  which  concern  only  the  human  mind," 
she  said  earnestly.  "Nor  should  you,  if  you  are  truly  aristo 
cratic,  for  aristocracy  is  of  the  thought.  I  am  not  going  to 
marry  Reginald.  A  human  title  means  nothing  to  me.  But 
one's  thought — that  alone  is'  one's  claim  to  real  aristocracy.  I 
know  I  have  offended  you,  but  only  because  I  refuse  to  let  you 
poison  me.  Now  I  will  go." 

She  left  the  divan  and  the  petrified  dame,  and  hurriedly 
mingled  with  the  crowd  on  the  floor. 

"The  little  cat!"  exploded  Mrs.  Gannette,  when  she  again 
found  herself.  "She  has  mortally  insulted  me!" 

Carmen  went  directly  to  the  pale  woman,  still  sitting  alone, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  objects  of  Mrs.  Gannette's  slighting 
remarks.  The  woman  glanced  up  as  she  saw  the  girl  ap 
proaching,  and  a  look  of  wonder  came  into  her  eyes.  Carmen 
held  out  a  hand. 

"I  am  Carmen  Ariza,"  she  said  simply.  "You  are  Miss  Wall. 
I  want  you  to  be  my  friend." 

The  woman  roused  up  and  tried  to  appear  composed. 

"Will  you  ride  with  me  to-morrow?"  continued  Carmen. 
"Then  we  can  talk  all  we  want  to,  with  nobody  to  overhear. 
Aren't  you  happy?"  she  abruptly  added,  unable  longer  to  with 
stand  the  appeal  which  issued  mutely  from  the  lusterless  eyes 
before  her. 

The  woman  smiled  wanly.  "Not  so  very,"  she  replied 
slowly. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Carmen;   "what's  wrong?" 

"I  am  poverty-stricken,"  returned  the  woman  sadly. 

"But  I  will  give  you  money,"  Carmen  quickly  replied. 

"My  dear  child;"  said  the  woman,  "I  haven't  anything  but 
money.  That  is  why  I  am  poverty-stricken. 

"Oh!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  sinking  into  a  chair  at  her  side. 
"Well,"  she  added,  brightening,  "now  you  have  me!  And  will 
you  call  me  up,  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  arrange  to  ride 
with  me?  I  want  you  to,  so  much!" 

The  woman's  eyes  grew  moist.  "Yes,"  she  murmured,  "I 
will— gladly." 

In  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  there  were  several  heads 
tossing  in  stubborn  wakefulness  on  their  pillows  in  various 
New  York  mansions.  But  Carmen's  was  not  one  of  them. 

153 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  17 

ON  the  morning  following  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles's  very  suc 
cessful  imitation  of  the  Bal  de  I'Opera,  Monsignor  Lafelle 
paid  an  early  call  to  the  Ames  sanctum.  And  the  latter 
gentleman  deemed  the  visit  of  sufficient  importance  to  devote 
a  full  hour  to  his  caller.  When  the  churchman  rose  to  take 
his  leave  he  reiterated: 

"Our  friend  Wenceslas  will  undertake  the  matter  for  you, 
Mr.  Ames,  but  on  the  conditions  which  I  have  named.  But 
Rome  must  be  communicated  with,  and  the  substance  of  her 
replies  must  be  sent  from  Cartagena  to  you,  and  your  letters 
forwarded  to  her.  That  might  take  us  into  early  summer.  But 
there  is  no  likelihood  that  Mr.  Ketchim's  engineers  will  make 
any  further  attempt  before  that  time  to  enter  Colombia.  Mr. 
Reed  in  still  in  California.  Mr.  Harris  is  in  Denver,  at  his  old 
home,  you  tell  me.  So  we  need  look  for  no  immediate  move 
from  them." 

"Quite  satisfactory,  Lafelle,"  returned  Ames  genially.  "In 
future,  if  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  I  am  yours  to  command. 
Mr.  Willett  will  hand  you  a  check  covering  your  traveling  ex 
penses  on  my  behalf." 

When  the  door  closed  after  Lafelle,  Ames  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to  a  moment's  reflection.  "I 
wonder,"  he  mused,  "I  wonder  if  the  fellow  has  something  up 
his  sleeve  that  he  didn't  show  me?  He  acted  suspiciously. 
Perhaps  he's  getting  a  bit  dangerous.  He  may  know  too  much 
already.  I'm  going  to  drop  him  after  this  trap  is  sprung.  He's 
got  Jim  Crowles's  widow  all  tied  up,  too.  I  wonder  if  he — by 
heaven!  if  he  begins  work  on  that  girl  I'll — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell. 
It  was  Gannette.  "What?"  shouted  Ames,  "you  say  the  girl 
insulted  your  wife  last  evening?  I  don't  believe  she  could — 
Yes,  yes,  I  mean,  I  don't  think  she  meant  to — certainly  not, 
no  aspersion  whatever  intended — What?  the  girl  will  have  to 
apologize? — Well!  well — No,  not  in  a  thousand  years! — Yes, 
I'll  back  her!  And  if  your  society  isn't  good  enough  for  her 
— and  I  don't  think  it  is — why,  I'll  form  a  little  coterie  all  by 
myself!" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  slam.  Then  he  angrily  sum 
moned  Hodson.  "I  want  a  dozen  brokers  watching  Gannette 
now  until  I  call  them  off,"  he  commanded.  "I  want  you  to 
take  personal  charge  of  them.  Dog  his  every  move.  I'll  give 
you  some  suggestions  later." 

154 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Hodson  bowed  and  went  out.  Ames  continued  his  medita 
tions.  "Lucile  already  has  Gannette  pretty  well  wound  up  in 
his  Venezuelan  speculations — and  they  are  going  to  smash — 
Lafelle  has  fixed  that.  And  I've  bought  her  notes  against  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles  for  about  a  million — which  I  have  reinvested 
for  her  in  Colombia.  Humph!  She'll  feed  out  of  my  hand 
now!  La  Libertad  is  mine  when  the  trap  falls.  So  is  C.  and  R. 
And  that  little  upstart,  Ketchim,  goes  to  Sing  Sing!" 

He  turned  to  the  morning  paper  that  lay  upon  his  desk. 
"I  don't  like  the  way  the  Colombian  revolution  drags,"  he 
mused.  "But  certainly  it  can't  last  much  longer.  And  then — 
then—" 

His  thoughts  wandered  off  into  devious  channels.  "So 
Jose  de  Rincon  is — well!  well!  Things  have  taken  an  odd 
turn.  But — where  on  earth  did  that  girl  come  from?  Lord! 
she  was  beautiful  last  night.  All  religion,  eh?  Ha!  ha!  Well, 
she's  young.  There's  a  lot  of  experience  coming  to  her.  And 
then  she'll  drop  a  few  of  her  pious  notions.  Lucile  says — 
but  Lucile  is  getting  on  my  nerves!" 

****** 

Monsignor  Lafelle  found  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  her 
ward  awaiting  him  when  his  car  drove  up  at  two  that  after 
noon.  Carmen  had  not  left  the  house  during  the  morning,  for 
Elizabeth  Wall  had  telephoned  early  that  a  slight  indisposition 
would  necessitate  postponement  of  the  contemplated  ride. 

"Well,"  reflected  Carmen,  as  she  turned  from  the  'phone, 
"one  who  knows  that  God  is  everywhere  can  never  be  disap 
pointed,  for  all  good  is  ever  present."  And  then  she  set  about 
preparing  for  the  expected  call  of  Monsignor  Lafelle. 

When  that  dignitary  entered  the  parlor  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  graciously  welcomed  him,  and  then  excused  herself. 
"I  will  leave  her  with  you,  Monsignor,"  she  said,  indicating 
Carmen,  and  secretly  glad  to  escape  a  presence  which  she 
greatly  feared.  Lafelle  bowed,  and  then  waved  Carmen  to  a 
seat. 

"I  have  come  to-day,  Miss  Carmen,"  he  began  easily,  "on 
a  mission  of  vastest  importance  as  concerning  your  welfare.  I 
have  been  in  Cartagena.  I  have  talked  with  the  acting-Bishop 
there,  who,  it  seems,  is  not  wholly  unacquainted  with  you." 

"Then,"  cried  Carmen  eagerly,  "you  know  where  Padre 
Jose  is?  And  the  others — " 

"No,"  replied  Lafelle.  "I  regret  to  say  I  know  nothing  of 
their  present  whereabouts.  Leave  them  with  God." 

"I  have  long  since  done  that,"  said  Carmen  softly. 

"It  is  of  yourself  that  I  wish  to  speak,"  continued  Lafelle. 
"I  have  come  to  offer  you  the  consolation,  the  joy,  and  the  pro- 

155 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


tection  of  the  Church.  Your  great  benefactress,  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  has  found  peace  with  us.  Will  you  longer  delay  tak 
ing  a  step  toward  which  you  are  by  race,  by  national  custom, 
and  by  your  Saviour  admonished?  I  have  come  to  invite  you 
to  publicly  confess  your  allegiance  to  the  Church  of  Rome. 
You  belong  to  us.  A  Catholic  country  gave  you  birth.  Your 
parents  were  Catholic.  Your  best  friend,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles, 
is  one  of  us.  Come,"  he  said,  extending  his  hands.  "We  need 
you.  And  you,  my  daughter,  now  need  the  Church,"  he  added 
with  suggestive  emphasis. 

Carmen  was  not  surprised.  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had 
hinted  the  probable  mission  of  the  churchman,  and  the  girl 
was  prepared. 

"I  thank  you,  Monsignor,"  she  replied  simply.  "But  it  is 
impossible." 

"Impossible?"  He  arched  his  fine  brows.  "My  child,  it  is 
quite  necessary!" 

"Why,  Monsignor?" 

"For  your  eternal  salvation,"  he  replied. 

"But  I  have  my  salvation,  ever  present.  It  is  the  Christ- 
principle." 

"My  dear  child,  do  not  lean  upon  your  pretty  theories  in 
the  hope  that  they  will  open  the  door  of  heaven  for  you. 
There  is  no  salvation  outside  of  the  Church." 

"Monsignor,"  said  Carmen  gently,  "such  talk  is  very  foolish. 
Can  you  prove  to  me  that  your  Church  ever  sent  any  one  to 
heaven?  Have  you  any  but  a  very  mediaeval  and  material 
concept  of  heaven?  To  me,  heaven  is  right  here.  It  is  the 
consciousness  of  good  only,  without  a  trace  of  materiality  or 
evil.  And  I  enter  into  that  consciousness  by  means  of  the 
Christ-principle,  which  Jesus  gave  to  the  world.  It  is  very 
simple,  is  it  not?  And  it  makes  all  your  pomp  and  ceremony, 
and  your  penance  and  rites  quite  unnecessary." 

Lafelle  eyed  her  narrowly.  He  had  certain  suspicions,  but 
he  was  not  ready  to  voice  them.  Carmen  went  on : 

"Monsignor,  I  love  my  fellow-men,  oh,  so  much!  I  want 
to  see  every  one  work  out  his  salvation,  as  Jesus  bade  us  all 
do,  and  without  any  hindrance  from  others.  And  I  ask  but  that 
same  privilege  from  every  one,  yourself  included.  Let  me 
work  out  my  salvation  as  my  Father  has  directed." 

Lafelle  smiled  paternally.  "I  have  no  wish  to  hinder  you, 
child.  On  the  contrary,  I  offer  you  the  assistance  and  infallible 
guidance  of  the  Church.  You  are  very  young.  We  are  very 
old.  Beginning  nineteen  centuries  ago,  when  we  were  divinely 
appointed  custodian  of  the  world's  morals,  our  history  has 
been  a  glorious  one.  We  have  in  that  time  changed  a  pagan 
world  into  one  that  fears  God  and  follows  His  Christ." 

156 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"But  for  nineteen  hundred  years,  Monsignor,  the  various 
so-called  Christian  sects  of  the  world  have  been  persecuting 
and  slaying  one  another  over  their  foolish  beliefs,  basing  their 
religious  theories  upon  their  interpretations  of  the  Bible.  Sure 
ly  that  is  not  a  glorious  history!" 

"Ah!  You  unwittingly  argue  directly  for  our  cause,  my 
child.  The  result  which  you  have  just  cited  proves  conclu 
sively  that  the  Scriptures  can  not  be  correctly  interpreted  by 
every  one.  That  is  perfectly  patent  to  you,  I  see.  Thus  you 
acknowledge  the  necessity  of  an  infallible  guide.  That  is  to  be 
found  only  in  the  spiritual  Fathers,  and  in  the  Pope,  the  holy 
Head  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  the  present  Vicegerent  of  Christ 
on  earth." 

"Then  your  interpretation  of  the  Bible  is  the  only  correct 
one?" 

"Absolutely!" 

"And  you  Catholics  are  the  only  true  followers  of  Christ? 
The  only  real  Christians?" 

"We  are." 

She  rose.  "Come,  Monsignor,  I  will  get  my  coat  and  hat. 
We  will  take  your  car." 

"Why— where  are  you  going?"  he  asked  in  amazement,  as 
he  slowly  got  to  his  feet. 

She  stopped  and  faced  him  squarely.  "Jesus  said :  'He  that 
believeth  on  me,  the  works  that  I  do  shall  he  do  also.'  I  am 
going  to  take  you  over  to  the  home  of  old  Maggie,  our  cook's 
mother.  She  is  sick.  You  will  heal  her,  for  you  are  a  true 
follower  of  Christ." 

"Well— but,  hasn't  she  a  doctor?" 

"Yes,  but  he  can't  help  her.  Doctors  are  not  infallible. 
But  you  represent  the  Christ  on  earth.  You  should  be  able  to 
do  the  works  which  he  did.  You  can  change  the  wafer  and 
wine  into  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Jesus.  How  much  easier, 
then,  and  vastly  more  practical,  to  cure  a  sick  woman!  Wait, 
I  will  be  back  in  a  minute." 

"But,  you  impetuous  child,  I  shall  go  on  no  such  foolish 
errand  as  that!" 

She  stopped  again.  "If  the  woman  were  dying  or  dead,  and 
vou  were  summoned,  you  would  go,  would  you  not?  For  she  is 
a  Catholic." 

"Why — yes,  of  course." 

"And  if  she  were  dying  you  would  put  holy  oil  on  her,  and 
pray — but  it  wouldn't  make  her  well.  And  if  she  were  dead, 
you  would  say  Masses  for  the  repose  of  her  soul.  Monsignor, 
did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  the  great  works  which  you  claim 
to  do  are  all  done  behind  the  veil  of  death?  You  can  do  but 

44  157 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


little  for  mankind  here;  but  you  pretend  to  do  much  after 
they  have  passed  beyond  the  grave.  Is  it  quite  fair  to  the  poor 
and  ignorant,  I  ask,  to  work  that  way?  Did  it  never  strike 
you  as  remarkable  and  very  consistent  that  Jesus,  whenever  he 
launched  a  great  truth,  immediately  ratified  it  by  some  great 
sign,  some  sign  which  the  world  now  calls  a  miracle?  The 
Gospels  are  full  of  such  instances,  where  he  first  taught,  then 
came  down  and  immediately  healed  some  one,  thus  at  once 
putting  his  teaching  to  the  proof.  Do  you  prove  anything? 
Your  Church  has  taught  and  thundered  and  denounced  for 
ages,  but  what  has  it  proved?  Jesus  taught  practical  Chris 
tianity.  You  teach  the  so-called  practical  Christianity  which 
makes  a  reality  of  evil  and  an  eternal  necessity  of  hospitals 
and  orphan  asylums.  If  you  did  his  works  the  people  would 
be  so  uplifted  that  these  things  would  be  wiped  out.  Your 
Church  has  had  nineteen  hundred  years  in  which  to  learn  to 
do  the  works  which  he  did.  Now  come  over  to  Maggie's  with 
me  and  prove  that  you  are  a  true  follower  and  believer,  and 
that  the  Church  has  given  you  the  right  sort  of  practical  in 
struction!" 

Gradually  the  girl's  voice  waxed  stronger  while  she  delivered 
this  polemic.  Slowly  the  churchman's  face  darkened,  as  he 
moved  backward  and  sank  into  his  chair. 

"Now,  Monsignor,  having  scolded  you  well,"  the  girl  con 
tinued,  smiling  as  she  sat  down  again,  "I  will  apologize.  But 
you  needed  the  scolding — you  know  you  did!  And  nearly  all 
who  profess  the  name  of  Christ  need  the  same.  Monsignor,  I 
love  you  all,  and  every  one,  whether  Catholic  or  Protestant,  or 
whatever  his  creed.  But  that  does  not  blind  my  eyes  to  your 
great  need,  and  to  your  obstinate  refusal  to  make  any  effort 
to  meet  that  need/' 

A  cynical  look  came  into  the  man's  face.  "May  I  ask,  Miss 
Carmen,  if  you  consider  yourself  a  true  follower  and  believer?" 
he  said  coolly. 

"Monsignor,"  she  quickly  replied,  rising  and  facing  him, 
"you  hope  by  that  adroit  question  to  confound  me.  You  mean, 
do  I  heal  the  sick?  Listen:  when  I  was  a  child  my  purity  of 
thought  was  such  that  I  knew  no  evil.  I  could  not  see  it  any 
where.  I  could  not  see  sickness  or  death  as  anything  more 
than  unreal  shadows.  And  that  wonderful  clearness  of  vision 
and  purity  of  thought  made  me  a  channel  for  the  operation  of 
the  Christ-principle,  God  himself.  And  thereby  the  sick  were 
healed  in  my  little  home  town.  Then,  little  by  little,  after  my 
beloved  teacher,  Jose,  came  to  me,  I  lost  ground  in  my  struggle 
to  keep  the  vision  clear.  They  did  not  mean  to,  but  he  and  my 
dearest  padre  Rosendo  and  others  held  their  beliefs  of  evil  as 

158 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


a  reality  so  constantly  before  me  that  the  vision  became  ob 
scured,  and  the  spirituality  alloyed.  The  unreal  forces  of  evil 
seemed  to  concentrate  upon  me.  I  know  why  now,  for  the 
greatest  good  always  stirs  up  the  greatest  amount  of  evil — the 
highest  truth  always  has  the  lowest  lie  as  its  opposite  and 
opponent.  I  see  now,  as  never  before,  the  unreality  of  evil.  I 
see  now,  as  never  before,  the  marvelous  truth  which  Jesus 
tried,  oh,  so  hard,  to  impress  upon  the  dull  minds  of  his  peo 
ple,  the  truth  which  you  refuse  to  see.  And  ceaselessly  I  am 
now  striving  to  acquire  'that  mind,'  that  spiritual  conscious 
ness,  which  was  in  him.  My  vision  is  becoming  daily  clearer. 
I  have  been  wonderfully  shielded,  led,  and  cared  for.  And 
I  shall  heal,  some  day,  as  he  did.  I  shall  regain  my  former 
spirituality,  for  it  has  never  really  been  lost.  But,  Monsignor, 
do  not  ask  me  to  come  into  your  Church  and  allow  my  bright 
ening  vision  to  become  blurred  by  your  very  inadequate  con 
cept  of  God — a  God  who  is  moved  by  the  petitions  of  Saints 
and  Virgin  and  mortal  men.  No!  no!  Unless,"  she  added, 
brightening,  "you  will  let  me  teach  your  Church  what  I  know. 
Will  you  agree  to  that?" 

Lafelle  did  not  answer.  Then  Carmen  shook  her  head. 
"You  see,"  she  said,  "your  Church  requires  absolute  submis 
sion  to  its  age-worn  authority.  According  to  you,  I  have  noth 
ing  to  give.  Very  well,  if  your  Church  can  receive  nothing  from 
me,  and  yet  can  give  me  nothing  more  than  its  impossible  be 
liefs,  undemonstrable  this  side  of  the  grave,  at  least — then  we 
must  consider  that  a  gulf  is  fixed  between  us. 

"Oh,  Monsignor,"  she  pleaded,  after  a  mojnent's  silence, 
"you  see,  do  you  not?  When  Jesus  said  that  he  gave  his  dis 
ciples  power  over  all  evil,  did  he  not  mean  likewise  over  all 
physical  action,  and  over  every  physical  condition?  But  did  he 
mean  that  they  alone  should  have  such  power?  What  a  limit 
ing  of  infinite  Love !  No,  he  meant  that  every  one  who  followed 
him  and  strove  ceaselessly  for  spirituality  of  thought  should 
acquire  that  spirituality,  and  thereby  cleanse  himself  of  false 
beliefs,  and  make  room  for  the  Christ-principle  to  operate,  even 
to  the  healing  of  the  sick,  to  the  raising  of  those  mesmerized 
by  the  belief  of  death  as  a  power  and  reality,  and  to  the  de- 
materializing  of  the  whole  material  concept  of  the  heavens  and 
earth.  Can't  you,  a  churchman,  see  it?  And  can't  you  see 
how  shallow  your  views  are?  Don't  you  know  that  even  the 
physical  body  is  but  a  part  of  the  human,  material  concept, 
and  therefore  a  part  of  the  'one  lie'  about  God,  who  is  Spirit?" 

Lafelle  had  listened  patiently.  But  now  his  time  had  come 
to  speak  in  rebuttal.  And  yet,  he  would  make  no  attempt  to 
assail  her  convictions.  He  knew  well  that  she  would  not 
yield — at  least,  to-day.  He  therefore  played  another  card. 

159 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Miss  Carmen,"  he  said  gently,  "the  Church  is  ever  doing 
beneficent  deeds  which  do  not  come  to  light,  and  for  which 
she  receives  no  praise  from  men.  Your  own  and  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles's  elevation  to  social  leadership  came  through  her. 
There  is  also  a  rumor  that  the  Church  afforded  you  an  asylum 
on  your  first  night  in  this  city,  when,  if  ever,  you  needed  aid. 
The  Church  shielded  and  cared  for  you  even  in  Simiti.  In 
deed,  what  has  she  not  done  for  you?  And  do  you  now,  alas! 
turn  and  rend  her?" 

"Monsignor,"  replied  Carmen,  "I  am  not  unmindful  of  the 
care  always  bestowed  upon  me.  And  I  am  not  ungrateful.  But 
my  gratitude  is  to  my  God,  who  has  worked  through  many 
channels  to  bless  me.  My  account  is  with  Him.  Leave  it 
there,  and  fear  not  that  I  shall  prove  ungrateful  to  Him,  to 
whom  my  every  thought  is  consecrated." 

Lafelle  bit  his  lip.  Then  he  spoke  low  and  earnestly,  while 
he  held  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  girl's  bright  eyes.  "Miss  Car 
men,  if  you  knew  that  the  Church  now  afforded  you  the  only 
refuge  from  the  dangers  that  threaten,  you  would  turn  to  her 
as  a  frightened  child  to  its  mother." 

"I  fear  nothing,  Monsignor,"  replied  the  girl,  her  face  alight 
with  a  smile  of  complete  confidence.  "I  am  not  the  kind  who 
may  be  driven  by  fear  into  acceptance  of  undemonstrable,  un 
founded  theological  beliefs.  Fear  has  always  been  a  terrible 
weapon  in  the  hands  of  those  who  have  sought  to  force  their 
opinions  upon  their  fellow-men.  But  it  is  powerless  to  in 
fluence  me.  Fear,  Monsignor,  is  sin.  It  causes  men  to  miss  the 
mark.  And  it  is  time-honored.  Indeed,  according  to  the  Bible 
allegory,  it  began  in  the  very  garden  of  Eden,  when  poor, 
deceived  Adam  confessed  to  God  that  he  was  afraid.  If  God 
\vas  infinite  then,  as  you  admit  you  believe  Him  to  be  now, 
who  or  what  made  Adam  afraid?  Whence  came  the  imaginary 
power  of  fear?  For,  'God  hath  not  given  us  the  spirit  of  fear; 
but  of  power,  and  of  love,  and  of  a  sound  mind.'  God  is  love. 
And  there  is  no  fear  in  love." 

"But,  surely,  Miss  Carmen,  you  will  not  stubbornly  close 
your  eyes  to  threatening  evil?"  ...  f  ,  f 

"Monsignor,  I  close  my  eyes  to  all  that  is  unlike  God.  He 
is  everything  to  me.  I  know  nothing  but  Him  and  His  perfect 
manifestation." 

Lafelle  sat  some  moments  in  silence.  The  picture  which 
he  and  the  young  girl  formed  was  one  of  rare  beauty  and  in 
terest  :  he,  weighted  with  years,  white  of  hair,  but  rugged  of 
form,  with  strikingly  handsome  features  and  kindly  eyes — she, 
a  child,  delicate,  almost  wraith-like,  glowing  with  a  beauty 
that  was  not  of  earth,  and,  though  untutored  in  the  wiles  of 

160 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


men,  still  holding  at  bay  the  sagacious  representative  of  a 
crushing  weight  of  authority  which  reached  far  back  through 
the  centuries,  even  to  the  Greek  and  Latin  Fathers  who  put 
their  still  unbroken  seal  upon  the  strange  elaborations  which 
they  wyove  out  of  the  simple  words  of  the  Nazarene. 

When  the  churchman  again  looked  up  and  felt  himself 
engulfed  in  the  boundless  love  which  emanated  from  that  ra 
diant,  smiling  girl,  there  surged  up  within  him  a  mighty  im 
pulse  to  go  to  her,  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  to  fall  at  her  feet 
and  pray  for  even  a  mite  of  her  own  rare  spirituality.  The 
purpose  which  he  had  that  morning  formulated  died  within 
him;  the  final  card  which  he  would  have  thrown  lay  crushed 
in  his  hand.  He  rose  and  came  and  stood  before  her. 

"The  people  believe  you  a  child  of  the  ancient  Incas,"  he 
said  slowly,  taking  her  hand.  "What  if  I  should  say  that  I 
know  better?" 

"I  would  say  that  you  were  right,  Monsignor,"  she  replied 
gently,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  sweet  smile. 

"Then  you  admit  the  identity  of  your  father?" 

"Yes,  Monsignor." 

"Ah!     And  that  is—?" 

"God." 

The  man  bent  for  a  moment  over  the  little  white  hand,  and 
then  immediately  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  18 

MONSIGNOR    LAFELLE    in    his    interview    with    Carmen 
had    thrown    out    a    hint    of   certain    rumors   regarding 
her;   but  the   days   passed,   and  the  girl   awoke  not  to 
their    significance.      Then,    one    morning,    her    attention    was 
attracted  by   a  newspaper   report   of  the   farewell  address   of 
a  young  priest  about  to  leave  his  flock.     When  she  opened  the 
paper  and  caught  sight  of  the  news  item  she  gave  a  little  cry, 
and  immediately  forgot  all  else  in  her  absorption  in  the  closing 
words : 

" — and  I  have  known  no  other  ambition  since  the  day  that  little  waif 
from  a  distant  land  strayed  into  my  life,  lighting  the  dead  lamp  of  my 
faith  with  the  torch  of  her  own  flaming  spirituality.  She  said  she  had 
a  message  for  the  people  up  here.  Would  to  God  she  might  know  that 
her  message  had  borne  fruit!" 

The  newspaper  slipped  from  the  girl's  hands  to  the  floor. 
Her  eyes,  big  and  shining,  stared  straight  before  her.  "And 
I  will  lead  the  blind  by  a  way  that  they  know  not—  '  she 
murmured. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  telephone  rang.  It  was  Miss  Wall,  ready  now  for  the 
postponed  ride.  Carmen  clapped  her  hands  and  sang  for  joy 
as  she  summoned  the  car  and  made  her  preparations.  "We'll 
go  over  to  his  church,"  she  said  aloud.  "We'll  find  him!" 
She  hurried  back  to  the  newspaper  to  get  the  address  of  the 
church  from  which  he  had  spoken  the  preceding  day.  "They 
will  know  where  he  is,"  she  said  happily.  "Oh,  isn't  it  just 
wonderful!" 

A  few  minutes  later,  with  Miss  Wall  at  her  side,  she  was 
speeding  to  the  distant  suburb  where  the  little  church  was 
located. 

"We  are  going  to  find  a  priest,"  she  said  simply.  "Oh,  you 
mustn't  ask  me  any  questions!  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  doesn't 
like  to  have  me  talk  about  certain  things,  and  so  I  can't  tell 
you." 

Miss  Wall  glanced  at  her  in  wonder.  But  the  happy,  smil 
ing  countenance  disarmed  suspicion. 

"Now  tell  me,"  Carmen  went  on,  "tell  me  about  yourself. 
I'm  a  missionary,  you  know,"  she  added,  thinking  of  Father 
Waite. 

"A  missionary!  Well,  are  you  trying  to  convert  the  society 
world?" 

"Yes,  by  Christianity — not  by  what  the  missionaries  are  now 
teaching  in  the  name  of  Christianity.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  some  day.  Now  tell  me,  why  are  you  unhappy?  Why  is 
your  life  pitched  in  such  a  minor  key?  Perhaps,  together,  we 
can  change  it  to  a  major." 

Miss  Wall  could  not  help  joining  in  the  merry  laugh.  Then 
her  face  grew  serious.  "I  am  unhappy,"  she  said,  "because  I 
have  arrived  nowhere." 

Carmen  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  "Well,"  she  said,  "that 
shows  you  are  on  the  wrong  track,  doesn't  it?" 

"I'm  tired  of  life — tired  of  everything,  everybody!"  Miss 
Wall  sank  back  into  the  cushions  with  her  lips  pursed  and  her 
brow  wrinkled. 

"No,  you  are  not  tired  of  life,"  said  Carmen  quietly;  "for 
you  do  not  know  what  life  is." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  replied  the  weary  woman.  "Do  you?" 
she  asked  abruptly. 

"Yes,  it  is  God." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  that  name,  nor  quote  Scripture  to  me!" 
cried  the  woman,  throwing  up  her  hands  in  exasperation. 
"I've  had  that  stuff  preached  at  me  until  it  turned  my  stomach! 
I  hope  you  are  not  an  emotional,  weepy  religionist.  Let's  not 
talk  about  that  subject.  I'm  heartily  sick  of  it!" 

"All  right,"  replied  Carmen  cheerily.  "Padre  Jose  used  to 
say—" 

162 


"Who's  he?"   demanded   Miss  Wall,   somewhat  curtly. 

"Oh,  he  is  a  priest — 

"A  priest!  Dear  me!  do  you  constantly  associate  with 
priests,  and  talk  religion?" 

The  young  girl  laughed.  "Well,"  she  responded,  "I've  had 
a  good  deal  to  do  with  both." 

"And  are  you  any  better  for  it?" 

"Oh,  yes — lots!"  she  said  quickly. 

The  woman  regarded  her  with  curiosity.  "Tell  me  some 
thing  about  your  life,"  she  said.  "They  say  you  are  a  prin 
cess."  .£.ij 

"Surely  I  am  a  princess,"  returned  Carmen,  laughing  mer 
rily.  "Listen;  I  will  tell  you  about  big,  glorious  Simiti,  and 
the  wonderful  castle  I  lived  in  there,  and  about  my  Prime 
Minister,  Don  Rosendo,  and — well,  listen,  and  then  judge  for 
yourself  if  I  am  not  of  royal  extraction!" 

Laughing  again  up  into  the  mystified  face  of  Miss  Wall,  the 
enthusiastic  girl  began  to  tell  about  her  former  life  in  far-off 
Guamoco. 

As  she  listened,  the  woman's  eyes  grew  wide  with  interest. 
At  times  she  voiced  her  astonishment  in  sudden  exclamations. 
And  when  the  girl  concluded  her  brief  recital,  she  bent  upon 
the  sparkling  face  a  look  of  mingled  wonder  and  admiration. 
"Goodness!  After  going  through  all  that,  how  can  you  be  so 
happy  now?  And  with  all  your  kin  down  there  in  that  awful 
war!  Why — !" 

"Don't  you  think  I  am  a  princess  now?"  Carmen  asked, 
smiling  up  at  her. 

"I  think  you  are  a  marvel!"  was  the  emphatic  answer. 

"And — you  don't  want  to  know  what  it  was  that  kept  me 
through  it  all,  and  that  is  still  guiding  me?"  The  bright, 
animated  face  looked  so  eagerly,  so  lovingly,  into  the  world- 
scarred  features  of  her  companion. 

"Not  if  you  are  going  to  talk  religion.  Tell  me,  who  is  this 
priest  you  are  seeking  to-day,  and  why  have  you  come  to  see 
him?" 

"Father  Waite.  He  is  the  one  who  found  me — when  I  got 
lost — and  took  me  to  my  friends." 

The  big  car  whirled  around  a  corner  and  stopped  before 
a  dingy  little  church  edifice  surmounted  by  a  weather-beaten 
cross.  On  the  steps  of  a  modest  frame  house  adjoining  stood 
a  man.  He  turned  as  the  car  came  up. 

"Father  Waite!"  Carmen  threw  wide  the  door  of  the  car 
and  sprang  out.  "Father  Waite!"  clasping  his  hands.  "Don't 
you  know  me?  I'm  Carmen!" 

A  light  came  into  the  startled  man's  eyes.    He  recognized 

163 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


her.  Then  he  stepped  back,  that  he  might  better  see  her. 
More  than  a  year  had  passed  since  he  had  taken  her,  so  oddly 
garbed,  and  clinging  tightly  to  his  hand,  into  the  Ketchim 
office.  And  in  that  time,  he  thought,  she  had  been  transformed 
into  a  vision  of  heavenly  beauty. 

"Well!"  cried  the  impatient  girl.  "Aren't  you  going  to 
speak?"  And  with  that  she  threw  her  arms  about  him  and 
kissed  him  loudly  on  both  cheeks. 

The  man  and  Miss  Wall  gave  vent  to  exclamations  of  aston 
ishment.  He  colored  violently;  Miss  Wall  sat  with  mouth 
agape. 

"Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?"  pursued  the  girl,  again  grasp 
ing  his  hands. 

Then  he  found  his  tongue.  "An  angel  from  heaven  could 
not  be  more  welcome,"  he  said.  But  his  voice  was  low,  and 
the  note  of  sadness  was  prominent. 

"Well,  I  am  an  angel  from  heaven,"  said  the  laughing,  art 
less  girl.  "And  I'm  an  Inca  princess.  And  I'm  just  plain  Car 
men  Ariza.  But,  wrhoever  I  am,  I  am,  oh,  so  glad  to  see  you 
again!  I — "  she  looked  about  carefully — "I  read  your  sermon 
in  the  newspaper  this  morning.  Did  you  mean  me?"  she  con 
cluded  abruptly. 

He  smiled  wanly.     "Yes,  I  meant  you,"  he  softly  answered. 

"Come  with  me  now,"  said  the  eager  girl.  "I  want  to  talk 
with  you." 

"Impossible,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

"Then,  will  you  come  and  see  me?"  She  thought  for  a 
moment.  "Why  have  you  never  been  to  see  me?  Didn't  you 
know  I  was  still  in  the  city?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied.  "I  used  to  see  your  name  in  the 
papers,  often.  And  I  have  followed  your  career  with  great 
interest.  But — you  moved  in  a  circle — from  which  I — well,  it 
was  hardly  possible  for  me  to  come  to  see  you,  you  know — " 

"It  was!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "But,  never  mind,  you  are 
coming  now.  Here,"  drawing  a  card  from  her  bag,  "this  is 
the  address  of  Madam  Beaubien.  Will  you  come  there  to 
morrow  afternoon,  at  two,  and  talk  with  me?" 

He  looked  at  the  card  which  she  thrust  into  his  hand,  and 
then  at  the  richly-gowned  girl  before  him.  He  seemed  to  be 
in  a  dream.  But  he  nodded  his  head  slowly. 

"Tell  me,"  she  whispered,  "how  is  Sister  Katie?" 

Ah,  if  the  girl  could  have  known  how  that  great-hearted 
old  soul  had  mourned  her  "little  bairn"  these  many  months. 

"I  will  go  to  see  her,"  said  Carmen.  "But  first  you  wrill 
come  to  me  to-morrowr."  She  beamed  upon  him  as  she  clasped 
his  hands  again.  Then  she  entered  the  car,  and  sat  waving  her 
hand  back  at  him  as  long  as  he  could  see  her. 

164 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


It  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  of  the  two,  Miss  Wall  or 
Father  Waite,  was  the  more  startled  by  this  abrupt  and  lively 
rencontre.  But  to  Carmen,  as  she  sat  back  in  the  car  absorbed 
in  thought,  it  had  been  a  perfectly  natural  meeting  between 
two  warm  friends.  Suddenly  the  girl  turned  to  the  woman. 
"You  haven't  anything  but  money,  and  fine  clothes,  and  auto 
mobiles,  and  jewels,  you  think.  And  you  want  something 
better.  Do  you  know?  I  know  what  it  is  you  want." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  wondering  woman,  marveling  at 
this  strange,  girl  who  went  about  embracing  people  so  pro 
miscuously. 

"Love." 

The  woman's  lip  trembled  slightly  when  she  heard  this, 
but  she  did  not  reply. 

"And  I'm  going  to  love  you,"  the  girl  continued.  "Oh,  so 
much!  You're  tired  of  society  gabble  and  gossip;  you're  tired 
of  spending  on  yourself  the  money  you  never  earned;  you're 
not  a  bit  of  use  to  anybody,  are  you?  But  you  want  to  be. 
You're  a  sort  of  tragedy,  aren't  you?  Oh,  I  know.  There  are 
just  lots  of  them  in  high  society,  just  as  weary  as  you.  They 
haven't  anything  but  money.  And  they  lack  the  very  greatest 
thing  in  all  of  life,  the  very  thing  that  no  amount  of  money 
will  buy,  just  love!  But,  do  you  know?  they  don't  realize 
that,  in  order  to  get,  they  must  give.  In  order  to  be  loved,  they 
must  themselves  love.  Now  you  start  right  in  and  love  the 
whole  world,  love  everybody,  big  and  little.  And,  as  you  love 
people,  try  to  see  only  their  perfection.  Never  look  at  a  bad 
trait,  nor  a  blemish  of  any  sort.  Try  it.  In  a  week's  time  you 
will  be  a  new  woman." 

"Do  you  do  that?"  the  woman  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  have  always  done  it,"  replied  Carmen.  "I  don't  know 
anything  but  love.  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  hate  or  revile. 
I  never  could  see  what  there  was  that  deserved  hatred  or  loath 
ing.  I  don't  see  anything  but  good — everywhere." 

The  woman  slipped  an  arm  about  the  girl.  "I — I  don't 
mind  your  talking  that  way  to  me,"  she  whispered.  "But  I 
just  couldn't  bear  to  listen  to  any  more  religion." 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Carmen.  "That's  all  there  is  to  religion! 
Love  is  the  tie  that  binds  all  together  and  all  to  God.  Why, 
Miss  Wall- 

"Call  me  Elizabeth,  please,"  interrupted  the  woman. 

"Well  then,  Elizabeth,"  she  said  softly,  "all  creeds  have  got 
to  merge  into  just  one,  some  day,  and,  instead  of  saying  'I 
believe,'  everybody  will  say  'I  understand  and  I  love.'  Why, 
the  very  person  who  loved  more  than  anybody  else  ever  did 
was  the  one  who  saw  God  most  clearly!  He  knew  that  if  we 

165 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


would  see  God — good  everywhere — we  would  just  simply  have 
to  love,  for  God  is  love!  Don't  you  see?  It  is  so  simple!" 

"Do  you  love  me,  Carmen,  because  you  pity  me?" 

"No,  indeed!"  was  the  emphatic  answer.  "God's  children 
are  not  to  be  pitied — and  I  see  in  people  only  His  children." 

"Well,  why,  then,  do  you  love  me?" 

The  girl  replied  quickly:  "God  is  love.  I  am  His  reflection. 
I  reflect  Him  to  you.  That's  loving  you. 

"And  now,"  she  continued  cheerily,  "we  are  going  to  work 
together,  aren't  we?  You  are  first  going  to  love  everybody. 
And  then  you  are  going  to  see  just  what  is  right  for  you  to 
do — what  work  you  are  to  take  up — what  interests  you  are  to 
have.  But  love  comes  first." 

"Tell  me,  Carmen,  why  are  you  in  society?  What  keeps 
you  there,  in  an  atmosphere  so  unsuited  to  your  spiritual 
life?" 

"God." 

"Oh,  yes,"  impatiently.    "But—" 

"Well,  Elizabeth  dear,  every  step  I  take  is  ordained  by  Him, 
who  is  my  life.  I  am  where  He  places  me.  I  leave  everything 
to  Him,  and  then  keep  myself  out  of  the  way.  If  He  wishes  to 
use  me  elsewhere,  He  will  remove  me  from  society.  But  I  wait 
for  Him." 

The  woman  looked  at  her  and  marveled.  How  could  this 
girl,  who,  in  her  few  brief  years,  had  passed  through  fire  and 
flood,  still  love  the  hand  that  guided  her! 


CHAPTER  19 

TO    the    great    horde    of    starving    European    nobility    the 
daughters    of    American    millionaires    have    dropped    as 
heavenly  manna.     It  was  but  dire  necessity  that  forced 
low  the  bars  of  social  caste  to  the  transoceanic  traffic  between 
fortune  and  title. 

That  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  might  ever  aspire  to  the  purchase 
of  a  decrepit  dukedom  had  never  entered  her  thought.  A  tot 
tering  earldom  was  likewise  beyond  her  purchasing  power. 
She  had  contented  herself  that  Carmen  should  some  day  barter 
her  rare  culture,  her  charm,  and  her  unrivaled  beauty,  for  the 
more  lowly  title  of  an  impecunious  count  or  baron.  But  to 
what  heights  of  ecstasy  did  her  little  soul  rise  when  the  young 
Duke  of  Altern  made  it  known  to  her  that  he  would  honor  her 
beautiful  ward  with  his  own  glorious  name — in  exchange  for 
La  Libertad  and  other  good  and  valuable  considerations,  re 
ceipt  of  which  would  be  duly  acknowledged. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I — aw — have  spoken  to  her,  ye  know,  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,"  that  worthy  young  cad  announced  one  afternoon,  as 
he  sat  alone  with  the  successful  society  leader  in  the  warm 
glow  of  her  living  room.  "And — bah  Jove!  she  said  we  were 
engaged,  ye  know — really!  Said  we  were  awfully  good  friends, 
ye  know,  and  all  that.  Ton  my  word!  she  said  she  loved  me." 
For  Reginald  had  done  much  thinking  of  late — and  his  cred 
itors  were  restless. 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  it!"  cried  the  overpowered  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles,  beaming  like  a  full-blown  sunflower. 

"But  I  do,  really!  Only — ye  know,  she'll  have  to  be — 
coached  a  bit,  ye  know — told  who  we  are — our  ancestral  his 
tory,  and  all  that.  You  know  what  I  mean,  eh?" 

"Of  course — you  dear  boy!  Why,  she  just  couldn't  help  lov 
ing  you!" 

"No — aw — no,  of  course — that  is — aw — she  has  excellent 
prospects — financial,  I  mean,  eh?  Mines,  and  all  that,  ye 
know — eh?" 

"Why,  she  owns  the  grandest  gold  mine  in  all  South 
America!  Think  of  it!" 

"Bah  Jove!  I — aw — I  never  was  so  attracted  to  a  girl  in 
all  me  blooming  life!  You  will — a — speak  to  her,  eh?  Help 
me  out,  ye  know.  Just  a  few  words,  eh?  You  know  what  I 
mean?" 

"Never  fear,  Reginald,  she's  yours.  There  will  be  no  oppo 
sition." 

"Opposition!  Certainly  not — not  when  she  knows  about 
our  family.  And — aw — mother  will  talk  with  you — that  is, 
about  the  details.  She'll  arrange  them,  ye  know.  I  never  was 
good  at  business." 

And  the  haughty  mother  of  the  young  Duke  did  call  shortly 
thereafter  to  consult  in  regard  to  her  son's  matrimonial  de 
sires.  The  nerve-racking  round  of  balls,  receptions,  and  other 
society  functions  was  quite  forgotten  by  the  elated  Mrs.  Haw 
ley-Crowles,  whose  ears  tingled  deliciously  under  the  pompous 
boastings  of  the  Dowager  Lady  Altern.  The  house  of  Altern? 
Why,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was  convinced,  after  a  half  hour's 
conversation  with  this  proud  mother,  that  the  royal  house  of 
Brunswick  was  but  an  impudent  counterfeit!  What  was  La 
Libertad  worth?  She  knew  not.  But  her  sister's  brother, 
Mr.  Reed,  who  had  hastily  appraised  it,  had  said  that  there 
was  a  mountain  of  gold  there,  only  awaiting  Yankee  enter 
prise.  And  Carmen?  There  was  proof  positive  that  she  was 
an  Inca  princess.  Yes,  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was  so  honored 
by  the  deep  interest  which  the  young  Duke  manifested  in  the 
wonderful  girl!  And  she  would  undertake  negotiations  with 

167 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


her  at  once.  But  it  must  be  done  wisely.  Carmen  was  not 
like  other  girls.  No,  indeed! 

And  now  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  had  to  plan  very  carefully. 
She  was  terribly  in  debt;  yet  she  had  resources.  The  Beau- 
bien  was  inexhaustible.  Ames,  too,  might  be  depended  upon. 
And  La  Libertad — well,  there  was  Mr.  Philip  O.  Ketchim  to 
reckon  with.  So  she  forthwith  summoned  him  to  a  consulta 
tion. 

But,  ere  her  talk  with  that  prince  of  finance,  another  bit 
of  good  fortune  fell  into  the  lady's  spacious  lap.  Reed  had 
written  that  he  was  doing  poorly  writh  his  western  mining 
ventures,  and  would  have  to  raise  money  at  once.  He  there 
fore  offered  to  sell  his  interest  in  the  Simiti  Company.  More 
over,  he  wanted  his  wife  to  come  to  him  and  make  her  home 
in  California,  where  he  doubtless  wrould  spend  some  years. 
Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  offered  him  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
for  his  Simiti  interest;  of  which  offer  Reed  wired  his  immediate 
acceptance.  Then  the  lady  packed  her  rueful  sister  Westward 
Ho!  and  laid  her  newly  acquired  stock  before  the  Beaubien  for 
a  large  loan.  That  was  but  a  day  before  Ketchim  called. 

"Madam,"  said  that  suave  gentleman,  smiling  piously,  "you 
are  a  genius.  Our  ability  to  announce  the  Duke  of  Altern  as 
our  largest  stockholder  will  result  in  a  boom  in  the  sales  of 
Simiti  stock.  The  Lord  has  greatly  prospered  our  humble  en 
deavors.  Er — might  I  ask,  Madam,  if  you  would  condescend  to 
meet  my  wife  some  afternoon?  We  are  rapidly  acquiring  some 
standing  in  a  financial  way,  and  Mrs.  Ketchim  would  like  to 
know  you  and  some  of  the  more  desirable  members  of  your 
set,  if  it  might  be  arranged." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  beamed  her  joy.  She  drew  herself 
up  with  a  regnant  air.  The  people  were  coming  to  her,  their 
social  queen,  for  recognition! 

"And  there's  my  Uncle  Ted,  you  know,  Madam.  He's  presi 
dent  of  the  C.  and  R." 

Mrs.  Ha\vley-Crowles  nodded  and  looked  w-ise.  "Possibly 
we  can  arrange  it,"  she  said.  "But  now  about  our  other  invest 
ments.  What  is  Joplin  Zinc  doing?" 

"Progressing  splendidly,  Madam.  We  shall  declare  a  divi 
dend  this  month." 

The  lady  wondered,  for  Joplin  Zinc  was  not  yet  in  opera 
tion,  according  to  the  latest  report. 

£.  *  V  *  *  *  * 

Meantime,  while  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  was  still  laying  her 
plans  to  herd  the  young  girl  into  the  mortgaged  dukedom  of 
Altern,  Father  Waite  kept  his  appointment,  and  called  at  the 
Eeaubien  mansion  on  the  afternoon  Carmen  had  set.  He  was 

168 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


warmly  received  by  the  girl  herself,  who  had  been  watching 
for  his  coming. 

"Now,"  she  began  like  a  bubbling  fountain,  when  they  were 
seated  in  the  music  room,  "where's  Jude?  I  want  to  find  her." 

"Jude?  Why,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  to  whom  you 
refer,"  returned  the  puzzled  man. 

"The  woman  who  took  me  to  the  Sister  Superior,"  explained 
Carmen. 

"Ah!     We  never  saw  her  again." 

"Well,"  said  the  girl  confidently,  "I  saw  her,  but  she  got 
away  from  me.  But  I  shall  find  her — it  is  right  that  I  should. 
Now  tell  me,  wrhat  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  have  no  idea.  Earn  my  living  some  way,"  he  replied 
meditatively. 

"You  have  lots  of  friends  who  will  help  you?" 

"None,"  he  said  sadly.     "I  am  an  apostate,  you  know." 

"Well,  that  means  that  you're  free.  The  chains  have 
dropped,  haven't  they?" 

"But  left  me  dazed  and  confused." 

"You  are  not  dazed,  nor  confused!  Why,  you're  like  a 
prisoner  coming  out  of  his  dungeon  into  the  bright  sunlight. 
You're  only  blinking,  that's  all.  And,  as  for  confusion — well, 
if  I  would  admit  it  to  be  true  I  could  point  to  a  terrible  state 
of  it!  Just  think,  a  duke  wants  to  marry  me;  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  is  determined  that  he  shall;  I  am  an  Inca  princess, 
and  yet  I  don't  know  who  I  am;  my  own  people  apparently  are 
swallowed  up  by  the  war  in  Colombia;  and  I  am  in  an  environ 
ment  here  in  New  York  in  which  I  have  to  fight  every  moment 
to  keep  myself  from  flying  all  to  pieces!  But  I  guess  God  in 
tends  to  keep  me  here  for  the  present.  Oh,  yes,  and  Monsignor 
Lafelle  insists  that  I  am  a  Catholic  and  that  I  must  join  his 
Church." 

"Monsignor  Lafelle!     You — you  know  him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well.     And  you?" 

He  evaded  reply  by  another  query.  "Is  Monsignor  Lafelle 
working  with  Madam  Beaubien,  your  friend?" 

"I  think  not,"  laughed  Carmen.  "But  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles — 

"Was  it  through  him  that  she  became  a  communicant?" 

"Yes.    Why?" 

"And  is  he  also  working  with  Mr.  J.  Wilton  Ames?  He 
converted  Mrs.  Ames's  sister,  the  Dowager  Duchess,  in  England. 
The  young  Duke  is  also  going  to  join  the  faith,  I  learn.  But — 
you?"  He  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  searchingly  at  her. 

At  that  moment  a  maid  entered,  bearing  a  card.  Close  on 
her  heels  followed  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  Monsignor 
himself. 

169 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


As  he  entered,  Carmen  rose  hastily  to  greet  him.  Lafelle 
bent  over  her  hand.  Then,  as  he  straightened  up,  his  glance 
fell  upon  Father  Waite.  The  latter  bowed  without  speaking. 
For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  eying  each  other  sharply. 
Then  Lafelle  looked  from  Father  Waite  to  Carmen  quizzically. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  was  not  aware  that  you  had 
a  caller.  Madam  Beaubien,  is  she  at  home?" 

"No,"  said  Carmen  simply.     "She  went  out  for  a  ride." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Lafelle,  looking  significantly  from  the 
girl  to  Father  Waite,  while  a  smile  curled  his  lips.  "I  see.  I 
will  intrude  no  further."  He  bowed  again,  and  turned  toward 
the  exit. 

"Wait!"  rang  forth  Carmen's  clear  voice.  She  had  caught 
the  churchman's  insinuating  glance  and  instantly  read  its 
meaning.  "Monsignor  Lafelle,  you  will  remain!" 

The  churchman's  brows  arched  with  surprise,  but  he  came 
back  and  stood  by  the  chair  which  she  indicated. 

"And  first,"  went  on  the  girl,  standing  before  him  like  an 
incarnate  Nemesis,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  snapping, 
"you  will  hear  from  me  a  quotation  from  the  Scripture,  on 
which  you  assume  to  be  authority:  'As  a  man  thinketh  in  his 
heart,  so  is  he!' ' 

For  a  moment  Lafelle  flushed.  Then  his  face  darkened. 
Finally  a  bland  smile  spread  over  his  features,  and  he  sat 
down.  The  girl  resumed  her  seat. 

"Now,  Monsignor  Lafelle,"  she  continued  severely,  "you 
have  urged  me  to  unite  with  your  Church.  When  you  asked 
me  to  subscribe  to  your  beliefs  I  looked  first  at  them,  and 
then  at  you,  their  product.  You  have  come  here  this  after 
noon  to  plead  with  me  again.  The  thoughts  which  you  ac 
cepted  when  you  saw  Father  Waite  here  alone  with  me,  are 
they  a  reflection  of  love,  which  thinketh  no  evil?  Or  do  they 
reflect  the  intolerance,  the  bigotry,  the  hatred  of  the  carnal 
mind?  You  told  me  that  your  Church  would  not  let  me  teach 
it.  Think  you  I  will  let  it  or  you  teach  me?" 

Father  Waite  sat  amazed  at  the  girl's  stinging  rebuke. 
When  she  concluded  he  rose  to  go. 

"No!"  said  Carmen.  "You,  too,  shall  remain.  You  have  left 
the  Church  of  which  Monsignor  Lafelle  is  a  part.  Either  you 
have  done  that  Church,  and  him,  a  great  injustice — or  he  does 
ignorant  or  wilful  wrong  in  insisting  that  I  unite  with  it." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Lafelle  gently,  now  recovered  and 
wholly  on  his  guard,  "your  impetuosity  gets  the  better  of  your 
judgment.  This  is  no  occasion  for  a  theological  discussion, 
nor  are  you  sufficiently  informed  to  bear  a  part  in  such.  As 
for  myself,  you  unintentionally  do  me  great  wrong.  As  I  have 

170 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


repeatedly  told  you,   I   seek  only  your  eternal  welfare.     Else 
would  I  not  labor  with  you  as  I  do." 

Carmen  turned  to  Father  Waite.  "Is  my  eternal  welfare 
dependent  upon  acceptance  of  the  Church's  doctrines?" 

"No,"  he  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

A  cynical  look  came  into  Lafelle's  eyes.  But  he  replied 
affably:  "When  preachers  fall  out,  the  devil  falls  in.  Your 
reply,  Mr.  Waite,  comes  quite  consistently  from  one  who  has 
impudently  tossed  aside  authority." 

"My  authority,  Monsignor,"  returned  the  ex-priest  in  a  low 
tone,  "is  Jesus  Christ,  who  said:  'Love  thy  neighbor  as  thy 
self.'  ' 

"Ah!"  murmured  Lafelle;  "then  it  was  love  that  prompted 
you  to  abandon  your  little  flock?" 

"I  left  my  pulpit,  Monsignor,  because  I  had  nothing  to  give 
my  people.  I  no  longer  believe  the  dogmas  of  the  Church.. 
And  I  refused  longer  to  take  the  poor  people's  money  to  sup 
port  an  institution  so  politically  religious  as  I  believe  your 
Church  to  be.  I  could  no  longer  take  their  money  to  purchase 
the  release  of  their  loved  ones  from  an  imagined  purgatory — 
a  place  for  which  there  is  not  the  slightest  Scriptural  war 
rant—" 

"You  mistake,  sir!"  interrupted  Lafelle  in  an  angry  tone. 

"Very  well,  Monsignor,"  replied  Father  Waite;  "grant, 
then,  that  there  is  such  Scriptural  warrant;  I  would  neverthe 
less  know  that  the  existence  of  purgatory  was  wholly  incom 
patible  with  the  reign  of  an  infinite  God  of  love.  And,  knowing 
that,  I  have  ceased  to  extort  gifts  of  money  from  the  ignorance 
of  the  living  and  the  ghastly  terrors  of  the  dying — 

"And  so  deceive  yourself  that  you  are  doing  a  righteous  act 
in  removing  their  greatest  consolation,"  the  churchman  again 
interrupted,  a  sneer  curving  his  lip. 

"Consolation!  The  consolation  which  the  stupifying  drug 
affords,  yes!  Ah,  Monsignor,  as  I  looked  down  into  the  faces 
of  my  poor  people,  week  after  week,  I  knew  that  no  sacerdotal 
intervention  was  needed  to  remit  their  sins,  for  their  sins  were 
but  their  unsolved  problems  of  life.  Oh,  the  poor,  grief-stricken 
mothers  who  bent  their  tear-stained  eyes  upon  me  as  I  preached 
the  'authority'  of  the  Fathers!  Well  I  knew  that,  when  I  told 
them  from  my  pulpit  that  their  deceased  infants,  if  baptized, 
went  straight  to  heaven,  they  blindly,  madly  accepted  my  words ! 
And  when  I  went  further  and  told  them  that  their  dead  babes 
had  joined  the  ranks  of  the  blessed,  and  could  thenceforth  be 
prayed  to,  could  I  wonder  that  they  rejoiced  and  eagerly 
grasped  the  false  message  of  cheer?  They  believed  because 
they  wanted  it  to  be  so.  And  yet  those  utterances  of  mine, 

171 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


based  upon  the  accepted  doctrine  of  Holy  Church,  were  but 
narcotics,  lulling  those  poor,  afflicted  minds  into  a  false  sense 
of  rest  and  security,  and  checking  all  further  human  progress." 

Lafelle  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  is  to  be  regretted,"  he 
said  coldly,  "that  such  narrowness  of  view  should  be  per 
mitted  to  impede  the  salvation  of  souls." 

"Salvation — of — souls!"  exclaimed  Father  Waite.  "Ah, 
how  many  souls  have  I  not  saved ! — and  yet  I  know  not  whether 
they  or  I  be  really  saved!  Saved?  From  what?  From  death? 
Certainly  not!  From  misery,  disease,  suffering  in  this  life? 
No,  alas,  no!  Saved,  then,  from  what?  Ah,  my  friend,  saved 
only  from  the  torments  of  a  hell  and  a  purgatory  constructed 
in  the  fertile  minds  of  busy  theologians!" 

Lafelle  turned  to  Carmen.  "Some  other  day,  perhaps — 
when  it  may  be  more  convenient  for  us  both — and  you  are 
alone — " 

Carmen  laughed.  "Don't  quit  the  field,  Monsignor — unless 
you  surrender  abjectly.  You  started  this  controversy,  re 
member.  And  you  were  quite  indiscreet,  if  you  will  recall." 

Monsignor  bowed,  smiling.  "You  write  my  faults  in  brass," 
he  gently  lamented.  "When  you  publish  my  virtues,  if  you  find 
that  I  am  possessed  of  any,  I  fear  you  will  write  them  in 
water." 

Carmen  laughed  again.  "Your  virtues  should  advertise 
themselves,  Monsignor." 

"Ah,  then  do  you  not  see  in  me  the  virtue  of  desiring  your 
welfare  above  all  else,  my  child?" 

"And  the  welfare  of  this  great  country,  which  you  have 
come  here  to  assist  in  making  dominantly  Catholic,  is  it  not  so, 
Monsignor?" 

Lafelle  started  slightly.  Then  he  smiled  genially  back  at 
the  girl.  "It  is  an  ambition  which  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own," 
he  returned  gently. 

"But,  Monsignor,"  Carmen  continued  earnestly,  "are  you 
not  aware  of  the  inevitable  failure  of  your  mission?  Do  you 
not  know  that  mediaeval  theology  comports  not  with  modern 
progress?" 

"True,  my  child,"  replied  the  churchman.  "And  more, 
that  our  so-called  modern  progress — modernism,  free-thinking, 
liberty  of  conscience,  and  the  consequent  terrible  extravagance 
of  beliefs  and  false  creeds — constitutes  the  greatest  menace  now 
confronting  this  fair  land.  Its  end  is  inevitable  anarchy  and 
chaos.  Perhaps  you  can  see  that." 

"Monsignor,"  said  Carmen,  "in  the  Middle  Ages  the  Church 
was  supreme.  Emperors  and  kings  bowed  in  submission  be 
fore  her.  The  world  was  dominantly  Catholic.  Would  you  be 

172 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


willing,  for  the  sake  of  Church  supremacy  to-day,  to  return  to 
the  state  of  society  and  civilization  then  obtaining?" 

"That  would  not  follow." 

"No?  I  point  you  to  Mexico,  Cuba,  the  Philippines,  South 
America,  all  Catholic  now  or  formerly,  and  I  ask  if  you  at 
tribute  not  their  oppression,  their  ignorance,  their  low  morals 
and  stunted  manhood,  to  the  dominance  of  churchly  doctrines, 
which  oppose  freedom  of  conscience  and  press  and  speech,  and 
make  learning  the  privilege  of  the  clergy  and  the  rich?" 

"It  is  an  old  argument,  child,"  deprecated  Lafelle.  "May 
I  not  point  to  France,  on  the  contrary?" 

"She  has  all  but  driven  the  Church  from  her  borders." 

"But  is  still  Catholic!"  he  retorted.  "And  England,  though 
Anglican,  calls  herself  Catholic.  She  will  return  to  the  true 
fold.  Germany  is  forsaking  Luther,  as  she  sees  the  old  light 
shining  still  undimmed." 

Carmen  looked  at  Father  Waite.  The  latter  read  in  her 
glance  an  invitation  further  to  voice  his  own  convictions. 

"Monsignor  doubtless  misreads  the  signs  of  the  times,"  he 
said  slowly.  "The  hour  has  struck  for  the  ancient  and  mate 
rialistic  theories  enunciated  with  such  assumption  of  authority 
by  ignorant,  often  blindly  bigoted  theologians,  to  be  laid  aside. 
The  religion  of  our  fathers,  which  is  our  present-day  evangel 
ical  theology,  was  derived  from  the  traditions  of  the  early 
churchmen.  They  put  their  seal  upon  it;  and  we  blindly  accept 
it  as  authority,  despite  the  glaring,  irrefutable  fact  that  it  is 
utterly  undemonstrable.  Why  do  the  people  continue  to  be 
deceived  by  it?  Alas!  only  because  of  its  mesmeric  promise 
of  immortality  beyond  the  grave." 

Monsignor  bowed  stiffly  in  the  direction  of  Father  Waite. 
"Fortunately,  your  willingness  to  plunge  the  Christian  world 
into  chaos  will  fail  of  concrete  results,"  he  said  coldly. 

"I  but  voice  the  sentiments  of  millions,  Monsignor.  For 
them,  too,  the  time  has  come  to  put  by  forever  the  parapherna 
lia  of  images,  candles,  and  all  the  trinkets  used  in  the  pagan 
ceremonial  which  has  so  quenched  our  spirituality,  and  to  seek 
the  undivided  garment  of  the  Christ." 

"Indeed!"   murmured  Lafelle. 

"The  world  to-day,  Monsignor,  stands  at  the  door  of  a  new 
era,  an  era  which  promises  a  grander  concept  of  God  and  re 
ligion,  the  tie  which  binds  all  to  Him,  than  has  ever  before 
been  known.  We  are  thinking.  We  are  pondering.  We  are 
delving,  studying,  reflecting.  And  we  are  at  last  beginning  to 
work  with  true  scientific  precision  and  system.  As  in  chemis 
try,  mathematics,  and  the  physical  sciences,  so  in  matters  re 
ligious,  we  are  beginning  to  prove  our  working  hypotheses. 

45  173 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


And  so  a  new  spiritual  enlightenment  is  come.  People  are 
awaking  to  a  dim  perception  of  the  meaning  of  spiritual 
life,  as  exemplified  in  Jesus  Christ.  And  they  are  vaguely  be 
ginning  to  see  that  it  is  possible  to  every  one.  The  abandon 
ment  of  superstition,  religious  and  other,  has  resulted  in  such 
a  sudden  expansion  of  the  human  mind  that  the  most  marvel 
ous  material  progress  the  world  has  ever  witnessed  has  come 
swiftly  upon  us,  and  we  live  more  intensely  in  a  single  hour 
to-day  than  our  fathers  lived  in  weeks  before  us.  Oh,  yes,  we 
are  already  growing  tired  of  materiality.  The  world  is  not 
yet  satisfied.  We  are  not  happy.  But,  Monsignor,  let  not  the 
Church  boast  itself  that  the  acceptance  of  her  mediaeval  dog 
mas  will  meet  the  world's  great  need.  That  need  will  be  met, 
I  think,  only  as  we  more  and  more  clearly  perceive  the  tre 
mendous  import  of  the  mission  of  Jesus,  and  learn  how  to 
grasp  and  apply  the  marvelous  Christ-principle  which  he  used 
and  told  us  we  should  likewise  employ  to  work  out  our  salva 
tion." 

During  Father  Waite's  earnest  talk  Lafelle  sat  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  Carmen.  When  the  ex-priest  concluded,  the 
churchman  ignored  him  and  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"Well,  Monsignor?"  said  the  girl,  after  waiting  some  mo 
ments  in  expectation. 

Lafelle  smiled  paternally.     Then,  nodding  his  shapely  head 
he  said  in  a  pleading  tone: 

"Have  I  no  champion  here?  Would  you,  too,  suddenly 
abolish  the  Church,  Catholic  and  Protestant  alike?  Why,  my 
dear  child,  with  your  ideals — which  no  one  appreciates  more 
highly  than  I— do  you  continue  to  persecute  me  so  cruelly? 
Can  not  you,  too,  sense  the  unsoundness  of  the  views  just  now 
so  eloquently  voiced?" 

"That  is  cant,  Monsignor!  You  speak  wholly  without 
authority  or  proof,  as  is  your  wont." 

The  man  winced  slightly.  "Well,"  he  said,  "there  are 
several  hundred  million  Catholics  and  Protestants  in  the  world 
to-day.  Would  you  presume  to  say  that  they  are  all  mistaken, 
and  that  you  are  right?  Something  of  an  assumption,  is  it 
not?  Indeed,  I  think  you  set  the  Church  an  example  in  that 
respect." 

"Monsignor,  there  were  once  several  hundred  millions  who 
believed  that  the  earth  was  flat,  and  that  the  sun  revolved  about 
it.  Were  they  mistaken?" 

"Yes.     But  the—" 

"And,  Monsignor,  there  are  billions  to-day  who  believe  that 
matter  is  a  solid,  substantial  reality,  and  that  it  possesses  life 
and  sensation.  There  are  billions  who  believe  that  the  physical 

174 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


eyes  see,  and  the  ears  hear,  and  the  hands  feel.  Yet  these  be 
liefs  are  all  capable  of  scientific  refutation.  Did  you  know 
that?" 

"I  am  not  unacquainted  with  philosophical  speculation," 
he  returned  suggestively. 

"This  is  not  mere  speculation,  Monsignor,"  put  in  Father 
Waite.  "The  beliefs  of  the  human  mind  are  its  fetish.  Such 
beliefs  become  in  time  national  customs,  and  men  defend  them 
with  frenzy,  utterly  wrong  and  undemonstrable  though  they 
be.  Then  they  remain  as  the  incubus  of  true  progress.  By 
them  understanding  becomes  degraded,  and  the  human  mind 
narrows  and  shrinks.  And  the  mind  that  clings  to  them  will 
then  mercilessly  hunt  out  the  dissenting  minds  of  its  heretical 
neighbors  and  stone  them  to  death  for  disagreeing.  So  now, 
you  would  stone  me  for  obeying  Christ's  command  to  take  up 
my  bed  on  the  Sabbath  day." 

Lafelle  heaved  a  great  sigh.  "Still  you  blazon  my  faults," 
he  said  in  a  tone  of  mock  sadness,  and  addressing  Carmen. 
"But,  like  the  Church  which  you  persecute,  I  shall  endure.  We 
have  been  martyred  throughout  the  ages.  And  we  are  very 
patient.  Our  wayward  children  forsake  us,"  nodding  toward 
Father  Waite,  "and  yet  we  welcome  their  return  when  they 
have  tired  of  the  husks.  The  press  teems  with  slander  against 
us;  we  are  reviled  from  east  to  west.  But  our  reply  is  that 
such  slander  and  untruth  can  best  be  met  by  our  leading 
individual  lives  of  such  an  exemplary  nature  as  to  cause  all 
men  to  be  attracted  by  our  holy  light." 

"I  agree  with  you,  Monsignor,"  quickly  replied  Carmen. 
"Scurrilous  attacks  upon  the  Church  but  make  it  a  martyr. 
Vilification  returns  upon  the  one  who  hurls  the  abuse.  One 
can  not  fling  mud  without  soiling  one's  hands.  I  oppose  not 
men,  but  human  systems  of  thought.  Whatever  is  good  will 
stand,  and  needs  no  defense.  Whatever  is  erroneous  must  go. 
And  there  is  no  excuse,  for  salvation  is  at  hand." 

"Salvation?  And  your  thought  regarding  that?"  he  said  in 
a  skirmishing  tone. 

"Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and  the  unrighteous  man 
his  thoughts,"  she  replied  earnestly.  "To  him  that  soweth 
righteousness — right  thinking — shall  be  a  sure  reward.  Ah, 
Monsignor,  do  you  at  heart  believe  that  the  religion  of  the 
Christ  depends  upon  doctrines,  signs,  dogmas?  No,  it  does  not. 
But  signs  and  proofs  naturally  and  inevitably  follow  the  right 
understanding  of  Jesus'  teachings,  even  according  to  these 
words:  These  signs  shall  follow  them  that  believe.  Paul  gave 
the  formula  for  salvation,  when  he  said:  But  we  all  with  open 
face  beholding  as  in  a  glass  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  are  changed 

175 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


into  the  same  image  from  glory  to  glory,  even  as  by  the  Spirit 
of  the  Lord.  Can  you  understand  that?  Can  you  see  that, 
taking  Jesus  as  our  model  and  following  his  every  command — 
seeing  Him  only,  the  Christ-principle,  which  is  God,  good,  with 
out  any  admixture  of  evil — we  change,  even  though  slowly, 
from  glory  to  glory,  step  by  step,  until  we  rise  out  of  all  sense 
of  evil  and  death?  And  this  is  done  by  the  Spirit  which  is 
God." 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Waite,  taking  up  the  conversation  when 
she  paused.  "Even  the  poorest  human  being  can  understand 
that.  Why,  then,  the  fungus  growth  of  traditions,  ceremonies, 
rites  and  forms  which  have  sprung  up  about  the  Master's 
simple  words?  Why  the  wretched  formalistic  worship  through 
out  the  world?  Why  the  Church's  frigid,  lifeless  traditions, 
so  inconsistent  with  the  enlarging  sense  of  God  which  marks 
this  latest  century?  The  Church  has  yet  to  prove  its  utility, 
its  right  to  exist  and  to  pose  as  the  religious  teacher  of  man 
kind.  Else  must  it  fall  beneath  the  axe  which  is  even  now  at 
the  root  of  the  barren  tree  of  theology.  Her  theology,  like  the 
Judaism  of  the  Master's  day,  has  no  prophets,  no  poets,  no 
singers.  And  her  priests,  as  in  his  time,  have  sunk  into  a 
fanatical  observance  of  ritual  and  form." 

"And  yet,"  observed  Carmen,  "you  still  urge  me  to  unite 
with  it." 

Lafelle  was  growing  weary.  Moreover,  it  erked  him  sore  to 
be  made  a  target  for  the  unassailable  logic  of  the  apostate 
Waite.  Then,  too,  the  appearance  of  the  ex-priest  there  that 
afternoon  in  company  with  this  girl  who  held  such  radical 
views  regarding  religious  matters  portended  in  his  thought  the 
possibility  of  a  united  assault  upon  the  foundations  of  his 
cherished  system.  This  girl  was  now  a  menace.  She  nettled 
and  exasperated  him.  Yet,  he  could  not  let  her  alone.  Did  Ii3 
have  the  power  to  silence  her?  He  thought  he  had. 

"Have  you  finished  with  me?"  he  asked,  with  a  show  of 
gaiety.  "If  so,  I  will  depart." 

"Yes,"  replied  Carmen,  "you  may  go  now." 

Lafelle  paled.  He  had  not  expected  that  reply.  He  was 
stung  to  the  quick.  What!  dismissed  like  a  lackey?  He,  Mon- 
signor,  a  dignitary  of  Holy  Church?  He  could  not  believe  it! 
He  turned  upon  the  girl  and  her  companion,  furious  with  anger. 

"I  have  been  very  patient  with  you  both,"  he  said  in  a  voice 
that  he  could  not  control.  "But  there  is  a  reasonable  limit. 
Abuse  the  Church  as  you  will,  the  fact  remains  that  the  world 
fears  her  and  trembles  before  her  awful  voice!  Why?  Be 
cause  the  world  recognizes  her  mighty  power,  a  power  of  uni 
fied  millions  of  human  beings  and  exhaustless  wealth.  She  is 

176 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  leader,  the  guide,  the  teacher,  the  supreme  object  of 
worship  of  a  countless  army  who  would  lay  down  their  lives 
to-day  for  her.  Her  subjects  gather  from  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.  They  are  English,  French,  German,  American — but  they 
are  Catholics  first!  Emperor,  King,  Ruler,  or  Government — 
all  are  alike  subject  to  her  supreme,  divine  authority!  Na 
tionalities,  customs,  family  ties — all  melt  away  before  her,  to 
whom  her  followers  bow  in  loyal  consecration.  The  power 
which  her  supreme  leader  and  head  wields  is  all  but  omnipo 
tent!  He  is  by  divine  decree  Lord  of  the  world.  Hundreds  of 
millions  bend  before  his  throne  and  offer  him  their  hearts  and 
swords!  I  say,  you  have  good  reason  to  quake!  Aye,  America 
has  reason  to  fear!  The  onward  march  of  Holy  Church  is  not 
disturbed  by  the  croaking  calumnies  of  such  as  you  who  would 
assault  her!  And  to  you  I  say,  beware!"  His  face  was  purple, 
as  he  stopped  and  mopped  his  damp  brow. 

"What  we  have  to  beware  of,  Monsignor,"  said  Father 
Waite  gravely,  "is  the  steady  encroachments  of  Rome  in  this 
country,  with  her  weapons  of  fear,  ignorance,  and  intoler 
ance — " 

"Intolerance !  You  speak  of  intolerance !  Why,  in  this 
country,  \vhose  Constitution  provided  toleration  for  every  form 
of  religion — 

Carmen  had  risen  and  gone  to  the  man.  "Monsignor,"  she 
said,  "the  founders  of  the  American  nation  did  provide  for 
religious  tolerance — and  they  were  wise  according  to  their 
light.  But  we  of  this  day  are  still  wiser,  for  we  have  some 
knowledge  of  the  wonderful  working  of  mental  laws.  I,  too, 
believe  in  toleration  of  opinion.  You  are  welcome  to  yours, 
and  I  to  mine.  But — and  here  is  the  great  point — the  opinion 
which  Holy  Church  has  held  throughout  the  ages  regarding 
those  \vho  do  not  accept  her  dogmas  is  that  they  are  damned, 
that  they  are  outcasts  of  heaven,  that  they  merit  the  stake  and 
rack.  The  Church's  hatred  of  heretics  has  been  deadly.  Her 
thought  concerning  them  has  not  been  that  of  love,  such  as 
Jesus  sent  out  to  all  who  did  not  agree  with  him,  but  deadly, 
suggestive  hatred.  Now  our  Constitution  does  not  provide  for 
tolerance  of  hate  and  murder-thoughts,  \vhich  enter  the  minds 
of  the  unsuspecting  and  work  destruction  there  in  the  form  of 
disease,  disaster,  and  death.  That  is  what  we  object  to  in 
you,  Monsignor.  You  murder  your  opponents  with  your  poi 
sonous  thoughts.  And  toward  such  thoughts  we  have  a  right  to 
be  very  intolerant,  even  to  the  point  of  destroying  them  in 
human  mentalities.  Again  I  say,  I  war  not  against  people,  but 
against  the  murderous  carnal  thought  of  the  human  mind!" 

Monsignor  had  fallen  back  before  the  girl's  strong  words. 

177 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


His  face  had  grown  black,  and  his  hands  were  working  con 
vulsively. 

"Monsignor,"  continued  Carmen  in  a  low,  steady  voice, 
"you  have  threatened  me  with  something  which  you  apparently 
hold  over  me.  You  are  very  like  the  people  of  Galilee:  if  you 
can  not  refute  by  reason,  you  would  circumvent  by  law,  by  the 
Constitution,  by  Congress.  That  failing,  you  would  destroy. 
Instead  of  threatening  us  with  the  flames  of  hell  for  not  being 
good,  why  do  you  not  show  us  by  the  great  example  of  Jesus' 
love  how  to  be  so?  Are  you  manifesting  love  now — or  the 
carnal  mind?  I  judge  your  Church  by  such  as  manifest  it  to 
me.  How,  then,  shall  I  judge  it  by  you  to-day?" 

He  rose  slowly  and  took  her  by  the  hand.  "I  beg  your 
pardon,"  he  said  in  a  strange,  unnatural  voice.  "I  was  hasty. 
As  you  see,  I  am  zealous.  Naturally,  I  resent  misjudgment. 
And  I  assure  you  that  you  quite  misunderstand  me,  and  the 
Church  which  I  represent.  But — I  may  come  again?" 

"Surely,  Monsignor,"  returned  the  girl  heartily.  "A  debate 
such  as  this  is  stimulating,  don't  you  think  so?" 

He  bowed  and  turned  to  go.  Just  then  the  Beaubien  ap 
peared. 

"Ah,  Monsignor,"  she  said  lightly,  as  she  stepped  into  the 
room.  "You  are  exclusive.  Why  have  you  avoided  me  since 
your  return  to  America?" 

"Madam,"  replied  Lafelle,  in  some  confusion,  "no  one 
regrets  more  than  I  the  press  of  business  which  necessitated 
it.  But  your  little  friend  has  told  me  I  may  return." 

"Always  welcome,  Monsignor,"  replied  the  Beaubien,  scan 
ning  him  narrowly  as  she  accompanied  him  to  the  door.  "By 
the  way,  you  forgot  our  little  compact,  did  you  not?"  she  added 
coldly. 

"Madam,  I  came  out  of  a  sense  of  duty." 

"Of  that  I  have  no  doubt,  Monsignor.     Adieu." 

She  returned  again  to  the  music  room,  where  Carmen  made 
her  acquainted  with  Father  Waite,  and  related  the  conversa 
tion  with  Lafelle.  While  the  girl  talked  the  Beaubien's  ex 
pression  grew  serious.  Then  Carmen  launched  into  her  asso 
ciation  with  the  ex-priest,  concluding  with:  "And  he  must 
have  something  to  do,  right  away,  to  earn  his  living!" 

The  Beaubien  laughed.  She  always  did  when  Carmen,  no 
matter  how  serious  the  conversation,  infused  her  sparkling 
animation  into  it.  "That  isn't  nearly  as  important  as  to  know 
what  he  thinks  about  Monsignor's  errand  here  this  afternoon, 
dearie,"  she  said. 

Father  Waite  bowed.  "Madam,"  he  said  with  great  serious 
ness,  "I  would  be  very  wide  awake." 

178 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  Beaubien  studied  him  for  a  moment.  "Why?"  she 
asked. 

"I  think — I  think — "     He  hesitated,  and  looked  at  Carmen. 

"Well?"  impatiently. 

"I  think  he — has  been  greatly  angered  by — this  girl— and 
by  my  presence  here." 

"Ah!"  Her  face  set  hard.  Then  abruptly:  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  now?" 

"I  have  funds  enough  to  keep  me  some  weeks,  Madam, 
while  making  plans  for  the  future." 

"Then  remain  where  I  can  keep  in  touch  with  you." 

For  the  Beaubien  had  just  returned  from  a  two  hours'  ride 
with  J.  Wilton  Ames,  and  she  felt  that  she  needed  a  friend. 


CHAPTER  20 

THE  Beaubien  sat  in  the  rounded  window  of  the  breakfast 
room.  Carmen  nestled  at  her  feet.  The  maid  had  just 
removed  the  remains  of  the  light  luncheon. 

"Dearest,  please,  please  don't  look  so  serious!" 

The  Beaubien  twined  her  fingers  through  the  girl's  flowing 
locks.  "I  will  try,  girlie,"  she  said,  though  her  voice  broke. 

Carmen  looked  up  into  her  face  with  a  wistful  yearning. 
"Will  you  not  tell  me?"  she  pleaded.  "Ever  since  Monsignor 
Lafelle  and  Father  Waite  were  here  you  have  been  so  quiet; 
and  that  was  nearly  a  week  ago.  I  know  I  can  help,  if  you 
will  only  let  me." 

"How  would  you  help,  dearie?"  asked  the  woman  absently. 

"By  knowing  that  God  is  everywhere,  and  that  evil  is  un 
real  and  powerless,"  came  the  quick,  invariable  reply. 

"My  sweet  child!     Can  nothing  shake  your  faith?" 

"No.  Why,  if  I  were  chained  to  a  stake,  with  fire  all  around 
me,  I'd  know  it  wasn't  true!" 

"I  think  you  are  chained — and  the  fire  has  been  kindled," 
said  the  woman  in  a  voice  that  fell  to  a  whisper. 

"Then  your  thought  is  wrong — all  wrong!  And  wrong 
thought  just  can't  be  externalized  to  me,  for  I  know  that  'There 
shall  no  mischief  happen  to  the  righteous,'  that  is,  to  the  right- 
thinking.  And  I  think  right." 

"I'm  sure  you  do,  child."  The  Beaubien  got  up  and  walked 
slowly  around  the  room,  as  if  to  summon  her  strength.  Then 
she  returned  to  her  chair. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you,"  she  said  firmly.  "You  are  right, 
and  I  have  been  wrong.  It  concerns  you.  And  you  have  help 
that  I  have  not.  I — I  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  money." 

179 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Carmen  laughed  in  relief.     "Well,  dear  me!  that's  nothing." 

The  Beaubien  smiled  sadly.  "I  agree  with  you.  Mr.  Ames 
may  have  my  money.  I  have  discovered  in  the  past  few  months 
that  there  are  better  things  in  life.  But—"  her  lips  tightened, 
and  her  eyes  half  closed — "he  can  not  have  you!" 

"Oh!     He  wants  me?" 

"Yes.  Listen,  child :  I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  you  awaken 
something  in  every  life  into  which  you  come.  The  woman  I 
was  a  year  ago  and  the  woman  I  am  to-day  meet  almost  as 
strangers  now.  Why?  The  only  answer  I  can  give  is,  you.  I 
don't  know  what  you  did  to  people  in  South  America;  I  can 
only  surmise.  Yet  of  this  I  am  certain,  wherever  you  \vent 
you  made  a  path  of  light.  But  the  effect  you  have  on  people 
differs  with  differing  natures.  Just  why  this  is,  I  do  not  know. 
It  must  have  something  to  do  with  those  mental  laws  of  which 
I  am  so  ignorant,  and  of  which  you  know  so  much." 

Carmen  looked  at  her  in  wondering  anticipation.  The 
Beaubien  smiled  down  into  the  face  upturned  so  lovingly,  and 
went  on: 

"From  what  you  have  told  me  about  your  priest,  Jose,  I 
know  that  you  \vere  the  light  of  his  life.  He  loved  you  to  the 
complete  obliteration  of  every  other  interest.  You  have  not 
said  so;  but  I  know  it.  How,  indeed,  could  it  be  otherwise?  On 
the  other  hand,  that  heartless  Diego — his  mad  desire  to  get 
possession  of  you  was  only  animal.  Why  should  you,  a  child 
of  heaven,  arouse  such  opposite  sentiments?" 

"Dearest,"  said  the  girl,  laying  her  head  on  the  woman's 
knees,  "that  isn't  what's  worrying  you." 

"No- — but  I  think  of  it  so  often.  And,  as  for  me,  you  have 
turned  me  inside-out." 

Carmen  laughed  again  merrily.  "Well,  I  think  this  side 
wears  better,  don't  you?" 

"It  is  softer — it  may  not,"  returned  the  woman  gently.  "But 
I  have  no  desire  to  change  back."  She  bent  and  kissed  the 
brown  hair.  "Mr.  Ames  and  I  have  been — no,  not  friends.  I 
had  no  higher  ideals  than  he,  and  I  played  his  game  with  him. 
Then  you  came.  And  at  a  time  when  he  had  involved  me 
heavily  financially.  The  Colombian  revolution — his  cotton 
deal — he  must  have  foreseen,  he  is  so  uncanny — he  must  have 
known  that  to  involve  me  meant  control  whenever  he  might 
need  me!  He  needs  me  now,  for  I  stand  between  him  and  you." 

"You  don't!"  Carmen  was  on  her  feet.  "God  stands  be 
tween  me  and  every  form  of  evil!"  She  sat  down  on  the  arm 
of.  the  Beaubien's  chair.  "Is  it  because  you  will  not  let  him 
have  me  that  he  threatens  to  ruin  you  financially?" 

"Yes.  He  couldn't  ruin  me  in  reputation,  for — "  her  voice 
again  faded  to  a  whisper,  "I  haven't  any." 

180 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Thattis  not  true!"  cried  the  girl,  throwing  her  arms  about 
the  woman's  neck.  "Your  true  self  is  just  coming  to  light! 
Why,  it  is  beautiful!  And  I  love  it  so!" 

The  Beaubien  suddenly  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  The 
strain  of  weeks  was  at  last  manifesting.  "Oh,  I  have  been  in 
the  gutter! — he  dragged  me  through  the  mire! — and  I  let  him! 
I  did  it  for  money,  money!  I  gave  my  soul  for  it!  I  schemed 
and  plotted  with  him;  I  ruined  and  pillaged  with  him;  I  mur 
dered  reputations  and  blasted  lives  with  him,  that  I  might  get 
money,  dirty,  blood-stained  money!  Oh,  Carmen,  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  doing,  until  you  came!  And  now  I'd  hang 
on  the  cross  if  I  could  undo  it!  But  it's  too  late!  And  he  has 
you  and  me  in  his  clutches,  and  he  is  crushing  us!"  She  bent 
her  head  and  sobbed  violently. 

Carmen  bent  over  the  weeping  woman.  "Be  still,  and  know 
that  I  am  God."  The  Beaubien  raised  her  head  and  smiled 
feebly  through  her  tears. 

"He  governs  all,  dearest,"  whispered  Carmen,  as  she  drew 
the  woman's  head  to  her  breast.  "And  He  is  everywhere." 

"Let  us  go  away!"  cried  the  Beaubien,  starting  up. 

"Flee  from  our  problems?"  returned  the  girl.  "But  they 
would  follow.  No,  we  will  stay  and  meet  them,  right  here!" 

The  Beaubien's  hand  shook  as  she  clasped  Carmen's.  "I 
can't  turn  to  Kane,  nor  to  Fitch,  nor  Weston.  They  are  all 
afraid  of  him.  I've  ruined  Gannette  myself — for  him!  I've 
ruined  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles — " 

"Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles!"  exclaimed  Carmen,  rising. 

"Oh,  don't,  don't!"  sobbed  the  suffering  woman,  clinging  to 
the  girl. 

"But — how  did  you  do  that?" 

"I  lent  her  money — took  her  notes — which  I  sold  again  to 
Mr.  Ames." 

"Well,  you  can  buy  them  back,  can't  you?  And  return  the 
money  to  her?" 

"I  can't!     I've  tried!     He  refuses  to  sell  them!" 

"Then  give  her  your  own  money." 

"Most  that  I  have  is  mortgaged  to  him  on  the  investments 
I  made  at  his  direction,"  wailed  the  woman. 

"Well?" 

"I  will  try — I  am  trying,  desperately!  I  will  save  her,  if  I 
can!  But — there  is  Monsignor  Lafelle!" 

"Is  he  working  with  Mr.  Ames?" 

"He  works  with  and  against  him.  And  I'm  sure  he  holds 
something  over  you  and  me.  But,  I  will  send  for  him — I  will 
renew  my  vows  to  his  Church — anything  to — 

"Listen,  dearest,"  interrupted  Carmen.  "I  will  go  to  Mr. 
Ames  myself.  If  I  am  the  cause  of  it  all,  I  can — 

181 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"You  will  not!"  cried  the  Beaubien  fiercely.  "I — I  would 
kill  him!" 

"Why,  mother  dearest!" 

The  desperate  woman  put  her  head  in  the  girl's  lap  and 
sobbed  bitterly. 

"There  is  a  way  out,  dearest,"  whispered  Carmen.  "I  know 
there  is,  no  matter  what  seems  to  be  or  to  happen,  for  'under 
neath  are  the  everlasting  arms.'  I  am  not  afraid.  Mrs.  Haw- 
ley-Crowles  told  me  this  morning  that  Mrs.  Ames  intends  to 
give  a  big  reception  next  week.  Of  course  we  will  go.  And 
then  I  will  see  Mr.  Ames  and  talk  with  him.  Don't  fear,  dear 
est.  He  will  do  it  for  me.  And — it  will  be  right,  I  know." 

And  Carmen  sat  with  the  repentant  woman  all  that  day, 
struggling  with  her  to  close  the  door  upon  her  sordid  past,  and 
to  open  it  wide  to  "that  which  is  to  come." 

****** 

The  days  following  were  busy  ones  for  many  with  whom 
our  story  is  concerned.  Every  morning  saw  Carmen  on  her 
way  to  the  Beaubien,  to  comfort  and  advise.  Every  afternoon 
found  her  yielding  gently  to  the  relentless  demands  of  society, 
or  to  the  tiresome  calls  of  her  thoroughly  ardent  wooer,  the 
young  Duke  of  Altern.  Carmen  would  have  helped  him  if 
she  could.  But  she  found  so  little  upon  which  to  build.  And 
she  bore  with  him  largely  on  account  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles, 
for  whom  she  and  the  Beaubien  were  now  daily  laboring.  The 
young  man  tacitly  assumed  proprietorship  over  the  girl,  and 
all  society  was  agog  with  expectation  of  the  public  announce 
ment  of  their  engagement. 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  still  came  and  went  upon  a  tide  of 
unruffled  joy.  The  cornucopia  of  Fortune  lay  full  at  her  feet. 
Her  broker,  Ketchim,  basked  in  the  sunlight  of  her  golden 
smiles — and  quietly  sold  his  own  Simiti  stock  on  the  strength 
of  her  patronage.  Society  fawned  and  smirked  at  her  ap 
proach,  and  envied  her  brilliant  success,  as  it  copied  the  cut 
of  her  elaborate  gowns — all  but  the  deposed  Mrs.  Ames  and 
her  unlovely  daughter,  who  sulked  and  hated,  until  they  re 
ceived  a  call  from  Monsignor  Lafelle.  This  was  shortly  after 
that  gentleman's  meeting  with  Carmen  and  Father  Waite  in 
the  Beaubien  mansion.  And  he  left  the  Ames  home  with  an 
ominous  look  on  his  face.  "The  girl  is  a  menace,"  he  muttered, 
"and  she  deserves  her  fate." 

The  Ames  grand  reception,  promising  to  be  the  most  bril 
liant  event  of  the  year,  barring  the  famous  Bal  de  I'Opera, 
was  set  for  Thursday.  But  neither  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  nor 
Carmen  had  received  invitations.  To  the  former  it  was  evident 
that  there  was  some  mistake.  "For  it  can't  be  possible  that  the 

182 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


hussy  doesn't  intend  to  invite  us!"  she  argued.  But  Thursday 
morning  came,  and  found  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  drenched  with 
tears  of  anxiety  and  vexation.  "I'd  call  her  up  and  ask,  if  I 
dared,"  she  groaned.  But  her  courage  failed.  And,  to  the 
amazement  of  the  exclusive  set,  the  brilliant  function  was  held 
without  the  presence  of  its  acknowledged  leaders,  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  and  her  ward,  the  Inca  princess. 

****** 

On  Wednesday  night  Harris  arrived  from  Denver.  His 
arrival  was  instantly  made  known  to  J.  Wilton  Ames,  who,  on 
the  morning  following,  summoned  both  him  and  Philip  O. 
Ketchim  to  his  private  office.  There  were  present,  also,  Mon- 
signor  Lafelle  and  Alonzo  Hood.  Harris  and  Ketchim  came 
together.  The  latter  was  observed  to  change  color  as  he  timidly 
entered  the  room  and  faced  the  waiting  audience. 

"Be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  Ames  genially,  after  cordially 
shaking  hands  with  them  and  introducing  the  churchman. 
Then,  turning  to  Harris,  "You  are  on  your  way  to  Colombia, 
I  learn.  Going  down  to  inaugurate  work  on  the  Simiti  hold 
ings,  I  suppose?" 

Harris  threw  a  quick  glance  at  Ketchim.  The  latter  sat 
blank,  wondering  if  there  were  any  portions  of  the  earth  to 
which  Ames's  long  arms  did  not  reach. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  Ames  continued,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  pressing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  before  him, 
"a  hitch  seems  to  have  developed  in  Simiti  proceedings.  I  am 
interested,  Mr.  Ketchim,"  turning  suddenly  and  sharply  upon 
that  gentleman,  "because  my  brokers  have  picked  up  for  me 
several  thousand  shares  of  the  stock." 

Ketchim's  hair  began  to  rise. 

"But,"  proceeded  Ames  calmly,  "now  that  I  have  put  money 
into  it,  I  learn  that  the  Simiti  Company  has  no  property  what 
ever  in  Colombia." 

A  haze  slowly  gathered  before  Ketchim's  eyes.  His  ears 
hummed.  His  heart  throbbed  violently.  "How  do  you  make 
that  out,  Mr.  Ames?"  he  heard  Harris  say  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  come  from  an  infinite  distance.  "I  myself  saw  the 
title  papers  which  old  Rosendo  had,  and  saw  them  transferred 
to  Mr.  Ketchim  for  the  Simiti  Company.  Moreover,  I  personally 
visited  the  mine  in  question." 

"La  Libertad?  Quite  so,"  returned  Ames.  "But,  here's  the 
rub.  The  property  was  relocated  by  this  Rosendo,  and  he 
secured  title  to  it  under  the  name  of  the  Chicago  mine.  It  was 
that  name  which  deceived  the  clerks  in  the  Department  of 
Mines  in  Cartagena,  and  caused  them  to  issue  title,  not  know 
ing  that  it  really  was  the  famous  old  La  Libertad." 

183 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Well,  I  don't  see  that  there  is  any  ground  for  confusion." 

"Simply  this,"  returned  Ames  evenly:  "La  Libertad  mine, 
since  the  death  of  its  former  owner,  Don  Ignacio  de  Rincon, 
has  belonged  to  the  Church." 

"What!"  Harris  was  on  his  feet.  "By  what  right  does  it 
belong  to  the  Church?" 

"By  the  ancient  law  of  'en  manos  muertas,'  my  friend," 
replied  Ames,  unperturbed. 

"Good  Lord!  what's  that?" 

"Our  friend,  Monsignor  Lafelle,  representing  the  Church, 
will  explain,"  said  Ames,  waving  a  hand  toward  that  gentle 
man. 

Lafelle  cleared  his  throat.  "I  deeply  regret  this  unfortunate 
situation,  gentlemen,"  he  began.  "But,  as  Mr.  Ames  has  pointed 
out,  the  confusion  came  about  through  issuing  title  to  the  mine 
under  the  name  Chicago.  Don  Ignacio  de  Rincon,  long  before 
his  departure  from  Colombia  after  the  War  of  Independence, 
drew  up  his  last  will,  and,  following  the  established  custom 
among  wealthy  South  Americans  of  that  day,  bequeathed  this 
mine,  La  Libertad,  and  other  property,  to  the  Church,  invoking 
the  old  law  of  'en  manos  muertas'  which,  being  translated, 
means,  'in  dead  hands.'  Pious  Catholics  of  many  lands  have 
done  the  same  throughout  the  centuries.  Such  a  bequest  places 
property  in  the  custody  of  the  Church;  and  it  may  never  be 
sold  or  disposed  of  in  any  way,  but  all  revenue  from  it  must 
be  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  Masses  for  the  souls  in  purgatory. 
It  was  through  the  merest  chance,  I  assure  you,  that  your  mis 
take  was  brought  to  light.  Knowing  that  our  friend,  Mr.  Ames, 
had  purchased  stock  in  your  company,  I  took  the  pains  to 
investigate  while  in  Cartagena  recently,  and  made  the  discovery 
which  unfortunately  renders  your  claim  to  the  mine  quite 
null." 

"God  a'mighty!"  exploded  Harris.  "Did  you  know  this?" 
turning  savagely  upon  the  paralyzed  Ketchim. 

"That,"  interposed  Ames  with  cruel  significance,  "is  a  mat 
ter  which  he  will  explain  in  court." 

Fleeting  visions  of  the  large  blocks  of  stock  which  he  had 
sold;  of  the  widows,  orphans,  and  indigent  clergymen  whom 
he  had  involved;  of  the  notes  which  the  banks  held  against 
him;  of  his  questionable  deals  with  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles;  and 
of  the  promiscuous  peddling  of  his  own  holdings  in  the  now 
ruined  company,  rushed  over  the  clouded  mind  of  this  young 
genius  of  high  finance.  His  tongue  froze,  though  his  trembling 
body  dripped  with  perspiration.  Somehow  he  got  to  his  feet. 
Somehow  he  found  the  door,  and  groped  his  way  to  a  descend 
ing  elevator.  And  somehow  he  lived  through  that  terror- 
haunted  day  and  night. 

184 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


But  very  early  next  morning,  while  his  blurred  eyes  were 
drinking  in  the  startling  report  of  the  Simiti  Company's  col 
lapse,  as  set  forth  in  the  newspaper  which  he  clutched  in  his 
shaking  hand,  the  maid  led  in  a  soft-stepping  gentleman,  who 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  quaking  shoulder  and  read  to  him  from 
a  familiar-looking  document  an  irresistible  invitation  to  take 
up  lodgings  in  the  city  jail. 

****** 

There  were  other  events  forward  at  the  same  time,  which 
came  to  light  that  fateful  next  day.  It  was  noon  when  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles,  after  a  night  of  mingled  worry  and  anger  over 
the  deliberate  or  unintentional  exclusion  of  herself  and  Car 
men  from  the  Ames  reception  the  preceding  night,  descended  to 
her  combined  breakfast  and  luncheon.  At  her  plate  lay  the 
morning  mail,  including  a  letter  from  France.  She  tore  it  open, 
hastily  scanned  it,  then  dropped  with  a  gasp  into  her  chair. 

"Father — married  to — a   French — adventuress!      Oh!" 

The  long-cherished  hope  of  a  speedy  inheritance  of  his 
snug  fortune  lay  blasted  at  her  feet. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  sharply,  and  she  rose  dully  to 
answer  it.  The  call  came  from  the  city  editor  of  one  of  the 
great  dailies.  "It  is  reported,"  said  the  voice,  "that  your  ward, 
Miss  Carmen  Ariza,  is  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  negro 
priest,  now  in  South  America.  We  would  like  your  denial,  for 
we  learn  that  it  was  for  this  reason  that  you  and  the  young 
lady  were  not  included  among  the  guests  at  the  Ames  reception 
last  evening." 

Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles's  legs  tottered  under  her,  as  she 
blindly  wandered  from  the  telephone  without  replying.  Car 
men — the  daughter  of  a  priest!  Her  father  a  negro — her 
mother,  what?  She,  a  mulatto,  illegitimate — ! 

The  stunned  woman  mechanically  took  up  the  morning 
paper  which  lay  on  the  table.  Her  glance  was  at  once  at 
tracted  to  the  great  headlines  announcing  the  complete  ex 
posure  of  the  Simiti  bubble.  Her  eyes  nearly  burst  from  her 
head  as  she  grasped  its  fatal  meaning  to  her.  With  a  low, 
inarticulate  sound  issuing  from  her  throat,  she  turned  and 
groped  her  way  back  to  her  boudoir. 

****** 

Meanwhile,  the  automobile  in  which  Carmen  w.as  speeding 
to  the  Beaubien  mansion  was  approached  by  a  bright,  smiling 
young  woman,  as  it  halted  for  a  moment  at  a  street  corner. 
Carmen  recognized  her  as  a  reporter  for  one  of  the  evening 
papers,  who  had  called  often  at  the  Hawley-Crowles  mansion 
that  season  for  society  items. 

"Isn't  it  fortunate!"  exclaimed  the  young  reporter.    "I  was 

185 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


on  my  way  to  see  you.  Our  office  received  a  report  this  morn 
ing  from  some  source  that  your  father — you  know,  there  has 
been  some  mystery  about  your  parentage — that  he  was  really 
a  priest,  of  South  America.  His  name — let  me  think — what 
did  they  say  it  was?" 

"Jose?"  laughed  the  innocent  girl,  utterly  unsuspecting. 
The  problem  of  her  descent  had  really  become  a  source  of 
amusement  to  her. 

"It  began  with  a  D,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  I'm  not  up  on 
Spanish  names,"  the  young  woman  returned  pleasantly. 

"Oh,  perhaps  you  mean  Diego." 

"That's  it!  Was  that  your  father's  name?  We're  very 
much  interested  to  know." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  can't  say.     It  might  have  been." 

"Then  you  don't  deny  it?" 

"No;  how  can  I?"  she  said,  smiling.     "I  never  knew  him." 

"But — you  think  it  was,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  it  was  Padre  Diego — he  wasn't  a 
good  man." 

"Then  you  knew  him?" 

"Oh,  very  well!  I  was  in  his  house,  in  Banco.  He  used  to 
insist  that  I  was  his  child." 

"I  see.  By  the  way,  you  knew  a  woman  named  Jude,  didn't 
you?  Here  in  the  city." 

"Yes,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed  excitedly.  "Do  you  know 
where  she  is?" 

"No.     But  she  took  you  out  of  a  house  down  on — " 

"Yes.     And  I've  tried  to  find  her  ever  since." 

"You  know  Father  Waite,  too,  the  ex-priest?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well.    We're  good  friends." 

"You  and  he  going  to  work  together,  I  suppose?" 

"Why,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.     He's  very  unsettled." 

"H'm!  yes.  Well,  I  thank  you  very  much.  You  think  this 
Diego  might  have  been  your  father?  That  is,  you  can't  say 
positively  that  he  wasn't?" 

"I  can't  say  positively,  no.  But  now  I  must  go.  You  can 
come  up  to  the  house  and  talk  about  South  America,  if  you 
want  to." 

She  nodded  pleasantly,  and  the  car  moved  away.  The  in 
nocent,  ingenuous  girl  was  soon  to  learn  what  modern  news- 
gathering  and  dissemination  means  in  this  great  Republic.  But 
she  rode  on,  happy  in  the  thought  that  she  and  the  Beaubien 
were  formulating  plans  to  save  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles. 

"We'll  arrange  it  somehow,"  said  the  Beaubien,  looking  up 
from  her  papers  when  Carmen  entered.  "Go,  dearie,  and  play 
the  organ  while  I  finish  this.  Then  I  will  return  home  with 
you  to  have  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles." 

186 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


For  hours  the  happy  girl  lingered  at  the  beloved  organ. 
The  Beaubien  at  her  desk  below  stopped  often  to  listen.  And 
often  she  would  hastily  brush  away  the  tears,  and  plunge  again 
into  her  papers.  "I  suppose  I  should  have  told  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,"  she  said.  "But  I  couldn't  give  her  any  hope.  And 
even  now  it's  very  uncertain.  Ames  will  yield !  I'll  force  him 
to!  He  knows  I  can  expose  him!  And  yet,"  she  reflected  sadly, 
"who  would  believe  me?"  The  morning  papers  lay  still  unread 
upon  her  table. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Beaubien  with  Carmen  entered  her 
car  and  directed  the  chauffeur  to  drive  to  the  Hawley-Crowles 
home.  As  they  entered  a  main  thoroughfare  they  heard  the 
newsboys  excitedly  crying  extras. 

"Horrible  suicide!  Double  extra!  Big  mining  scandal! 
Society  woman  blows  out  brains!  Double  extra!" 

Of  a  sudden  a  vague,  unformed  presentiment  of  impending 
evil  came  to  the  girl.  She  half  rose,  and  clutched  the  Beaubien's 
hand.  Then  there  flitted  through  her  mind  like  a  beam  of 
light  the  words  of  the  psalmist:  "A  thousand  shall  fall  at 
thy  side,  and  ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand;  but  it  shall  not 
come  nigh  thee."  She  sank  back  against  the  Beaubien's  shoul 
der  and  closed  her  eyes. 

The  car  rolled  on.  Presently  the  chauffeur  turned  and 
said  something  through  the  speaking  tube. 

"What!"  cried  the  Beaubien,  springing  from  the  seat. 
"Merciful  heaven!  Stop  and  get  a  paper  at  once!"  The 
chauffeur  complied. 

A  loud  cry  escaped  her  as  she  took  the  sheet  and  glanced 
at  the  startling  headlines.  Mrs.  James  Hawley-Crowles,  finan 
cially  ruined,  and  hurled  to  disgrace  from  the  pinnacle  of  social 
leadership  by  the  awful  exposure  of  the  parentage  of  her  ward, 
had  been  found  in  her  bedroom,  dead,  with  a  revolver  clasped 
in  her  cold  hand. 


187 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


BOOK  4 

WATCHMAN,  what  of  the  night? 
The  watchman  said,  The  morning  cometh. 
/„„ 


— Isaiah. 


CARMEN  ARIZA 


CHAPTER  1 

THE  chill  winds  of  another  autumn  swirled  through  the 
masonry-lined  canons  of  the  metropolis  and  sighed 
among  the  stark  trees  of  its  deserted  parks.  They  caught 
up  the  tinted  leaves  that  dropped  from  quivering  branches  and 
tossed  them  high,  as  Fate  wantons  with  human  hopes  before 
she  blows  her  icy  breath  upon  them.  They  shrieked  among 
the  naked  spars  of  the  Cossack,  drifting  with  her  restless  mas 
ter  far  out  upon  the  white-capped  waves.  They  moaned  in 
low-toned  agony  among  the  marble  pillars  of  the  Crowles 
mausoleum,  where  lay  in  pitying  sleep  the  misguided  woman 
whose  gods  of  gold  and  tinsel  had  betrayed  her. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  Bronx,  in  a  newly  opened  suburb, 
a  slender  girl,  with  books  and  papers  under  her  arm,  walked 
slowly  against  the  sharp  wind,  holding  her  hat  with  her  free 
hand,  and  talking  rapidly  to  a  young  man  who  accompanied 
her.  Toward  them  came  an  old  negro,  leaning  upon  a  cane. 
As  he  stepped  humbly  aside  to  make  room,  the  girl  looked  up. 
Then,  without  stopping,  she  slipped  a  few  coins  into  his  coat 
pocket  as  she  passed. 

The  negro  stood  in  dumb  amazement.  He  was  poor — his 
clothes  were  thin  and  worn — but  he  was  not  a  beggar — he  had 
asked  nothing.  The  girl  turned  and  threw  back  a  smile  to 
him.  Then  of  a  sudden  there  came  into  the  old  man's  wrin 
kled,  care-lined  face  such  a  look,  such  a  comprehension  of 
that  love  which  knows  neither  Jew  nor  Gentile,  Greek  nor 
Barbarian,  as  would  have  caused  even  the  Rabbis,  at  the  cost 
of  defilement,  to  pause  and  seek  its  heavenly  meaning. 

A  few  blocks  farther  on  the  strong  wind  sternly  disputed 
the  girl's  right  to  proceed,  and  she  turned  with  a  merry  laugh 
to  her  companion.  But  as  she  stood,  the  wind  fell,  leaving  a 
heap  of  dead  leaves  about  her  feet.  Glancing  down,  something 
caught  her  eye.  She  stooped  and  took  up  a  two-dollar  bill. 

Her  companion  threw  her  a  wondering  look;  but  the  girl 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


made  no  comment.  In  silence  they  went  on,  until  a  few  min 
utes  more  of  brisk  walking  brought  them  to  a  newly  built, 
stucco-coated  bungalow.  Running  rapidly  up  the  steps,  the 
girl  threw  wide  the  door  and  called,  "Mother  dear!" 

The  Beaubien  rose  from  her  sewing  to  receive  the  hearty 
embrace.  "Well,  dearie?"  she  said,  devouring  the  sparkling 
creature  with  eager  eyes.  "What  luck?" 

"We're  registered!  Lewis  begins  his  law  course  at  once, 
and  I  may  take  what  I  wish.  And  Mr.  Hitt's  coming  to  call 
to-night  and  bring  a  friend,  a  Mr.  Haynerd,  an  editor.  What's 
Jude  got  for  supper?  My!  I'm  starved." 

The  Beaubien  dre\v  the  girl  to  her  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again.  Then  she  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the  man  with  a 
bantering  twinkle  in  her  eyes  and  said,  "Don't  you  wish  you 
could  do  that?  But  you  can't." 

"Yes  he  can,  too,  mother,"  asserted  the  girl. 

Father  Waite  sighed.  "I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  look  well," 
he  said.  "And,  besides,  I  don't  dare  lose  my  heart  to  her." 

With  a  final  squeeze  the  girl  tore  herself  from  the  Beau- 
bien's  reluctant  arms  and  hurried  to  the  little  kitchen.  "What 
is  it  to-night,  Jude?"  she  demanded,  catching  the  domestic  in 
a  vigorous  embrace. 

"Hist!"  said  Jude,  holding  up  a  finger.  "It's  a  secret.  I'm 
afraid  you'd  tell  him." 

"Not  a  word — I  promise." 

"Well,  then,  liver  and  bacon,  with  floating  island,"  she 
whispered,  very  mysteriously. 

"Oh,  goody!"  cried  Carmen.    "He  just  loves  them  both!" 

Returning  to  the  little  parlor,  Carmen  encountered  the  fixed 
gaze  of  both  the  Beaubien  and  Father  Waite.  "Well?"  she 
demanded,  stopping  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"What  about  that  two  dollars?"  said  the  Beaubien,  in  a  tone 
of  mock  severity. 

"Oh,"  laughed  the  girl,  running  to  the  woman  and  seating 
herself  in  the  waiting  lap,  "he  told,  didn't  he?  Can't  I  ever 
trust  you  with  a  secret?"  in  a  tone  of  rebuke,  turning  to  the 
man. 

"Surely,"  he  replied,  laughing;  "and  I  should  not  have 
divulged  this  had  I  not  seen  in  the  incident  something  more 
than  mere  chance — something  meant  for  us  all." 

Then  he  became  serious.  "I — I  think  I  have  seen  the  work 
ing  of  a  stupendous  mental  law — am  I  not  right?"  addressing 
the  girl.  "You  saw  a  need,  and  met  it,  unsolicited.  You  found 
your  own  in  another's  good." 

The  girl  smiled  at  the  Beaubien  without  replying.  "What 
about  it,  dearie?"  the  latter  asked  tenderly. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"She  need  not  answer,"  said  Father  Waite,  "for  we  know. 
She  but  cast  her  bread  upon  the  unfathomable  ocean  of  love, 
and  it  returned  to  her,  wondrously  enriched." 

"If  you  are  going  to  talk  about  me,  I  shall  not  stay,"  de 
clared  Carmen,  rising.  "I'm  going  out  to  help  Jude."  And 
she  departed  for  the  kitchen,  but  not  without  leaving  a  smile 
for  each  of  them  as  she  went.  And  they  understood. 

The  Beaubien  and  Father  Waite  remained  some  moments  in 
silence.  Then  the  woman  spoke.  "I  am  learning,"  she  said. 
"She  is  the  light  that  is  guiding  me.  This  little  incident  which 
you  have  just  related  is  but  a  manifestation  of  the  law  of  love 
by  which  she  lives.  She  gave,  unasked,  and  with  no  desire  to 
be  seen  and  advertised.  It  returned  to  her  ten-fold.  It  is  al 
ways  so  with  her.  There  was  no  chance,  no  miracle,  no  luck 
about  it.  She  herself  did  nothing.  It  was — it  was — only  the 
working  of  her  beloved  Christ-principle.  Oh,  Lewis!  if  we 
only  knew — ' 

"We  shall  know,  Madam!"  declared  the  man  vehemently. 
"Her  secret  is  but  the  secret  of  Jesus  himself,  which  was  open 
to  a  world  too  dull  to  comprehend.  Carmen  shall  teach  us. 
And,"  his  eyes  brightening,  "to  that  end  I  have  been  formulat 
ing  a  great  plan.  That's  why  I've  asked  Hitt  to  come  here 
to-night.  I  have  a  scheme  to  propose.  Remember,  my  dear 
friend,  we  are  true  searchers;  and  'all  things  work  together  for 
good  to  them  that  love  God.'  Our  love  of  truth  and  real  good 
is  so  great  that,  like  the  consuming  desire  of  the  Jewish  nation, 
it  is  bound  to  bring  the  Christ!" 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

For  three  months  the  Beaubien  and  Carmen  had  dwelt  to 
gether  in  this  lowly  environment;  and  here  they  had  found 
peace,  the  first  that  the  tired  woman  had  known  since  child 
hood.  The  sudden  culmination  of  those  mental  forces  which 
had  ejected  Carmen  from  society,  crushed  Ketchim  and  a 
score  of  others,  and  brought  the  deluded  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles 
to  a  bitter  end,  had  left  the  Beaubien  with  dulled  sensibilities. 
Even  Ames  himself  had  been  shocked  into  momentary  aban 
donment  of  his  relentless  pursuit  of  humanity  by  the  unan 
ticipated  denoument.  But  when  he  had  sufficiently  digested 
the  newspaper  accounts  wherein  were  set  forth  in  unsparing 
detail  the  base  rumors  of  the  girl's  parentage  and  of  her  re 
moval  from  a  brothel  before  her  sudden  elevation  to  social 
heights,  he  rose  in  terrible  wrath  and  prepared  to  hunt  down 
to  the  death  the  perpetrators  of  the  foul  calumny.  Whence 
had  come  this  tale,  which  even  the  girl  could  not  refute?  From 
Lafelle?  He  had  sailed  for  Europe — though  but  a  day  before. 
Ketchim?  The  man  was  cringing  like  a  craven  murderer  in  his 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


cell,  for  none  dared  give  him  bail.  Reed?  Harris?  Was  it 
revenge  for  his  own  sharp  move  in  regard  to  La  Libertad?  He 
would  have  given  all  he  possessed  to  lay  his  heavy  hands  upon 
the  guilty  ones!  The  editors  of  the  great  newspapers,  per 
haps?  Ames  raged  like  a  wounded  lion  in  the  office  of  every 
editor  in  the  city.  But  they  were  perfectly  safe,  for  the  girl, 
although  she  told  a  straightforward  story,  could  not  say  posi 
tively  that  the  published  statements  concerning  her  were  false. 
Yet,  though  few  knew  it,  there  were  two  city  editors  and  several 
reporters  who,  in  the  days  immediately  following,  found  it 
convenient  to  resign  their  positions  and  leave  the  city  before 
the  awful  wrath  of  the  powerful  man. 

Then  Ames  turned  upon  his  wife.  And,  after  weeks  of 
terror,  that  browbeaten  woman,  her  hair  whitening  under  the 
terrible  persecution  of  her  relentless  master,  fled  secretly, 
with  her  terrified  daughter,  to  England,  whither  the  stupified 
Duke  of  Altern  and  his  scandalized  mother  had  betaken  them 
selves  immediately  following  the  expose.  Thereupon  Ames's 
lawyer  drew  up  a  bill  of  divorce,  alleging  desertion,  and  laid 
it  before  the  judge  who  fed  from  his  master's  hand. 

Meantime,  the  devouring  wrath  of  Ames  swept  like  a  prairie 
fire  over  the  dry,  withering  stalks  of  the  smart  set.  He  vowed 
he  would  take  Carmen  and  flaunt  her  in  the  faces  of  the  miser 
able  character-assassins  who  had  sought  her  ruin!  He  swore 
he  would  support  her  with  his  untold  millions  and  force  society 
to  acknowledge  her  its  queen!  He  had  it  in  his  power  to 
wreck  the  husband  of  every  arrogant,  supercilious  dame  in 
the  entire  clique!  He  commenced  at  once  with  the  unfortunate 
Gannette.  The  latter,  already  tottering,  soon  fell  before  the 
subtle  machinations  of  Hodson  and  his  able  cohorts.  Then, 
as  a  telling  example  to  the  rest,  Ames  pursued  him  to  the  doors 
of  the  Lunacy  Commission,  and  rested  not  until  that  body  had 
condemned  his  victim  to  a  living  death  in  a  state  asylum. 
Kane,  Fitch,  and  Weston  fled  to  cover,  and  concentrated  their 
guns  upon  their  common  enemy.  The  Beaubien  alone  stood 
out  against  him  for  three  months.  Her  existence  was  death  in 
life;  but  from  the  hour  that  she  first  read  the  newspaper  in 
telligence  regarding  Carmen  and  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles,  she  hid  the  girl  so  completely  that  Ames  was  effec 
tually  balked  in  his  attempts  at  drastic  vindication  in  her  be 
half. 

But  this  served  only  to  intensify  his  anger,  and  he  thereupon 
turned  its  full  force  upon  the  lone  woman.  Driven  to  despera 
tion,  she  stood  at  length  at  bay  and  hurled  at  him  her  remain 
ing  weapon.  Again  the  social  set  was  rent,  and  this  time  by  the 
report  that  the  black  cloud  of  bigamy  hung  over  Ames.  It  was 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


a  fat  season  for  the  newspapers,  and  they  made  the  most  of 
it.  As  a  result,  several  of  them  found  themselves  with  libel 
suits  on  their  hands.  The  Beaubien  herself  was  confronted 
with  a  suit  for  defamation  of  character,  and  was  obliged  to 
testify  before  the  judge  whom  Ames  owned  outright  that  she 
had  but  the  latter's  word  for  the  charge,  and  that,  years  since, 
in  a  moment  of  maudlin  sentimentalism,  he  had  confessed  to 
her  that,  as  far  as  he  knew,  the  wife  of  his  youth  was  still 
living.  The  suit  went  against  her.  Ames  then  took  his  heavy 
toll,  and  retired  within  himself  to  sulk  and  plan  future  assaults 
and  reprisals. 

The  Beaubien,  crushed,  broken,  sick  at  heart,  gathered  up 
the  scant  remains  of  her  once  large  fortune,  disposed  of  her 
effects,  and  withdrew  to  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  She  would 
have  left  the  country,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  tangled  state  of 
her  finances  necessitated  her  constant  presence  in  New  York 
while  her  lawyers  strove  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos  and  placate 
her  raging  persecutor.  To  flee  meant  complete  abandonment  of 
her  every  financial  resource  to  Ames.  And  so,  with  the  assist 
ance  of  Father  Waite  and  Elizabeth  Wall,  who  placed  them 
selves  at  once  under  her  command,  she  took  a  little  house,  far 
from  the  scenes  of  her  troubles,  and  quietly  removed  thither 
with  Carmen. 

One  day  shortly  thereafter  a  woman  knocked  timidly  at  her 
door.  Carmen  saw  the  caller  and  fled  into  her  arms.  "It's 
Jude!"  she  cried  joyously. 

The  woman  had  come  to  return  the  string  of  pearls  which 
the  girl  had  thrust  into  her  hands  on  the  night  of  the  Charity 
Ball.  Nobody  knew  she  had  them.  She  had  not  been  able  to 
bring  herself  to  sell  them.  She  had  wanted — oh,  she  knew  not 
what,  excepting  that  she  wanted  to  see  again  the  girl  whose 
image  had  haunted  her  since  that  eventful  night  when  the 
strange  child  had  wandered  into  her  abandoned  life.  Yes,  she 
would  have  given  her  testimony  as  to  Carmen;  but  who  would 
have  believed  her,  a  prostitute?  And — but  the  radiant  girl 
gathered  her  in  her  arms  and  would  not  let  her  go  without  a 
promise  to  return. 

And  return  she  did,  many  times.  And  each  time  there  was 
a  change  in  her.  The  Beaubien  always  forced  upon  her  a  little 
money  and  a  promise  to  come  back.  It  developed  that  Jude  was 
cooking  in  a  cheap  down-town  restaurant.  "Why  not  for  us, 
mother,  if  she  will?"  asked  Carmen  one  day.  And,  though  the 
sin-stained  woman  demurred  and  protested  her  unworthiness, 
yet  the  love  that  knew  no  evil  drew  her  irresistibly,  and  she 
yielded  at  length,  with  her  heart  bursting. 

Then,  in  her  great  joy,  Carmen's  glad  cry  echoed  through 
the  little  house:  "Oh,  mother  dear,  we're  free,  we're  free!" 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


But  the  Beaubien  was  not  free.  Night  after  night  her  sleep 
less  pillow  was  wet  with  bitter  tears  of  remorse,  when  the  ac 
cusing  angel  stood  before  her  and  relentlessly  revealed  each 
act  of  shameful  meanness,  of  cruel  selfishness,  of  sordid  im 
morality  in  her  wasted  life.  And,  lastly,  the  weight  of  her 
awful  guilt  in  bringing  about  the  destruction  of  Mrs.  Hawley- 
Crowles  lay  upon  her  soul  like  a  mountain.  Oh,  if  she  had 
only  foreseen  even  a  little  of  it!  Oh,  that  Carmen  had  come  to 
her  before — or  not  at  all!  And  yet  she  could  not  wish  that 
she  had  never  known  the  girl.  Far  from  it!  The  day  of  judg 
ment  was  bound  to  come.  She  saw  that  now.  And,  but  for 
the  comforting  presence  of  that  sweet  child,  she  had  long  since 
become  a  raving  maniac.  It  was  Carmen  who,  in  those  first 
long  nights  of  gnawing,  corroding  remorse,  wound  her  soft 
arms  about  the  Beaubien's  neck,  as  she  lay  tossing  in  mental 
agony  on  her  bed,  and  whispered  the  assurances  of  that  infinite 
Love  which  said,  "Behold,  I  make  all  things  new!"  It  was 
Carmen  who  whispered  to  her  of  the  everlasting  arms  beneath, 
and  of  the  mercy  reflected  by  him  who,  though  on  the  cross, 
forgave  mankind  because  of  their  pitiable  ignorance.  It  is 
ignorance,  always  ignorance  of  what  constitutes  real  good, 
that  makes  men  seek  it  through  wrong  channels.  The  Beau 
bien  had  sought  good — all  the  world  does — but  she  had  never 
known  that  God  alone  is  good,  and  that  men  cannot  find  it 
until  they  reflect  Him.  And  so  she  had  "missed  the  mark." 
Oh,  sinful,  mesmerized  world,  ye  shall  find  Me — the  true  good 
— only  when  ye  seek  Me  with  all  your  heart !  And  yet,  "I,  even 
I,  am  he  that  blotteth  out  thy  transgressions  for  mine  own 
sake,  and  will  not  remember  thy  sins."  Only  a  God  who  is 
love  could  voice  such  a  promise!  And  Carmen  knew;  and  she 
hourly  poured  her  great  understanding  of  love  into  the  empty 
heart  of  the  stricken  Beaubien. 

Then  at  last  came  days  of  quiet,  and  planning  for  the  future. 
The  Beaubien  would  live — yes,  but  not  for  herself.  Nay,  that 
life  had  gone  out  forever,  nor  would  mention  of  it  pass  her 
lips  again.  The  Colombian  revolution — her  mendacious  con 
nivances  with  Ames — her  sinful,  impenitent  life  of  gilded  vice — 
aye,  the  door  was  now  closed  against  that,  absolutely  and 
forever  more.  She  had  passed  through  the  throes  of  a  new 
birth;  she  had  risen  again  from  the  bed  of  anguish;  but  she 
rose  stripped  of  her  worldly  strength.  Carmen  was  now  the 
staff  upon  which  she  leaned. 

And  Carmen — what  had  been  her  thought  when  foul  cal 
umny  laid  its  sooty  touch  upon  her?  What  had  been  the  work 
ing  of  her  mind  when  that  world  which  she  had  sought  to 
illumine  with  the  light  of  her  own  purity  had  cast  her  out? 

8 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


When  the  blow  fell  the  portals  of  her  mind  closed  at  once 
against  every  accusing  thought,  against  every  insidious  sug 
gestion  of  defeat,  of  loss,  of  dishonor.  The  arrows  of  malice, 
as  well  as  those  of  self-pity  and  condemnation,  snapped  and 
fell,  one  by  one,  as  they  hurtled  vainly  against  the  whole 
armor  of  God  wherewith  the  girl  stood  clad.  Self  sank  into 
service;  and  she  gathered  the  bewildered,  suffering  Beaubien 
into  her  arms  as  if  she  had  been  a  child.  She  would  have  gone 
to  Ames,  too,  had  she  been  permitted — not  to  plead  for  mercy, 
but  to  offer  the  tender  consolation  and  support  which,  despite 
the  havoc  he  was  committing,  she  knew  he  needed  even  more 
than  the  Beaubien  herself. 

"Paul  had  been  a  murderer,"  she  often  said,  as  she  sat  in 
the  darkness  alone  with  the  suffering  woman  and  held  her 
trembling  hand.  "But  he  became  the  chief  of  apostles.  Think 
of  it!  When  the  light  came,  he  shut  the  door  against  the  past. 
If  he  hadn't,  dearest,  he  never  could  have  done  what  he  did. 
And  you,  and  Mr.  Ames,  will  have  to  do  the  same."  And  this 
the  Beaubien  could  do,  and  did,  after  months  of  soul-racking 
struggle.  But  Ames  sat  in  spiritual  darkness,  whipped  by  the 
foul  brood  of  lust  and  revenge,  knowing  not  that  the  mountain 
ous  wrath  which  he  hourly  heaped  higher  would  some  day  fall, 
and  bury  him  fathoms  deep. 

Throughout  the  crisis  Father  Waite  had  stood  by  them 
stanchly.  And  likewise  had  Elizabeth  Wall.  "I've  just  longed 
for  some  reasonable  excuse  to  become  a  social  outcast,"  the 
latter  had  said,  as  she  was  helping  Carmen  one  day  to  pack 
her  effects  prior  to  removing  from  the  Hawley-Crowles  man 
sion.  "I  long  for  a  hearthstone  to  which  I  can  attach  myself— 

"Then  attach  yourself  to  ours!"  eagerly  interrupted  Carmen. 

"I'll  do  it!"  declared  Miss  Wall.  "For  I  know  that  now  you 
are  really  going  to  live — and  I  want  to  live  as  you  will.  More 
over — "  She  paused  and  smiled  queerly  at  the  girl — "I  am 
quite  in  love  with  your  hero,  Father  Waite,  you  know." 

Harris,  too,  made  a  brief  call  before  departing  again  for 
Denver.  "I've 'got  to  hustle  for  a  living  now,"  he  explained, 
"and  it's  me  for  the  mountains  once  more!  New  York  is  no 
place  for  such  a  tender  lamb  as  I.  Oh,  I've  been  well  trimmed 
—but  I  know  enough  now  to  keep  away  from  this  burg!" 

While  he  was  yet  speaking  there  came  a  loud  ring  at  the 
front  door  of  the  little  bungalow,  followed  immediately  by  the 
entrance  of  the  manager  of  a  down-town  vaudeville  house.  He 
plunged  at  once  into  his  errand.  He  would  offer  Carmen  one 
hundred  dollars  a  week,  and  a  contract  for  six  months,  to  ap 
pear  twice  daily  in  his  theater.  "She'll  make  a  roar!"  he  as 
serted.  "Heavens,  Madam!  but  she  did  put  it  over  the  society 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ginks."  And  the  Beaubien,  shivering  at  the  awful  proposal, 
was  glad  Harris  was  there  to  lead  the  zealous  theatrical  man 
firmly  to  the  door. 

Lastly,  came  one  Amos  A.  Hitt,  gratuitously,  to  introduce 
himself  as  one  who  knew  Cartagena  and  was  likely  to  return 
there  in  the  not  distant  future,  where  he  would  be  glad  to  do 
what  he  might  to  remove  the  stain  which  had  been  laid  upon 
the  name  of  the  fair  girl.  The  genuineness  of  the  man  stood 
out  so  prominently  that  the  Beaubien  took  him  at  once  into  her 
house,  where  he  was  made  acquainted  with  Carmen. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "Cartagena!  Why,  I  wonder — do  you 
know  Padre  Jos£  de  Rincon?" 

"A  priest  who  once  taught  there  in  the  University,  many 
years  ago?  And  who  was  sent  up  the  river,  to  Simiti?  Yes, 
well." 

Then  Carmen  fell  upon  his  neck;  and  there  in  that  moment 
was  begun  a  friendship  that  grew  daily  stronger,  and  in  time 
bore  richest  fruit.  It  soon  became  known  that  Hitt  was  giving 
a  course  of  lectures  that  fall  in  the  University,  covering  the 
results  of  his  archaeological  explorations;  so  Carmen  and 
Father  Waite  went  often  to  hear  him.  And  the  long  breaths 
of  University  atmosphere  which  the  girl  inhaled  stimulated  a 
desire  for  more.  Besides,  Father  Waite  had  some  time  before 
announced  his  determination  to  study  there  that  winter,  as 
long  as  his  meager  funds  would  permit. 

"I  shall  take  up  law,"  he  had  one  day  said.  "It  will  open 
to  me  the  door  of  the  political  arena,  where  there  is  such  great 
need  of  real  men,  men  who  stand  for  human  progress,  patriot 
ism,  and  morality.  I  shall  seek  office — not  for  itself,  but  for 
the  good  I  can  do,  and  the  help  I  can  be  in  a  practical  way 
to  my  fellow-men.  I  have  a  little  money.  I  can  work  my  way 
thrtfugh." 

Carmen  shared  the  inspiration;  and  so  she,  too,  with  the 
Beaubien's  permission,  applied  for  admittance  to  the  great 
halls  of  learning,  and  was  accepted. 

****** 

"And  now,"  began  Father  Waite  that  evening,  when  Hitt 
and  his  friend  had  come,  and,  to  the  glad  surprise  of  Carmen, 
Elizabeth  Wall  had  driven  up  in  her  car  to  take  the  girl  for  a 
ride,  but  had  yielded  to  the  urgent  invitation  to  join  the  little 
conference,  "my  plan,  in  which  I  invite  you  to  join,  is,  briefly, 
to  study  this  girl!" 

Carmen's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  her  face  portrayed  blank 
amazement,  as  Father  Waite  stood  pointing  gravely  to  her. 
Nor  were  the  others  less  astonished — all  but  the  Beaubien. 
She  nodded  her  head  comprehendingly. 

10 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Let  me  explain,"  Father  Waite  continued.  "We  are  as 
sembled  here  to-night  as  representatives,  now  or  formerly,  of 
very  diversified  lines  of  human  thought.  I  will  begin  with 
myself.  I  have  stood  as  the  embodiment  of  Christly  claims, 
as  the  active  agent  of  one  of  the  mightiest  of  human  institu 
tions,  the  ancient  Christian  Church.  For  years  I  have  studied 
its  accepted  authorities  and  its  all-inclusive  assumptions,  which 
embrace  heaven,  earth,  and  hell.  For  years  I  sought  with  sin 
cere  consecration  to  apply  its  precepts  to  the  dire  needs  of 
humanity.  I  have  traced  its  origin  in  the  dim  twilight  of  the 
Christian  era  and  its  progress  down  through  the  centuries, 
through  heavy  vicissitudes  to  absolute  supremacy,  on  down 
through  schisms  and  subsequent  decline,  to  the  present  hour, 
when  the  great  system  seems  to  be  gathering  its  forces  for  a 
life  and  death  stand  in  this,  the  New  World.  I  have  known 
and  associated  with  its  dignitaries  and  its  humble  priests.  I 
know  the  policies  and  motives  underlying  its  quiet  movements. 
I  found  it  incompatible  with  human  progress.  And  so  I  with 
drew  from  it  my  allegiance." 

Carmen's  thought,  as  she  listened,  was  busy  with  another 
whose  experience  had  not  been  dissimilar,  but  about  whom 
the  human  coils  had  been  too  tightly  wound  to  be  so  easily 
broken. 

"Our  scholarly  friend,  Mr.  Hitt,"  Father  Waite  went  on, 
"represented  the  great  protest  against  the  abuses  and  corrup 
tion  which  permeated  the  system  for  which  I  stood.  He,  like 
myself,  embodied  the  eternal  warfare  of  the  true  believer 
against  the  heretic.  Yet,  without  my  churchly  system,  I  was 
taught  to  believe,  he  and  those  who  share  his  thought  are 
damned.  But,  oh,  strange  anomaly  J  we  both  claimed  the  same 
divine  Father,  and  accepted  the  Christly  definition  of  Him  as 
Love.  We  were  two  brothers  of  the  same  great  family,  yet 
calling  each  other  anathema!" 

He  looked  over  at  Hitt  and  smiled.  "And  to-day,"  he  con 
tinued,  "we  brothers  are  humbly  meeting  on  the  common 
ground  of  failure— failure  to  understand  the  Christ,  and  to 
meet  the  needs  of  our  fellow-men  with  our  elaborate  systems  of 
theology." 

"I  heard  another  priest,  years  ago,  make  a  similar  confes 
sion,"  said  Hitt  reflectively.  "I  would  he  were  here  to-night!" 

"He  is  here,  in  spirit,"  replied  Father  Waite;  "for  the  same 
spirit  of  eager  inquiry  and  humble  desire  for  truth  that  ani 
mates  us  no  doubt  moved  him.  I  have  reason  to  think  so," 
he  added,  looking  at  Carmen.  "For  this  girl's  spiritual  devel 
opment  I  believe  to  be  very  largely  his  work." 

Hitt  glanced  at  Carmen  inquiringly.  He  knew  but  little  as 
yet  of  her  past  association  with  the  priest  Jose. 

11 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"You  and  I,  Mr.  Hitt,  represented  the  greatest  systems  of 
so-called  Christian  belief,"  pursued  Father  Waite.  "Madam 
Beaubien,  on  the  other  hand,  has  represented  the  world  that 
waits,  as  yet  vainly,  for  redemption.  We  have  not  been  able 
to  afford  it  her.  Yet — pardon  my  frankness  in  thus  referring 
to  you,  Madam.  It  is  only  to  benefit  us  all — that  the  means  of 
redemption  have  been  brought  to  her,  we  must  now  admit." 

All  turned  and  looked  at  Carmen.  She  started  to  speak, 
but  Father  Waite  raised  a  detaining  hand.  "Let  me  proceed," 
he  said.  "Miss  Wall  represents  the  weariness  of  spirit  and  un 
rest  abroad  in  the  world  to-day,  the  spirit  that  finds  life  not 
wrorth  the  while;  and  Mr.  Haynerd  voices  the  cynical  disbe 
lief,  the  agnosticism,  of  that  great  class  who  can  not  accept 
the  childish  tenets  of  our  dogmatic  systems  of  theology,  yet  who 
have  nothing  but  the  philosophy  of  stoicism  or  epicureanism  to 
offer  in  substitute." 

Haynerd  bowed  and  smiled.  "You  have  me  correctly  classi 
fied,"  he  said.  "I'm  a  Yankee,  and  from  Missouri." 

"And  'now,  having  placed  us,"  said  the  Beaubien,  "how 
will  you  classify  Carmen?" 

Father  Waite  looked  at  the  girl  reverently.  "Hers  is  the 
leaven,"  he  replied  gently,  "which  has  leavened  the  whole  lump. 

"My  good  friends,"  he  went  on  earnestly,  "like  all  priests 
and  preachers,  I  have  been  but  a  helpless  spectator  of  human 
ity's  troubles.  I  have  longed  and  prayed  to  know  how  to  do 
the  works  which  Jesus  is  said  to  have  done;  yet,  at  the  sick 
bed  or  the  couch  of  death,  what  could  I  do — I,  to  whom  the 
apostolic  virtue  is  supposed  to  have  descended  in  the  long  line 
of  succession?  I  could  anoint  writh  holy  oil.  I  could  make 
signs,  and  pray.  I  could  give  promises  of  remitted  sins — 
though  I  knew  I  spoke  not  truth.  I  could  comfort  by  voicing 
the  insipid  views  of  our  orthodox  heaven.  And  yet  I  know 
that  what  I  gave  was  but  mental  nostrums,  narcotics,  to  stupify 
until  death  might  end  the  suffering.  Is  that  serving  Christ? 
Is  that  Christianity?  Alas,  no!" 

"And  if  you  were  a  good  orthodox  priest,"  interposed  Hay 
nerd,  "you  would  refuse  burial  to  dissenters,  and  bar  from 
your  communion  table  all  who  were  not  of  your  faith,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  sadly.  "I  would  have  to,  were  I  consistent;  for 
Catholicism  is  the  only  true  faith,  founded  upon  the  revealed 
word  of  God,  you  know."  He  smiled  pathetically  as  he  looked 
around  at  the  little  group. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "you,  Mr.  Haynerd,  are  a  man  of  the 
world.  You  are  not  in  sympathy  with  the  Church.  You  are 
an  infidel,  an  unbeliever.  And  therefore  are  you  'anathema,' 
you  know."  He  laughed  as  he  went  on.  "But  you  can  not 

12 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


deny  that  at  times  you  think  very  seriously.  And,  I  may  go 
farther:  you  long,  intensely,  for  something  that  the  world  does 
not  offer.  Now,  what  is  it  but  truth  that  you  are  seeking?" 

"I  want  to  know,"  answered  Haynerd  quickly.  "I  want  to 
be  shown.  I  am  fond  of  exhibitions  of  sleight-of-hand  and 
jugglery.  But  the  priestly  thaumaturgy  that  claims  to  trans 
form  a  biscuit  into  the  flesh  of  a  man  dead  some  two  thousand 
years,  and  a  bit  of  grape  juice  into  his  blood,  irritates  me  in 
expressibly!  And  so  does  the  jugglery  by  which  your  Protest 
ant  fellows,  Hitt,  attempt  to  reconcile  their  opposite  beliefs. 
Why,  what  difference  can  it  possibly  make  to  the  Almighty 
whether  we  miserable  little  beings  down  here  are  baptised  with 
water,  milk,  or  kerosene,  or  whether  we  are  immersed,  sprin 
kled,  or  well  soused?  Good  heavens!  for  nearly  twenty  centu 
ries  you  have  been  wandering  among  the  non-essentials.  Isn't 
it  time  to  get  down  to  business,  and  instead  of  burning  at  the 
stake  every  one  who  differs  with  you,  try  conscientiously  to 
put  into  practice  a  few  of  the  simple  moral  precepts,  such  as 
the  Golden  Rule,  and  loving  one's  neighbor  as  one's  self?" 

"There,"  commented  Father  Waite,  "you  have  a  bit  of  the 
world's  opinion  of  the  Church!  Can  we  say  that  the  censure 
is  not  just?  Would  not  Christ  himself  to-day  speak  even  more 
scathingly  to  those  who  advocate  a  system  of  belief  that  puts 
blinders  on  men's  minds,  and  then  leads  them  into  the  pit  of 
ignorance  and  superstition?" 

"Ye  have  taken  away  the  key  of  knowledge,"  murmured 
Carmen;  "ye  entered  not  in  yourselves,  and  them  that  were 
entering  in  ye  hindered." 

"Just  so!"  exclaimed  Haynerd,  looking  at  the  girl  who  stood 
as  a  living  protest  against  all  that  hampers  the  expansion  of 
the  human  mind;  that  quenches  its  note  of  joy,  and  dulls  its 
enlarging  and  ever  nobler  concept  of  God.  "Now  I  want  to 
know,  first,  if  there  is  a  God;  and,  if  so,  what  He  is,  and  what 
His  relation  is  to  me.  I  want  to  know  what  I  am,  and  why  I 
am  here,  and  what  future  I  may  look  forward  to,  if  any.  I 
don't  care  two  raps  about  a  God  who  can't  help  me  here  on 
earth,  who  can't  set  me  right  and  make  me  happy — cure  my 
ills,  meet  my  needs,  and  supply  a  few  of  the  luxuries  as  well. 
And  if  there  is  a  God,  and  we  can  meet  Him  only  by  dying, 
then  why  in  the  name  of  common  sense  all  this  hullabaloo 
about  death?  Why,  in  that  case,  death  is  the  grandest  thing  in 
life!  And  I'm  for  committing  suicide  right  away!  But  you 
preacher  fellows  fight  death  tooth  and  nail.  You're  scared 
stiff  when  you  contemplate  it.  You  make  Christianity  just  a 
grand  preparation  for  death.  Yet  it  isn't  the  gateway  to  life 
to  you,  and  you  know  it!  Then  why,  if  you  are  honest,  do 
you  tell  such  rubbish  to  your  trusting  followers?" 

13 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"I  would  remind  you,"  returned  Hitt  with  a  little  laugh, 
"that  I  don't,  now." 

"Well,  friends,"  interposed  Father  Waite,  "it  is  to  take  up 
for  earnest  consideration  just  such  questions  as  Mr.  Haynerd 
propounds,  that  I  have  my  suggestion  to  make,  namely,  that 
we  meet  together  once  or  tw7ice  a  wyeek,  or  as  often  as  we  may 
agree  upon,  to  search  for —  "  his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper — • 
"to  search  for  God,  and  with  this  young  girl  as  our  guide.  For 
I  believe  she  is  very  close  to  Him.  The  world  knows  God 
only  by  hearsay.  Carmen  has  proved  Him. 

"Men  ask  why  it  is,"  he  went  on,  "that  God  remains  hidden 
from  them;  why  they  can  not  understand  Him.  They  forget 
that  Jesus  revealed  God  as  Love.  And,  if  that  is  so,  in  order 
to  know  Him  all  mankind  must  love  their  fellow-men.  But 
they  go  right  on  hating  one  another,  cheating,  abusing,  rob 
bing,  slaying,  persecuting,  and  still  wondering  why  they  don't 
know  God,  regardless  of  the  only  possible  way  of  ever  work 
ing  out  from  the  evils  by  which  they  are  beset,  if  we  believe 
that  Jesus  told  the  truth,  or  was  correctly  reported."  He 
paused  and  reflected  for  a  moment.  Then: 

"The  ancient  prophet  said:  'Ye  shall  seek  me,  and  find  me, 
when  ye  shall  search  for  me  with  all  your  hearts.'  It  is  my 
proposal  that  we  bind  ourselves  together  in  such  a  search.  To 
it  wre  can  bring  diverse  talents.  To  our  vast  combined  worldly 
experience,  I  bring  knowledge  of  the  ancient  Greek  and  Latin 
Fathers,  together  with  Church  .history.  Mr.  Hitt  brings  his 
command  of  the  Hebrew  language  and  history,  and  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  ancient  manuscripts,  and  Biblical  inter 
pretation,  together  with  a  wide  knowledge  of  the  physical 
sciences.  Madam  Beaubien,  Miss  Wall,  and  Mr.  Haynerd  con 
tribute  their  earnest,  searching,  inquisitive  spirit,  and  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  world's  needs.  Moreover,  wre  all  come  together 
without  bias  or  prejudice.  And  Carmen — she  contributes  that 
in  which  we  have  all  been  so  woefully  lacking,  and  without 
\vhich  we  can  never  know  God,  the  rarest,  deepest  spirituality. 
She  is  a  living  proof  of  her  faith.  Shall  we  undertake  the 
search,  my  friends?  It  means  a  study  of  her  thought,  and  the 
basis  upon  which  it  rests." 

The  Beaubien  raised  her  hand  to  her  moist  eyes.  She  was 
thinking  of  that  worldly  coterie  which  formerly  was  wont  to 
meet  nightly  in  her  magnificent  mansion  to  prey  upon  their 
fellows.  Oh,  how  different  the  spirit  of  this  little  gathering! 

"You  will  meet  here,  with  me,"  she  said  in  a  broken  voice. 
"I  ask  it." 

There  were  none  there  unacquainted  with  the  sorrows  of 
this  penitent,  broken,  woman.  Each  rose  in  turn  and  clasped 

14 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her  hand.  Carmen  threw  her  arms  about  her  neck  and  kissed 
her  repeatedly. 

"You  see,"  said  the  Beaubien,  smiling  up  through  her  tears, 
"what  this  child's  religion  is?  Would  the  swinging  of  incense 
burners  and  the  mumbling  of  priestly  formulse  enhance  it?" 

"Jesus  said,  'Having  seen  me  ye  have  seen  God,' "  said 
Father  Waite. 

"And  I  say,"  replied  the  Beaubien,  "that  having  seen  this 
child,  you  have  indeed  seen  Him." 


CHAPTER  2 

"T'M  afraid,"  Haynerd  was  saying,  as  he  and  Father  Waite 
were  wending  their  way  to  the  Beaubien  home  a  few  eve 
nings  later,  "that  this  Carmen  is  the  kind  of  girl  you  read 
about  in  sentimental  novels;  the  kind  who  are  always  just 
ready  to  step  into  heaven,  but  who  count  for  little  in  the  war 
fare  and  struggle  of  actual  mundane  existence.  You  get  me? 
She  isn't  quite  true  to  life,  you  know,  as  a  book  critic  would 
say  of  an  impossible  heroine." 

"You  mistake,  my  friend,"  replied  Father  Waite  warmly. 
"She  is  the  very  kind  we  would  see  oftener,  were  it  not  for  the 
belief  that  years  bring  wisdom,  and  so,  as  a  consequence,  the 
little  child  is  crushed  beneath  a  load  of  false  beliefs  and  human 
laws  that  make  it  reflect  its  mortal  parents,  rather  than  its 
heavenly  one." 

"But  I'd  like  to  see  her  under  stress — " 

"Under  stress!  Good  heavens,  man!  You  haven't  the 
slightest  conception  of  the  stress  she's  been  under  most  of  her 
life!  But  your  criticism  unconsciously  pays  her  the  highest 
tribute,  for  her  kind  never  show  by  word,  deed,  or  look  what 
they  are  enduring.  That  frail-appearing  girl  has  stood  up  under 
loads  that  would  have  flattened  you  and  me  out  like  gold  leaf!" 

"Well,  she  doesn't  look  it!"  protested  Haynerd  tenaciously. 

"Of  course  she  doesn't!  Her  kind  never  do!  She's  so  far 
and  away  ahead  of  mortals  like  you  and  me  that  she  doesn't 
admit  the  reality  and  power  of  evil — and,  believe  me,  she's  got 
her  reasons  for  not  admitting  it,  too!  Don't  presume  to  judge 
her  yet.  Only  try  humbly  to  attain  a  little  of  her  understand 
ing  and  faith;  and  try  to  avoid  making  yourself  ridiculous  by 
criticising  what  you  do  not  comprehend.  That,  indeed,  has 
been  mankind's  age-long  blunder — and  they  have  thereby  made 
asses  of  themselves!" 

Edward  Haynerd,  or  "Ned,"  as  he  was  invariably  known, 

15 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


prided  himself  on  being  something  of  a  philosopher.  And  in 
the  name  of  philosophy  he  chose  to  be  quixotic.  That  one  who 
hated  the  dissimulations  and  shams  of  our  class  aristocracy 
so  cordially  should  have  earned  his  livelihood — and  a  good 
one,  too — as  publisher  of  the  Social  Era,  a  sprightly  weekly 
chronicle  of  happenings  in  fashionable  society,  would  have  ap 
peared  anomalous  in  any  but  a  man  gifted  in  the  Greek  sophis 
tries  and  their  modern  innumerable  and  arid  offshoots.  Hay- 
nerd  was  a  laughing  Democritus,  an  easy-going,  even-tem 
pered  fellow,  doomed  to  be  loved,  and  by  the  same  graces 
thoroughly  cheated  by  the  world  in  general.  He  had  in  his 
rapid  career  of  some  thirty-five  years  dipped  deeply  into  things 
mundane,  and  had  come  to  the  surface,  sputtering  and  blow 
ing,  with  his  face  well  smeared  with  mud  from  the  shallow 
depths.  Whereupon  he  remarked  that  such  an  existence  was 
a  poor  way  of  serving  the  Lord,  and  turned  cynic.  His  wit 
was  his  saving  grace.  It  was  likewise  his  capital  and  stock 
in  trade.  By  it  he  won  a  place  for  himself  in  the  newspaper 
world,  and  later,  as  a  credit  asset,  had  employed  it  success 
fully  in  negotiating  for  the  Social  Era.  It  taking  over  the 
publication  of  this  sheet  he  had  remarked  that  life  was  alto 
gether  too  short  to  permit  of  attempting  anything  wrorth  while; 
and  so  he  forthwith  made  no  further  assaults  upon  fame — 
assuming  that  he  had  ever  done  so — but  settled  comfortably 
down  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  sinecure.  He  had  never  married. 
And  as  justification  for  his  self-imposed  celibacy  he  pompously 
quoted  Kant:  "I  am  a  bachelor,  and  I  could  not  cease  to  be  a 
bachelor  without  a  disturbance  that  \vould  be  intolerable  to 
me."  Yet  he  was  not  a  misogynist.  He  simply  shirked  re 
sponsibility  and  ease-threatening  risk. 

"You  see,"  he  remarked,  explaining  himself  later  to  Car 
men,  "I'm  a  pseudo-litterateur — I  conduct  a  'Who's  It?'  for 
the  quidnunces  of  this  blase  old  burg.  And  I  really  meet  a 
need  by  furnishing  an  easy  method  of  suicide,  for  my  little 
vanity  sheet  is  a  sort  of  social  mirror,  that  all  who  look  therein 
may  die  of  laughter.  By  the  way,  I  had  to  run  those  base 
squibs  about  you;  but,  by  George!  I'm  going  to  make  a  retrac 
tion  in  next  Saturday's  issue.  I'll  put  a  crimp  in  friend  Ames 
that'll  make  him  squeal.  I'll  say  he  has  ten  wives,  and  eight 
of  'em  Zulus,  at  that!" 

"Don't,  please!"  laughed  Carmen.  "We  have  enough  to 
meet,  without  going  out  of  our  way  to  stir  up  more.  Let  it  all 
work  out  now,  as  it  will,  in  the  right  way." 

"In  the  right  way,  eh?  Is  that  part  of  your  doctrine?  Say, 
don't  you  think  that  in  formulating  a  new  religion  you're 
carrying  coals  to  Newcastle?  Seems  to  me  we've  got  enough 
now,  if  \ve'd  practice  'em." 

16 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"My  religion,  Mr.  Haynerd,  is  only  the  practice  of  the  teach 
ings  of  a  Nazarene  Jew,  named  Jesus,"  she  replied  gently. 

"Well,  my  religion  is  Socialism-,  I  guess,"  he  said  lightly. 

"So's  mine,"  she  quickly  returned.  "I'm  a  thorough  So 
cialist.  So  we  meet  on  common  ground,  don't  we?"  She  held 
out  her  hand,  and  he  took  it,  a  puzzled  expression  coming  into 
his  face. 

"Well,"  he  said,  glancing  about,  "we'll  have  to  dispute  that 
later.  I  see  Father  Waite  is  about  to  open  this  little  religious 
seminar.  But  we'll  get  back  to  the  discussion  of  myself,"  he 
added,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "For,  like  Thoreau,  I  prefer  to 
discuss  that  subject,  because  there's  no  other  about  which  I 
know  so  much." 

"Nor  so  little,"  she  added,  laughing  and  squeezing  his  hand 
as  she  turned  from  him.  • 

The  little  coterie  took  their  places  around  the  dining  room 
table,  which  was  well  strewn  with  books  of  reference  and 
writing  materials.  Father  Waite  rapped  gently  for  order.  A 
deep,  reverent  silence  fell  upon  the  group.  They  had  begun 
their  search  for  God. 

"Friends,"  began  Father  Waite  slowly,  "we  are  inaugurat 
ing  to-night  a  mission  of  the  most  profound  significance.  No 
question  so  vitally  touches  the  human  race  as  the  one  which 
we  shall  reverently  discuss  in  this  and  subsequent  meetings. 
I  thought  as  I  came  in  here  to-night  of  the  wisdom  of  Epictitus, 
who  said,  'What  do  I  want?  To  acquaint  myself  with  the 
true  order  of  things  and  comply  with  it.'  I  am  sure  no  state 
ment  so  fully  expresses  our  common  desire  as  that." 

"Just  so!"  interrupted  Haynerd.  "If  Adam  was  a  Baptist, 
I  want  to  know  and  comply  with  the  fact." 

A  general  laugh  followed.  Then  Father  Waite  held  up  a 
hand  and  again  became  serious. 

"Can  we  treat  lightly  even  the  Adam  story,  when  we  con 
sider  how  much  misery  and  rancor  its  literal  acceptance  has 
caused  among  mankind?  No.  Out  of  deepest  sympathy  for 
a  world  in  search  of  truth,  let  us  pity  their  stumblings,  and 
take  heed  that  we  fall  not  ourselves." 

He  paused.  A  hush  lay  upon  the  room.  Carmen's  hand 
stole  toward  the  Beaubien's  and  clasped  it  tightly. 

"In  these  days,  as  of  old,  it  is  still  said,  'There  is  no  God!' 
And  yet,  though  the  ignorant  and  wilful  admit  it  not,  man 
kind's  very  existence  is  a  function  of  their  concept  of  a 
Creator,  a  sole  cause  of  all  that  is.  No  question,  economic, 
social,  political,  or  other,  is  so  vitally  related  to  humanity  as 
this:  'Is  there  a  God?'  And  the  corollary:  'What  is  His  rela 
tion  to  me?'  For  there  can  be  nothing  so  important  as  a  knowl- 

1MB 

" 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


edge  of  truth.  Can  the  existence  of  a  God  be  demonstrated? 
Can  He  be  shown  to  be  beneficent,  in  view  of  the  world's  testi 
mony?  What  is  our  source  of  truth?  If  the  Bible,  then  can 
its  authenticity  be  established?  The  greatest  of  our  so-called 
civilizations  are  known  as  Christian.  But  who  can  say  by  them 
what  Christianity  really  is?" 

"I  am  quite  prepared  to  say  what  it  is  not!"  again  inter 
rupted  Haynerd. 

"Doubtless,"  resumed  Father  Waite.  "And  so  are  we  all. 
But  at  present  we  are  seeking  constructive  criticism,  not  solely 
destructive.  There  has  been  quite  enough  of  that  sort  in  the 
world.  But,  to  go  a  step  further,  can  we  say  positively  that 
the  truth  is  to  be  found  even  in  Christianity?" 

"Please  explain  your  question,"  said  Miss  Wall,  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

"The  first  essential  is  always  facts,"  he  continued.  "The 
deduction  of  right  conclusions  will  follow — provided,  as  Mat 
thew  Arnold  so  tersely  said,  we  have  sufficient  delicacy  of  per 
ception,  subtlety,  wisdom,  and  tact.  And,  I  may  add,  sufficient 
freedom  from  prejudice  and  mental  bias — ah,  there  is  the 
stumbling  block!" 

"Matthew  Arnold,"  ventured  Haynerd,  "was  dubbed  a  first- 
class  infidel,  as  I  recall  it." 

"Doubtless.  As  have  been  many  of  the  world's  most  earnest 
searchers.  Yet  he  enunciated  much  truth,  which  we  to-day  are 
acknowledging.  But,  to  resume,  since  Christianity  as  we  know 
it  is  based  upon  the  personality  of  a  man,  Jesus,  we  ask:  Can 
the  historicity  of  Jesus  be  established?" 

"What!  Do  you  mean:  did  he  ever  live?"  queried  Miss 
Wall  in  greater  surprise  than  before. 

"Yes.  And  if  so,  is  he  correctly  reported  in  what  we  call 
the  Gospels?  Then,  did  he  reveal  the  truth  to  his  followers? 
And,  lastly,  has  that  truth  been  correctly  transmitted  to  us?" 

"And,"  added  Hitt,  "there  is  still  the  question:  Assuming 
that  he  gave  us  the  truth,  can  we  apply  it  successfully  to  the 
meeting  of  our  daily  needs?" 

"The  point  is  well  taken,"  replied  Father  Waite.  "For, 
though  I  may  know  that  there  are  very  abstruse  mathematical 
principles,  yet  I  may  be  utterly  unable  to  demonstrate  or  use 
them.  But  now,"  he  went  on,  "we  are  brought  to  other  vital 
questions  concerning  us.  They  are,  I  think,  points  to  which 
the  theologian  has  given  but  scant  thought.  If  we  conclude 
that  there  is  a  God,  we  are  confronted  with  the  material  uni 
verse  and  man.  Did  He  create  them?  And  what  are  their 
natures  and  import?" 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Haynerd.     "Seems  to  me  you've  cut  out 

18 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


a  large  assignment  for  this  little  party.  Those  are  questions 
that  the  world  has  played  football  with  for  thousands  of  years. 
Do  you  think  we  can  settle  them  in  a  few  evenings'  study?  I 
think  I'll  be  excused!" 

"No!  We  can't  spare  you,"  laughed  Father  Waite.  Then 
he  glanced  at  Carmen,  who  had  sat  quiet,  apparently  unhear- 
ing,  during  the  remarks.  "I  think  you  will  hear  things  soon 
that  will  set  you  thinking,"  he  said.  "But  now  we  are  going  to 
let  our  traveled  friend,  Mr.  Hitt,  give  us  just  a  word  in  summa 
tion  of  his  thought  regarding  the  modern  world  and  its  attitude 
toward  the  questions  which  we  have  been  propounding." 

The  explorer  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  assumed  his 
customary  attitude  when  in  deep  thought.  All  eyes  turned 
upon  him  in  eager  expectation. 

"The  world,"  he  began  reflectively,  "presents  to  me  to-day 
the  most  interesting  aspect  it  has  assumed  since  history  began. 
True,  the  age  is  one  of  great  mental  confusion.  Quite  as  true, 
startling  discoveries  and  astounding  inventions  have  so  upset 
our  staid  old  mediaeval  views  that  the  world  is  hurriedly 
crowding  them  out,  together  with  its  God.  Doctrines  for  which 
our  fathers  bled  and  burned  are  to-day  lightly  tossed  upon  the 
ash  heap.  The  searchlight  is  turned  never  so  mercilessly  upon 
the  founder  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  upon  the  manu 
scripts  which  relate  his  words  and  deeds.  Yet  most  of  us 
have  grown  so  busy — I  often  wonder  with  what — that  we  have 
no  time  for  that  which  can  not  be  grasped  as  we  run.  We 
work  desperately  by  day,  building  up  the  grandest  material 
fabric  the  world  has  ever  seen;  and  at  night  we  repair  the 
machine  for  the  next  day's  run.  Even  our  college  professors 
bewail  the  lack  of  time  for  solid  reading  and  research.  And  if 
our  young  pursue  studies,  it  is  with  the  almost  exclusive 
thought  of  education  as  a  means  of  earning  a  material  liveli 
hood  later,  and,  if  possible,  rearing  a  mansion  and  stocking  its 
larder  and  garage.  It  is,  I  repeat,  a  grandly  materialistic  age, 
wherein,  to  the  casual  observer,  spirituality  is  at  a  very  low 
ebb." 

He  thrust  his  long  legs  under  the  table  and  cast  his  eyes 
upward  to  the  ceiling  as  he  resumed: 

"The  modern  world  is  still  in  its  spiritual  infancy,  and  does 
not  often  speak  the  name  of  God.  Not  that  we  are  so  much 
irreverent  as  that  we  feel  no  special  need  of  Him  in  our  daily 
pursuits.  Since  we  ceased  to  tremble  at  the  thunders  of  Sinai, 
and  their  lingering  echoes  in  bulls  and  heresy  condemnations, 
we  find  that  we  get  along  just  as  well — indeed,  much  better. 
And  it  really  is  quite  bad  form  now  to  speak  continually  of 
God,  or  to  refer  to  Him  as  anything  real  and  vital.  To  be  on 

19 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


such  terms  of  intimacy  with  Him  as  this  girl  Carmen  is — in 
thought,  at  least — would  be  regarded  to-day  as  evidence  of 
sentimentalism  and  weakness." 

He  paused  again,  to  marshal  his  thought  and  give  his  audi 
tors  an  opportunity  for  comment.  Then,  as  the  silence  re 
mained  unbroken,  he  continued: 

"Viewing  the  world  from  one  standpoint,  it  has  achieved 
remarkable  success  in  applying  the  knout  to  superstition  and 
limitation.  But,  like  a  too  energetic  housekeeper,  it  has  swept 
out  much  that  is  essential  with  the  debris.  When  spirituality 
ceases  to  be  real  or  vital  to  a  people,  then  a  grave  danger 
threatens  them.  Materiality  has  never  proved  a  blessing,  as 
history  shows.  Life  that  is  made  up  of  strain  and  ceaseless 
worry  is  not  life.  The  incessant  accumulation  of  material 
wealth,  when  we  do  not  know  how  really  to  enjoy  it,  is  folly. 
To  pamper  the  flesh,  to  the  complete  ignoring  of  the  spirit,  is 
suicide.  The  increased  hankering  after  physical  excitements 
and  animal  pleasures,  to  the  utter  abandonment  of  the  search 
for  that  which  is  real  and  satisfying,  is  an  exhibition  of  gross, 
mesmeric  stupidity,  to  say  the  least.  It  shows  that  our  sense  of 
life  is  awry." 

"But  the  world  is  surely  attempting  its  own  betterment," 
protested  Haynerd. 

"I  grant  you  that,"  replied  Hitt.  "But  legislation  and 
coercion  are  the  wrong  means  to  employ.  They  restrain,  but 
they  do  not  cure.  They  are  only  narcotics." 

"Oh,  well,  you  are  not  going  to  change  the  race  until  the 
individual  himself  changes." 

"Have  I  disputed  that?"  said  Hitt.  "Quite  the  contrary, 
that  is  the  pith  of  my  observations.  Reform  is  a  hearthside 
affair.  And  no  sane  man  will  maintain  that  general  reform 
can  ever  come  until  the  individual's  needs  are  met — his  daily, 
hourly,  worldly  needs." 

"I  think  I  get  your  point,"  said  Father  Waite.  "It  is  wholly 
a  question  of  man's  concept  of  the  cause  of  things,  himself 
included,  and  their  purpose  and  end,  is  it  not?" 

"Quite  so,"  replied  Hitt.  "The  restless  spirit  of  the  modern 
world  is  hourly  voicing  its  discontent  with  a  faltering  faith 
which  has  no  other  basis  than  blind  belief.  It  wants  demon 
strable  fact  upon  which  to  build.  In  plain  words,  mankind 
would  be  better  if  they  but  knew  how!" 

"Well,  we  show  them  how,"  asserted  Haynerd.  "But  they 
don't  do  as  wre  tell  'em." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  show  them  how?"  asked  Hitt. 
"What  do  you  ever  do  toward  showing  them  how  permanently 
to  eradicate  a  single  human  difficulty?" 

20 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Oh,  well,  putting  it  that  way,  nothing,  of  course." 

"Quite  so,  my  friend.  The  relief  we  afford  is  but  temporary. 
And  so  the  world  continues  to  wait  for  surcease  from  woe  in 
a  life  beyond  the  grave.  But  now,  returning  to  our  survey,  let 
me  say  that  amid  all  the  folly  of  vain  pursuits,  of  wars  and 
strife,  of  doleful  living  and  pitiable  dying,  there  are  more  en 
couraging  and  hopeful  signs  hung  out  to  the  inquiring  thought 
to-day  than  ever  before  in  history.  If  I  misread  not,  we  are 
already  entered  upon  changes  so  tremendous  that  their  end 
must  be  the  revolutionizing  of  thought  and  conduct,  and  hence 
of  life.  Our  present  age  is  one  of  great  extremes:  though  we 
touch  the  depths,  we  are  aiming  likewise  at  the  heights.  I 
doubt  if  there  ever  was  a  time  when  so  many  sensed  the  noth 
ingness  of  the  pleasures  of  the  flesh.  I  doubt  if  ever  there  was 
such  a  quickening  of  the  business  conscience,  and  such  a 
determined  desire  to  introduce  honesty  and  purity  into  our 
dealings  with  one  another.  Never  was  the  need  of  religion 
more  keenly  felt  by  the  world  than  it  is  to-day;  and  that  is 
why  mankind  are  willing  to  accept  any  religious  belief,  how 
ever  eccentric,  that  comes  in  the  guise  of  truth  and  bearing 
the  promise  of  surcease  from  sin,  sickness,  and  sorrow  here 
this  side  of  the  grave.  The  world  was  never  so  hungry  for 
religious  truth;  and  this  fact  is  a  perpetual  challenge  to  the 
Church.  There  is  a  tremendous  world-yearning  to  know  and 
to  do  better.  And  what  is  its  cause?  I  answer,  a  growing 
appreciation  of  the  idea  that  'the  kingdom  of  harmony  is  with 
in  you." 

"Jesus  said  that,"  murmured  Carmen,  looking  up. 

"He  but  amplified  and  gave  form  to  the  great  fact  that  there 
was  an  influence  for  better  things  always  existent  in  the  ancient 
Jews,  that  'something  not  ourselves,'  if  you  will,  'that  makes 
for  righteousness.'  And  he  showed  that  that  influence  could 
be  outwardly  externalized  in  freedom  from  the  ills  which  beset 
humanity." 

"Very  good,"  put  in  Haynerd.     "And  then,  what?" 

"That  'something  not  ourselves'  is  the  germ  of  the  true 
idea  of  God,"  answered  Hitt. 

"Which  makes  God—?" 

"Wholly  mental." 

"Spirit?" 

"Mind,"  offered  Carmen. 

"The  terms  are  synonymous,"  said  Hitt.  "And  now  let  me 
conclude  with  a  final  observation.  Mankind's  beliefs  are  in  a 
whirl.  Ecclesiasticism  is  dying.  Orthodoxy  and  conservatism 
are  hanging  desperately  to  the  world's  flying  skirts,  but  they 
will  eventually  drop  off.  No  change  in  thought  has  been  greater 

21 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


than  that  concerning  God.  The  absentee  Lord  who  started  the 
universe  and  then  withdrew  has  gone  to  the  scrap  heap,  with 
the  ridiculous  views  of  predestination  and  infant  damnation. 
The  idea  of  a  God  who  at  divers  times  interfered  with  His 
creation  and  temporarily  set  aside  His  own  laws  to  convince 
puny  man  of  His  greatness,  is  likewise  obsolescent.  The  world 
is  slowly  growing  into  a  conception  of  a  creator,  of  some  kind, 
but  at  least  mental,  and  universally  present.  Nay,  more,  avail 
able  for  all  our  problems  and  needs.  And  the  end  will  be  the 
adoption  of  that  conception,  enlarged  and  purified  still  further, 
and  taken  into  the  minutest  affairs  of  our  daily  life — as  this 
girl  has  done.  The  day  of  patient  suffering  in  this  world,  under 
the  spell  of  a  promise  of  compensating  reward  in  the  heavenly 
future,  has  all  but  passed.  We  are  gradually  becoming  con 
scious  of  the  stupendous  fact  that  the  kingdom  of  all  harmony, 
immortality,  and  good,  is  right  here  within  us — and  therefore 
can  be  naught  but  a  consciousness  of  absolute  good,  perfectly 
attainable  by  humanity  as  the  'old  man'  of  Paul  is  laid  off, 
but  not  gained,  necessarily,  through  \vhat  we  call  death." 

The  silence  which  followed  was  broken  at  length  by  Miss 
Wall.  "And  what  constitutes  the  'old  man'?"  she  asked. 

"Largely,  I  think,"  said  Hitt,  "the  belief  that  matter  is 
real." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Haynerd,  almost  rising  from  his  chair. 
"Matter,  real?" 

Hitt  laughed.     "I  stand  on  my  statement,"  he  replied. 

Father  Waite  rose  slowly,  as  if  lost  in  thought.  "History 
shows,"  he  said,  meditatively,  "that  man's  progress  has  been 
proportionate  to  his  freedom  from  the  limitation  of  ignorance 
and  undemonstrable  belief.  And  that  freedom  has  come  as 
man's  concept  of  God  has  grown  less  and  less  material,  and 
more  and  more  spiritual.  From  the  animal  nature  of  the 
savage,  to  whom  all  is  matter,  down — or  up — to  the  man  of 
to-day,  to  whom  mind  is  assuming  ever  greater  ascendency, 
man's  progress  has  been  marked  by  a  throwing  off  of  limiting 
beliefs,  theological  or  other,  in  material  power  and  substance. 
The  development  of  the  least  material  forces,  steam,  electricity, 
the  X-ray,  has  come  only  as  the  human  mind  has  thrown  off 
a  portion  of  its  hampering  material  beliefs.  I  am  astounded 
when  I  think  of  it,  and  of  its  marvelous  message  to  future 
generations!  For,  from  the  premise  that  the  creator  of  all 
things  is  spirit,  or  mind,  as  you  will,  comes  the  corollary  that 
the  creation  itself  must  of  necessity  be  mental.  And  from  this 
come  such  deductions  as  fairly  make  me  tremble.  Carmen  has 
told  me  of  the  deductions  which  her  tutor,  the  priest  Jose,  drew 
from  the  single  premise  that  the  universe  is  infinite  in  extent 
— a  premise  which  I  think  we  all  will  accept." 

22 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"There  can  be  no  question  about  it,"  said  Hitt,  nodding  his 
head. 

"Well,"  continued  Father  Waite,  "that  granted,  we  must 
likewise  grant  its  creator  to  be  infinite,  must  we  not?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  that  puts  the  creator  out  of  the  matter-class  entirely. 
The  creator  must  be — 

"Mind,"  said  Carmen,  supplying  the  thought  ever-present 
with  her. 

"I  see  no  other  conclusion,"  said  Father  Waite.  "But,  that 
granted,  a  flood  of  deductions  pours  in  that  sends  human  beliefs 
and  reasoning  helter-skelter.  For  an  infinite  mind  would 
eventually  disintegrate  if  it  were  not  perfect  in  every  part." 

"Perhaps  it  is  already  disintegrating,  and  that's  what  causes 
the  evil  in  the  world,"  hazarded  Haynerd. 

"Utterly  untenable,  my  friend,"  put  in  Hitt.  "For,  granted 
an  infinite  mind,  we  must  grant  the  concomitant  fact  that  such 
a  mind  is  of  very  necessity  omnipotent,  as  well  as  perfect. 
What,  then,  could  ever  cause  disintegration  in  it?" 

"You  are  right,"  resumed  Father  Waite.  "And  such  a 
mind,  of  very  necessity  perfect,  omnipotent,  and,  of  course, 
ever-present,  must  likewise  be  eternal.  For  there  would  be 
nothing  to  contest  its  existence.  Age,  decay,  and  death  would 
be  unknown  to  it.  And  so  would  evil." 

"And  that,"  said  Carmen,  rising,  "is  my  God." 

Father  Waite  nodded  significantly  to  the  others,  and  sat 
down,  leaving  the  girl  facing  them,  her  luminous  eyes  looking 
off  into  unfathomed  distances,  and  her  face  aglow  with  spiritual 
light. 

"My  God  is  infinite  Good,  to  whom  evil  is  unknown,"  she 
said.  "And  good  includes  all  that  is  real.  It  includes  wisdom, 
intelligence,  truth,  life,  and  love — none  of  them  material.  How 
do  I  know?  Oh,  not  by  human  reasoning,  whereby  you  seek 
to  establish  the  fact  of  His  existence,  but  by  proof,  daily  proof, 
and  in  the  hours  when  the  floods  of  suppositional  evil  have 
swept  over  me.  You  would  rest  your  faith  on  your  deductions. 
But,  as  Saint  Gregory  said,  no  merit  lies  in  faith  where  human 
reason  supplies  the  proof;  and  that  you  will  all  some  day 
know.  Yes,  my  God  is  Mind.  And  He  ceaselessly  expresses 
Himself  in  and  through  His  ideas,  which  He  is  constantly  re 
vealing.  And  He  is  infinite  in  good.  And  these  ideas  express 
that  goodness  and  infinitude,  from  the  tiniest  up  to  the  idea  of 
God  himself.  And  that  grandest  idea  is — man.  Oh,  no,  not 
the  men  and  women  you  think  you  see  about  you  in  your 
daily  walk.  No!  no!  They  but  counterfeit  the  divine.  But  the 
man  that  Jesus  always  saw  back  of  every  human  concept. 

23 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


That  man  is  God's  own  idea  of  Himself.  He  is  God's  image 
and  likeness.  He  is  God's  reflection.  That  is  the  man  we  shall 
all  put  on  when  we  have  obeyed  Paul  and  put  off  the  old  man, 
its  counterfeit." 

"Then,  Carmen,"  said  Father  Waite,  "you  believe  all  things 
to  be  mental?" 

"Yes,  everything — man  himself — and  matter." 

"But,  if  God  is  mind,  and  infinite,  He  must  include  all 
things.  Hence  He  must  include  this  imperfect  representation, 
called  the  physical  man.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"No,"  returned  the  girl  emphatically.  "Did  not  Jesus  speak 
often  of  the  one  lie  about  his  Father,  God?  The  material  man 
and  the  material  universe  are  but  parts  of  that  lie.  And  a  lie 
is  always  a  supposition;  not  real.  All  evil  is  contained  in  that 
supposition — a  supposition  that  there  is  power  and  life  and 
substance  apart  from  God." 

"But  who  made  the  supposition?"  queried  Haynerd. 

"A  supposition  is  not  made,"  replied  Carmen  quietly.  "Its 
existence  is  suppositional." 

"I  don't  quite  get  that,"  interposed  Miss  Wall,  her  brows 
knitting. 

Carmen  smiled  down  at  the  inquiring  woman.  "Listen," 
she  said.  "The  creator  of  all  things  is  mind.  You  admit  that. 
But  you  would  have  that  mind  the  creator  of  evil,  also.  Yet, 
your  own  reasoning  has  shown  that,  on  the  premise  of  mind 
as  infinite,  such  mind  must  be  forever  whole,  harmonious, 
perfect.  The  thoughts  and  ideas  by  which  that  mind  expresses 
itself  must  be  likewise  pure  and  perfect.  Then  that  creative 
mind  can  not  create  evil.  For,  a  mind  that  creates  evil  must 
itself  be  evil.  And,  being  infinite,  such  a  mind  must  include 
the  evil  it  creates.  We  would  have,  then,  either  a  mind  wholly 
evil,  or  one  of  mixed  evil  and  good.  In  either  case,  that  mind 
must  then  destroy  itself.  Am  I  not  right?" 

"Your  reasoning  is,  certainly,"  admitted  Miss  Wall.  "But, 
how  to  account  for  evil,  when  God  is  infinite  good — 

"To  account  for  it  at  all,"  replied  Carmen,  "would  be  to 
make  it  something  real.  Jesus  would  account  for  it  only  by 
classing  it  as  a  lie  about  God.  Now  God,  as  the  creative  mind, 
must  likewise  be  truth,  since  He  is  perfection  and  harmony. 
Very  well,  a  lie  is  always  the  opposite  of  truth.  Evil  is  the 
direct  opposite  of  good." 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Waite,  nodding  his  head  as  certain 
bright  memories  returned  to  him.  "That  is  what  you  told  me 
that  day  when  I  first  talked  with  you.  And  it  started  a  new  line 
of  thought." 

"Is  it  strange  that  God  should  have  a  suppositional  oppo- 

24 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


site?"  asked  Carmen.  "Has  not  everything  with  which  you  are 
concerned  a  suppositional  opposite?  God  is  truth.  His  sup 
positional  opposite  is  the  great  lie  of  evil.  God  is  good.  Hence 
the  same  opposite.  God  is  spirit.  The  suppositional  opposite 
is  matter.  And  matter  is  just  as  mental  as  the  thoughts  which 
you  are  now  holding.  God  is  real.  Good  is  real.  And  so,  evil 
and  the  lie  are  unreal." 

"The  distinction  seems  to  me  theoretical,"  protested  Miss 
Wall. 

Hitt  then  took  the  floor.  "That  word  'real,'  "  he  said,  "is 
perhaps  what  is  causing  your  confusion.  The  real  is  that 
which,  according  to  Spencer,  does  not  pass  away.  We  used  to 
believe  matter  indestructible,  forever  permanent.  We  learn 
that  our  views  regarding  it  were  very  incorrect.  Matter  is  quite 
destructible." 

"And  yet,"  said  Father  Waite,  "in  this  universe  of  constant 
change,  something  endures.  What  is  it  but  the  mind  that  is 
God,  expressing  itself  in  such  immaterial  and  permanent 
things  as  law,  love,  life,  power?" 

"Exactly,"  replied  Hitt.  "But  now  we  have  been  brought 
back  again  to  the  question  of  matter.  If  we  can  prove  that 
matter  is  mental,  and  not  real  substance,  we  will  have  estab 
lished  Carmen's  premise  that  everything  is  mental.  Then 
there  remains  but  the  distinction  between  the  mind  that  is 
God,  and  its  suppositional  opposite,  as  expressed  in  human 
existence.  Let  us  conclude,  therefore,  that  to-night  we  have 
established,  at  least  as  a  working  hypothesis,  that,  since  a 
thing  existing  implies  a  creator;  and  since  the  existent  uni 
verse,  being  infinite,  demands  an  infinite  creator;  and  since  a 
creator  can  not  be  infinite  without  being  at  once  mind,  perfect, 
eternal,  omnipotent,  omniactive,  and  good,  we  are  fully  justi 
fied  in  assuming  that  the  creator  of  all  things  still  exists,  and 
is  infinite,  ever-present  mind.  Further  than  that  we  are  not 
prepared  to  go,  until  we  have  discussed  the  questions  of  matter 
and  the  physical  universe  and  man.  Let  us  leave  those  topics 
for  a  subsequent  meeting.  And  now  I  suggest  that  we  unite 
in  asking  Carmen  to  sing  for  us,  to  crown  the  unity  that  has 
marked  this  discussion  with  the  harmony  of  her  own  beautiful 
voice." 

A  few  moments  later,  about  the  small  upright  piano  which 
the  Beaubien  had  rented  for  Carmen,  the  little  group  sat  in 
reverent  silence,  while  the  young  girl  sent  out  through  the 
little  room  the  harmonious  expression  of  her  own  inner  life, 
the  life  that  had  never  left  heaven  for  earth. 


25 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


CHAPTER  3 

WITH  her  exit  from  the  beau  monde  and  her  entrance 
upon  the  broad  stage  of  University  life,  Carmen  seemed 
to  have  awakened  from  the  lethargy  which  her  abrupt 
transition  from  mediaeval  Simiti  into  the  modern  world  had 
occasioned.  The  static  struggle  to  hold  her  own  against  the 
rushing  currents  of  materialism  had  turned  at  length  in  her 
favor.  Her  lamp  had  been  kept  alight.  The  lethal  influences 
which  rose  about  her  like  stupifying  fumes  in  the  courts  of 
fashion  had  been  lifted  and  swept  away  by  the  fresher  and 
more  invigorating  breezes  into  which  her  bark  had  now  been 
drawn. 

She  plunged  into  her  new  work  joyously;  yet  not  without 
a  deeper  comprehension  of  its  meaning  than  that  of  her  fellow- 
students.  She  knew  that  the  University  was  but  another  step 
ping-stone,  even  as  her  social  life  had  been;  another  series  of 
calls  and  opportunities  to  "prove"  her  God  to  be  immanent 
good.  And  she  thankfully  accepted  its  offerings.  For  she  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  materialistic  leadings  of  the  "higher  educa 
tion,"  and  she  would  stand  as  a  living  protest  against  them. 

It  had  not  taken  her  long  to  discover  the  impotence  lying 
at  the  heart  of  so-called  modern  education.  She  had  not  been 
slow  to  mark  the  disappointment  written  upon  the  faces  of 
many  of  her  fellow-students,  who  had  sought  in  vain  a  great 
awakening  light  in  those  sacred  precincts  of  learning,  but,  their 
confidence  betrayed,  were  now  floundering  in  the  devouring 
morass  of  materialism.  To  her  keen  insight  the  University 
stood  revealed  as  the  great  panderer  to  this  latest  century's 
obsessing  idea  that  the  true  function  of  education  is  expressed 
in  the  imparting  of  changing,  human  information  and  a  train 
ing  for  the  business  of  earning  one's  daily  bread  according  to 
the  infamous  code  of  the  world's  carnal  social  system.  The 
University  did  not  meet  the  most  urgent  need  of  the  race  by 
equipping  men  to  stand  against  the  great  crises  of  human 
experience.  It  did  not  teach  men  to  lay  aside  the  counterfeit 
man  of  material  sense;  but  rather  emphasized  the  world's  be 
lief  in  the  reality  of  this  man  by  minutely  detailed  courses  in 
his  mundane  history  and  the  manifestations  of  his  pitiable 
ignorance  in  his  wanton  crimes  and  watery  ambitions.  To 
Carmen,  God  was  the  most  insistent  fact  of  creation.  And 
mankind's  existence  could  find  its  only  justification  in  cease 
less,  consecrated  manifestation  of  His  harmonious  activity. 
True,  the  University  vaguely  recognized  God  as  infinitely  com- 

26 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


patent.  But  in  the  same  breath  it  confessed  its  utter  igno 
rance  of  a  demonstrable  knowledge  of  Him,  to  know  whom 
alone  is  life.  True,  these  men  of  worldly  learning  prayed.  But 
their  hollow  prayers  bore  no  hope,  for  they  knew  not  how  to 
gain  answers  to  them. 

And  yet  the  girl  remained  in  her  new  environment,  awaiting 
the  call  to  "come  up  higher."  And  meantime  she  strove  to  gain 
daily  a  wider  knowledge  of  the  Christ-principle,  and  its  ap 
plication  to  the  needs  and  problems  of  her  fellow-men.  Her 
business  was  the  reflection  of  her  Father's  business.  Other 
ambition  she  had  none.  The  weak,  transient,  flighty,  so-called 
intellectual  life  which  she  saw  about  her  sent  no  call  across 
the  calm  currents  of  her  thought.  Her  education  was  religious 
in  the  strictest,  deepest  sense,  for  she  was  learning  to  know 
God. 

Though  the  girl  pursued  her  way  quietly,  unwilling  that 
the  notoriety  which  had  been  fastened  upon  her  should  mark 
her  as  an  object  of  curiosity,  yet  her  story  soon  spread  among 
University  circles,  and  the  first  semester  was  a  scant  two  weeks 
old  before  her  name  had  been  debated  in  the  numerous  Sorori 
ties  and  Women's  Clubs,  and  quietly  dropped.  Negro  blood 
coursed  in  her  veins;  and  the  stigma  of  parental  disgrace  lay 
dark  upon  her.  She  lived  with  a  woman  of  blackened  reputa 
tion — a  reputation  which  waxed  no  brighter  under  the  casual, 
malicious  comments  of  J.  Wilton  Ames,  whose  great  financial 
strength  had  made  him  a  Trustee  of  this  institution  of  learn 
ing.  If  Carmen  divined  the  comment  that  was  passed  con 
cerning  herself,  she  gave  no  indication.  But  Hitt  and  Father 
Waite  knew  that  the  girl  had  not  found  favor  in  the  social  and 
fraternal  organizations  of  her  mates;  and  they  knew  why. 

"A  curse  upon  such  little  minds!"  mused  Hitt,  when  he 
could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  Then  he  called  a  student  to 
his  desk  one  day,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  lecture. 

"Miss  West,"  he  said,  "you  are  leader  in  the  most  promi 
nent  Sorority  in  the  University.  I  want  you  to  give  Miss  Car 
men  Ariza  a  bid." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.     "She  is  not  desirable." 

"But  the  charges  against  her  are  unfounded!  They  are 
flagrantly  false!"  stormed  Hitt. 

"Have  you  proof,  Professor?"  the  girl  asked,  as  she  arched 
her  brows. 

"None  definite.  But — well,  what  if  she  were  a  negress? 
Hers  is  the  most  brilliant  mind  in  the  entire  student-body!" 

But,  no.  Race  segregation  is  a  divine  tenet,  scripturally 
justified.  What  though  the  girl's  skin  vied  with  the  lilies 
and  rosebuds?  What  though  her  hair  was  the  brown  of  rfpe 

27 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


fields?  Had  not  God  Almighty  decreed  that  the  negro  should 
remain  a  drawer  of  water?  A  hewer  of  wood?  Had  the  Lord 
designed  him  the  equal  of  the  noble  white,  He  would  have 
bleached  his  face,  and  bridged  his  Hat  nose.  Miss  West  was  a 
Southerner.  And  the  reference  to  her  dark-skinned  sisters 
caused  a  little  moue  of  disgust,  as  she  flatly  declined  to  con 
sider  Carmen  an  eligible  candidate  for  membership  in  her 
Society. 

"Lord  above!"  ejaculated  Hitt,  who  had  been  brooding  over 
the  incident  as  he  walked  home  with  Father  Waite.  "That 
toadying,  sycophantic,  wealth-worshiping  Miss  West  can  see 
no  farther  than  the  epidermis !  If  we  could  have  maintained 
Carmen's  reputation  as  an  Inca  princess,  this  same  girl  would 
have  fawned  at  her  feet,  and  begged  to  kiss  the  edge  of  her 
robe!  And  she  would  have  used  every  art  of  cajolery  to  in 
gratiate  herself  into  Carmen's  favor,  to  catch  the  social  crumbs 
that  our  girl  might  chance  to  drop!" 

"There,  there,  Hitt,"  soothed  Father  Waite.  "Have  you  any 
idea  that  Carmen  is  at  all  injured  by  Miss  West's  supercilious 
conduct?" 

"Not  in  the  least!"  asseverated  Hitt  vigorously.  "But  it 
makes  me  so — !" 

"There,  check  that!  You're  forgetting  the  girl's  influence, 
aren't  you?" 

Hitt  gulped  his  wrath  down  his  long  throat.  "Waite,"  he 
blurted,  "that  girl's  an  angel!  She  isn't  real!" 

"Oh,  yes,  she  is!"  replied  Father  Waite.  "She's  so  real  that 
we  don't  understand  her — so  real  that  she  has  been  totally 
misunderstood  by  the  petty  minds  that  have  sought  to  crush 
her  here  in  New  York,  that's  all." 

"But  certainly  she  is  unique — " 

"Ah,  yes;  unique  in  that  she  goes  about  putting  her  arms 
around  people  and  telling  them  that  she  loves  them.  Yes,  that 
certainly  is  unique!  And  she  is  unique  in  that  her  purity  and 
goodness  hang  about  her  like  an  exquisite  aura,  and  make  peo 
ple  instinctively  turn  and  look  after  her  as  she  passes.  Unique 
in  that  in  her  sweet  presence  one  seems  to  hear  a  strain  of 
heavenly  music  vibrating  on  the  air.  So  unique  that  the  dawn, 
the  nesting  birds,  the  wild  flowrers,  the  daily  sunset,  fairly 
intoxicate  her  with  ecstasy  and  make  her  life  a  lyric." 

Hitt  essayed  to  reply;  but  the  words  hung  in  his  throat. 

"Yes,"  continued  Father  Waite,  "she  is  so  unique  that  when 
the  empty-headed,  vain  young  Duke  of  Altern,  learning  that 
she  had  been  thrown  out  of  society  because  of  the  base  rumor 
regarding  her  parentage,  sent  her  a  written  statement  to  the 
effect  that  there  was  no  engagement  between  them,  and  de- 

28 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


manded  that  she  sign  it,  she  did  so,  with  a  happy  smile,  with 
an  invocation,  with  a  prayer  for  blessing  upon  those  who  had 
tried  to  ruin  her." 

"Good  God!     Did  she  do  that?" 

"Aye,  she  did.  And  when  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  and  Ames 
and  Lafelle  filched  La  Libertad  from  her,  she  would  have 
given  them  the  clothes  on  her  back  with  it,  if  they  had  de 
manded  them.  Yes,  she's  unique — so  unique  that  again  and 
again  I  hear  her  murmur,  as  she  looks  off  absently  into  space: 
'If  it  is  right  that  he  should  have  a  son,  then  I  want  it  to 
be  so.' ' 

"Referring  to — that  priest — Jose  de  Rincon?" 

"Yes,  doubtless.  And  time  and  again  I  have  heard  her  say: 
'God  is  light.  Sight  depends  upon  light.  Therefore  Anita's 
babe  sees.'  Old  Rosendo's  grandson,  you  know." 

Hitt  nodded.  "Waite,"  he  said  earnestly,  "she  is  simply 
illustrating  what  would  happen  to  any  of  us  if  we  threw  our 
selves  wholly  upon  God's  protecting  care,  and  took  our  thoughts 
only  from  Him.  That's  why  she  can  lose  her  home,  her  family, 
her  reputation,  that  mine — everything — and  still  stand.  She 
does  what  we  don't  dare  to  do!" 

"She  is  a  living  illustration,"  replied  Father  Waite,  "of  the 
mighty  fact  that  there  is  nothing  so  practical  as  real  Chris 
tianity.  I  want  you  to  tell  Professor  Cane  that.  He  calls  her 
'the  girl  with  the  Utopian  views,'  because  of  her  ingenuous 
replies  in  his  sociological  class.  But  I  want  you  to  show  him 
that  she  is  very  far  from  being  impractical." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Hitt  emphatically.  "I'll  prove  to  Cane  that 
her  religion  is  not  a  visionary  scheme  for  regulating  a  world 
inhabited  only  by  perfect  beings,  but  is  a  working  principle  for 
the  every-day  sinner  to  use  in  the  solution  of  his  daily  prob 
lems.  Moreover,  Waite,  she  is  a  vivid  illustration  of  the  fact 
that  when  the  individual  improves,  the  nation  does  likewise. 
Do  you  get  me?" 

"I  not  only  get  you,  but  I  stand  as  a  proof  of  your  state 
ment,"  returned  Father  Waite  gently. 

Carmen,  her  thoughts  above,  though  her  feet  trod  the  earth, 
came  and  went,  glad  and  happy.  The  change  in  her  mode  of 
living  from  the  supreme  luxury  of  the  Hawley-Crowles  man 
sion  to  the  common  comforts  of  the  home  where  now  she  dwelt 
so  simply  with  the  Beaubien,  seemed  not  to  have  caused  even 
a  ripple  in  the  full  current  of  her  joy.  Her  life  was  a 
symphony  of  thanksgiving;  an  antiphony,  in  which  all  Nature 
voiced  its  responses  to  her  in  a  diapason,  full,  rich,  and  harmo 
nious.  Often  that  autumn  she  might  have  been  seen  standing 
among  the  tinted  leaves  on  the  college  campus,  and  drinking  in 

29 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


their  silent  message.  And  then  she  might  have  been  heard  to 
exclaim,  as  she  turned  her  rapt  gaze  beyond  the  venerable,  vine- 
clad  buildings:  "Oh,  I  feel  as  if  I  just  couldn't  stand  it,  all  this 
wealth  of  beauty,  of  love,  of  boundless  good!"  And  yet  she  was 
alone,  always  alone.  For  her  dark  story  had  reared  a  hedge 
about  her;  the  taboo  rested  upon  her;  and  even  in  the  crowded 
classrooms  the  schoolmates  of  her  own  sex  looked  askance 
and  drew  their  skirts  about  them. 

But  if  the  students  avoided  her,  the  faculty  did  not.  And 
those  like  Professor  Cane,  who  had  the  opportunity  and  the 
ability  to  peer  into  the  depths  of  the  girl's  soul,  took  an  imme 
diate  and  increasing  interest  in  her.  Often  her  own  naive 
manners  broke  down  the  bars  of  convention,  and  brought  her 
enduring  friendships  among  the  men  of  learning.  This  was 
especially  the  case  with  Doctor  Morton,  Dean  of  the  School  of 
Surgery.  Yielding  to  a  harmless  impulse  of  curiosity,  the  girl 
one  afternoon  had  set  out  on  a  trip  of  exploration,  and  had 
chosen  the  Anatomy  building  to  begin  with.  Many  odd  sights 
greeted  her  eager  gaze  as  she  peered  into  classrooms  and  ex 
hibit  cases;  but  she  met  with  no  one  until  she  chanced  to  open 
the  door  of  Doctor  Morton's  private  laboratory,  and  found  that 
eminent  man  bending  over  a  human  brain,  which  he  was  dis 
secting. 

Carmen  stopped,  and  stood  hesitant.  The  doctor  looked  up, 
surprise  written  large  upon  his  features  as  he  noted  his  fair 
caller.  "Well!"  he  said,  laying  down  his  work. 

"Well!"  returned  Carmen.  "That  sounds  like  the  Indian 
'How?'  doesn't  it?"  Then  both  laughed. 

"You — are — Doctor  Morton?"  queried  the  girl,  twisting 
around  and  looking  at  the  name  on  the  door  to  make  certain. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  genial  doctor,  with  growing  interest.  He 
was  a  gray-haired,  elderly  man,  slightly  inclined  to  embonpoint, 
and  with  keen,  twinkling  eyes.  "Will  you  come  in?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  returned  the  girl;  "I'd  love  to.  I  am  Carmen 
Ariza." 

"Ah,  yes.  The  young  South  American — lady.  I  have  heard 
of  you." 

"Most  everybody  seems  to  have  heard  of  me,"  sighed  the 
girl.  "Well,  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  about  my  coming  in 
here,  does  it?"  She  looked  up  at  him  so  wistfully  that  he  felt 
a  great  tug  at  his  heartstrings. 

"Not  a  bit!"  he  replied  cordially.  "You're  as  welcome  as  the 
April  sun." 

She  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it.  "Now  tell  me,"  she  said 
eagerly,  looking  about.  "What  are  you  doing?  What's  that 
thing?" 

30 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"That,"  said  he,  taking  up  the  pulpy  gray  object,  "is  the 
brain  of  my  erstwhile  friend  and  collaborator,  Doctor  Bolton. 
He  willed  it  to  the  University." 

"Alas,  poor  Yorick!"  murmured  Carmen,  a  facetious  twinkle 
coming  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  it.  "And  why  are  you 
cutting  it  up?" 

"In  the  interests  of  science,"  returned  the  man,  studying 
her.  "That  we  may  increase  our  knowledge  of  this  marvelous 
mechanism  of  thought,  and  the  laws  by  which  it  operates  in 
mental  processes." 

"Then  you  still  blindly  seek  the  living  among  the  dead, 
don't  you?"  she  murmured.  "You  think  that  this  poor  thing 
held  life,  and  you  search  now  among  its  ashes  for  the  living 
principle.  But,  God  is  life;  and  'Canst  thou  by  searching  find 
out  God?' ' 

The  man  regarded  her  intently  without  replying.  She  bent 
for  a  while  over  the  half-dissected  brain  in  deep  thought.  Then 
she  looked  up. 

"Doctor,"  she  said,  "life  is  not  structural.  God  is  life;  and 
to  know  Him  is  to  reflect  life.  Reflecting  Him,  we  are  immortal. 
Doctor,  don't  you  think  it  is  about  time  to  do  away  with  this 
business  of  dying?" 

The  man  of  science  started  visibly,  and  his  eyes  opened 
wider.  The  abrupt  question  quite  swept  him  off  his  feet. 

"You  didn't  really  expect  to  find  anything  in  this  brain,  did 
you?"  she  went  on.  "The  brain  is  composed  of — what?" 

"Why,  mostly  water,  with  a  few  commonplace  salts,"  he 
answered,  wondering  what  the  next  question  would  be. 

"And  can  a  compound  of  water  and  a  few  commonplace 
salts  think?"  she  asked,  looking  intently  at  him. 

"N — no,"  he  answered  tentatively. 

"The  brain  is  not  the  cause  of  thought,  then,  but  an  effect, 
is  it  not?"  she  pursued. 

"Why,  really,  my  dear  Miss  Carmen,  we  don't  know.  We 
call  it  the  organ  of  thought,  because  in  some  way  thought 
seems  to  be  associated  with  it,  rather  than  with — well,  with 
the  liver,  or  muscles,  for  example.  And  we  learn  that  certain 
classes  of  mental  disturbances  are  intimately  associated  with 
lesions  or  clots  in  the  brain.  That's  about  all." 

The  girl  reflected  for  a  few  moments.     Then: 

"Doctor,  you  wouldn't  cut  up  a  machine  to  discover  the 
motive  power,  would  you?  But  that  is  just  what  you  are 
doing  there  with  that  brain.  You  are  hoping  by  dissecting  it 
to  find  the  power  that  made  it  go,  aren't  you?  And  the  power 
that  made  it  go  was  mind — life." 

"But  the  life  is  not  in  the  brain  now,"  hazarded  the  doctor. 

31 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"And  never  was,"  returned  Carmen  promptly.  "You  see," 
she  went  on,  "if  the  brain  was  ever  alive,  it  could  never  cease 
to  be  so.  If  it  ever  lived,  it  could  never  die.  That  brain  never 
manifested  real  life.  It  manifested  only  a  false  sense  of  life. 
And  that  false  sense  died.  Who  or  what  says  that  the  man 
who  owned  that  brain  is  dead?  Why,  the  human  mind — 
human  belief.  It  is  the  human  mind,  expressing  its  belief  in 
death,  and  in  a  real  opposite  to  life,  or  God.  Don't  you  see?" 

"H'm!"  The  doctor  regarded  the  girl  queerly.  She  re 
turned  his  look  with  a  confident  smile. 

"You  believe  in  evolution,  don't  you?"  she  at  length  con 
tinued. 

"Oh,  surely,"  he  replied  unhesitatingly.  "There  is  over 
whelming  evidence  of  it." 

"Well,  then,  in  the  process  of  evolution,  which  was  evolved 
first,  the  brain,  or  the  mind  which  operates  it  and  through 
it?"  she  asked. 

"Why,"  he  replied  meditatively,  "it  is  quite  likely  that  they 
evolved  simultaneously,  the  brain  being  the  mind's  organ  of 
expression." 

"But  don't  you  see,  Doctor,  that  you  are  now  making  the 
mind  really  come  first?  For  that  which  expresses  a  thing  is 
always  secondary  to  the  thing  expressed." 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  he  said.  "At  any  rate,  it  is  quite  im 
material  to  a  practical  knowledge  of  how  to  meet  the  brain's 
ills.  I  am  a  practical  man,  you  know." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  she  said  simply.  "Practical  men 
are  so  stupid  and  ignorant." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  he  exclaimed,  putting  his  hands  on  his 
hips  and  staring  down  at  the  smiling  face. 

"And  you  are  so  nice  and  friendly,  I  wouldn't  want  to  think 
you  stupid  and  ignorant,"  she  went  on  blandly. 

"H'm!  Well,  that  kind  o'  takes  the  edge  off  your  former 
classification  of  me,"  he  said,  greatly  amused,  yet  wondering 
just  what  appraisal  to  place  upon  this  frank  girl. 

"And  evolution,"  she  continued,  "is  an  unfolding,  isn't  it? 
You  see,  the  great  fact  of  creation  is  the  creator,  infinite  mind. 
Well,  that  mind  expresses  itself  in  its  ideas.  And  these  it  is 
unfolding  all  the  time.  Now  a  fact  always  gives  rise  to  a  sup 
positional  opposite.  The  opposite  of  a  fact  is  an  error.  And 
that  is  why  error  has  been  called  'negative  truth.'  Of  course, 
there  isn't  any  such  thing  as  negative  truth!  And  so  all  error 
is  simply  falsity,  supposition,  without  real  existence.  Do  you 
see?" 

He  did  not  reply.  But  she  went  on  unperturbed.  "Now,  the 
human,  or  carnal,  mind  is  the  negative  truth  of  the  real  mind, 

32 


God.  It  is  infinite  mind's  suppositional  opposite.  And  it  imi 
tates  the  infinite  mind,  but  in  a  very  stupid,  blundering  way. 
And  so  the  whole  physical  universe  manifests  evolution,  too — 
an  unfolding,  or  revealing,  of  material  types,  or  mental  con 
cepts.  And  all  these  manifest  the  human  mind's  sense  of  life, 
and  its  equally  strong  sense  of  death.  The  universe,  animals, 
men,  are  all  human  types,  evolved,  or  unfolded,  or  revealed,  in 
the  human  mind.  And  all  are  the  human  mind's  interpreta 
tions  of  infinite  mind's  real  and  eternal  and  perfect  ideas. 
You  see  that,  don't  you? 

"You  know,"  she  laughed,  "speaking  of  'negative  truth', 
the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  sets  forth  positive  truth,  and  the 
second  chapter  sets  forth  its  opposite,  negative  truth.  It  is 
very  odd,  isn't  it?  But  there  it  is  for  everybody  to  read.  And 
the  human  mind,  of  course,  true  to  its  beliefs,  clings  to  the 
second  chapter  as  the  reality.  Isn't  it  strange?" 

Meantime,  Carmen's  attention  had  been  attracted  to  a  large 
microscope  that  stood  on  the  table  near  her.  Going  to  it,  she 
peeped  curiously  down  into  the  tube.  "Well,  what  have  you 
here?"  she  inquired. 

"Germs,"  he  said  mechanically. 

"Germs!  What  funny,  twisted  things!  Well,"  she  sud 
denly  asked,  "have  you  got  the  fear  germ  here?" 

He  broke  into  a  laugh.  But  when  the  girl  looked  up,  her 
face  was  quite  serious. 

"You  do  not  know  it,  Doctor,  for  you  are  a  practical  man, 
but  you  haven't  anything  but  fear  germs  under  this  glass,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why,  those  are  germs  of  typhoid  and  tuberculosis!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"And  manifestations,  externalizations,  of  the  fear  germ 
itself,  which  is  mental,"  she  added.  "These  things  don't  cause 
disease,"  she  went  on,  pointing  to  the  slide.  "But  the  thoughts 
which  they  manifest  do.  Do  you  scientists  know  why  people 
die,  Doctor?" 

"No,"  he  admitted  seriously.  "We  really  do  not  know  why 
people  die." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said.  "It's  because  they  don't  know 
enough  to  Hue.  This  poor  Doctor  Bolton  died  because  he  didn't 
know  that  God  was  life.  He  committed  sickness,  and  then  paid 
the  penalty,  death.  He  sinned  by  believing  that  there  were 
other  powers  than  God,  by  believing  that  life  and  thought  were 
in  matter.  And  so  he  paid  the  wages  of  sin,  death.  He  simply 
missed  the  mark,  that's  all." 

She  turned  and  perched  herself  upon  the  table.  "You 
haven't  asked  me  to  sit  down,"  she  commented  brightly.  "But, 
if  you  don't  mind,  I  will." 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I — I  beg  your  pardon!"  the  doctor  exclaimed,  coloring, 
and  hastily  setting  out  a  chair.  "I  really  was  so  interested  in 
what  you  were  saying  that  I  forgot  my  manners." 

"No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  as  she  declined  the  prof 
fered  chair,  "I'll  sit  here,  so's  I  can  look  straight  into  your 
eyes.  You  go  ahead  and  cut  up  poor  Yorick,  and  I'll  talk." 

The  doctor  laughed  again.  "You  are  much  more  interest 
ing,"  he  returned,  "than  poor  Bolton,  dead  or  alive.  In  fact, 
he  really  was  quite  a  bore.  But  you  are  like  a  sparkling  moun 
tain  rill,  even  if  you  do  give  me  a  severe  classification." 

"Well,"  she  replied,  "then  you  are  honestly  more  interested 
in  life  than  in  death,  are  you?" 

"Why,  most  assuredly!"  he  said. 

"So  am  I,  much!  Death  is  such  a  mistake;  and  I  haven't 
a  bit  of  use  for  it,"  she  continued.  "It's  like  making  mistakes 
in  music,  or  mathematics.  Now  when  we  make  mistakes  in 
those,  we  never  stop  to  discuss  them.  We  correct  them.  But, 
dear  me!  The  world  has  nearly  talked  its  poor  old  head  off 
about  the  mistakes  of  sickness  and  death.  It  never  seems  to 
occur  to  the  world  that  Jesus  always  associated  sickness  with 
sin.  You  know,  the  Rabbis  of  his  day  seem  to  have  hit  upon 
a  great  truth,  although  they  didn't  make  it  really  practical. 
They  maintained  that  a  sick  man  could  not  be  healed  of  his 
diseases  until  all  his  sins  had  been  forgiven.  And  so  they 
attempted  to  forgive  sins  and  make  men  clean  by  their  elabo 
rate  ceremonies.  But  they  missed  the  mark,  too.  And  nobody 
got  to  the  root  of  the  difficulty  until  Jesus  came.  He  forgave 
sin  by  destroying  it  completely.  And  that  cured  the  disease 
that  was  the  manifestation  of  sin.  Now  I  ask,  why  do  you, 
nearly  two  thousand  years  after  his  time,  still  do  as  the  old 
Rabbis  did,  and  continue  to  treat  the  body — the  effect — instead 
of  the  mental  cause?  But,"  looking  down  in  meditation,  "I 
suppose  if  you  did  that  the  people  would  cry,  'He  hath  a  devil!' 
They  thought  I  wras  a  witch  in  Simiti." 

"H'm!"  returned  the  doctor.  "Then  you  do  not  believe  that 
disease  is  caused  by  microbes,  I  take  it?" 

"Disease  caused  by  microbes?  Yes,  so  it  is.  And  the  mi 
crobe?  It  is  a  manifestation  of  the  human  mind  again.  And, 
as  with  typhoid  fever,  diphtheria,  and  other  diseases,  the  human 
mind  applies  its  own  cherished,  ignorant  beliefs  in  certain  meth 
ods,  and  then  renders  innocuous  its  own  manifestations,  mi 
crobes.  The  human  mind  makes  its  own  diseases,  and  then 
in  some  cases  removes  the  disease,  but  still  by  human,  material 
methods.  Its  reliefs  are  only  temporary.  At  last  it  yields  itself 
to  its  false  beliefs,  and  then  goes  out  in  what  it  calls  death. 
It  is  all  a  mental  process — all  human  thought  and  its  various 

34 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


manifestations.  Now  why  not  get  beyond  microbes  and  reach 
the  cause,  even  of  them,  the  human  mind  itself?  Jesus  did. 
Paul  did.  Others  have  done  so.  Why  do  not  you  men  of 
science  do  likewise?" 

Doctor  Morton  himself  took  the  chair  which  he  had  set  out 
for  the  girl.  "What  you  say,"  he  replied  slowly,  "is  not  new 
to  me.  But  I  can  only  answer  that  the  world  is  not  ready  yet 
for  the  great  change  which  you  suggest." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  cant!  What  mesmerism  you 
are  laboring  under!  Was  the  world  ready  for  Jesus?" 

"No.     He  came  too  soon.    Events  show  that." 

"Well,  then,  would  he  be  accepted  to-day,  if  he  had  not 
come  before?" 

"I  can  not  say.    But —  I  think  he  would  not." 

"And  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  she  said  firmly.  "Now  the 
world  has  doctored  for  more  than  four  thousand  years,  despite 
the  fact  that  health  is  not  sold  in  bottle  or  pill  form.  Doctor, 
what  does  the  history  of  all  these  centuries  of  drugging  show 
you?" 

He  hesitated.     Carmen  waited  a  moment;  then  continued: 

"Don't  they  demonstrate  the  absolute  inability  of  medicines 
to  cure  disease?"  she  asked.  "Any  more  than  putting  men  in 
prison  cures  crime?"  she  added  as  an  afterthought. 

"They  at  least  prove  that  medication  has  not  permanently 
removed  disease,"  he  ventured,  not  wishing  to  go  too  far. 

"Doctor,"  she  said  earnestly,  "that  man  Jesus,  who,  ac 
cording  to  you,  came  too  soon,  said:  'Without  me  ye  can  do 
nothing.'  Well,  didn't  he  come  very,  very  close  to  the  truth 
when  he  made  that  statement?  He  did  not  say  that  without 
drugs  or  material  remedies  we  could  do  nothing,  but  that  with 
out  the  Christ-principle  mankind  would  continue,  as  before,  to 
miss  the  mark.  He  showed  that  disease  and  discord  result 
from  sin.  Sin  is  lack  of  righteousness,  lack  of  right-thinking 
about  things.  It  is  wrong  belief,  false  thought.  Sin  is  mental. 
Its  effect,  disease,  is  mental — a  state  of  discordant  conscious 
ness.  Can  you  with  drugs  change  a  state  of  mind?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied  quickly.  "Whiskey  and  opium  cause 
changes  in  one's  state  of  mind." 

"No,"  she  answered.  "But  the  human  belief  of  power  in 
herent  in  whiskey  and  opium,  or  of  the  human  body's  reaction 
to  them,  causes  a  change  in  the  human  thought-activity  that  is 
called  consciousness.  The  state  of  human  consciousness 
changes  with  the  belief,  but  not  the  real  state  of  mind.  Can 
you  not  see  that?  And  Doctor  Bolton — 

"Bolton  was  not  sick.  He  died  of  natural  causes,  old  age, 
and  general  breakdown,"  was  the  doctor's  refuge. 

35 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Carmen  laughed  and  sprang  down  from  the  table.  "What 
an  obstinately  obdurate  lot  you  scientific  men  are!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Don't  you  know  that  you  doctors  are  only  a  develop 
ment  of  the  old  'medicine-man'?  Now  in  the  first  place,  Mr. 
Bolton  isn't  dead;  and,  in  the  second,  there  are  no  natural 
causes  of  death.  Old  age?  Why,  that's  gone  out  of  fashion, 
long  since." 

"You  deny  senile  changes — ?" 

"I  deny  every  human  error!"  she  interrupted. 

"Then,"  with  a  note  of  banter  in  his  voice,  "I  take  it  that 
you  do  not  expect  to  die." 

"I  do  not!"  she  replied  emphatically.  "I  expect  good,  noth 
ing  but  good,  ever!  Don't  you  know  that  physiologists  them 
selves  admit  that  the  human  body  is  composed  of  eighty-five 
per  cent  water  and  fifteen  per  cent  ordinary  salts?  Can  such 
a  combination  have  intelligence  and  sensation?  Do  you  still 
believe  that  life  is  dependent  upon  lungs,  stomach,  or  liver? 
Why,  the  so-called  'unit  cell'  breathes,  digests,  and  manifests 
life-functions,  and  yet  it  has  no  lungs,  no  mouth,  no  stomach, 
no  organs.  It  is  the  human  mind,  assuming  knowledge  and 
power  which  it  does  not  possess,  that  says  the  sense  of  life 
shall  depend  upon  such  organs  in  the  one  case  and  not  in  the 
other.  And  the  human  mind  could  be  utterly  refuted  if  men 
would  only  learn  to  use  the  Christ-principle.  Jesus  and  Paul 
used  it,  and  proved  material  laws  to  be  only  false  beliefs." 

"Well,"  he  replied  meditatively,  "if  you  are  correct,  then 
the  preachers  are  way  off  the  track.  And  I  have  long  since 
come  to  the  conclusion  that — Well,"  changing  abruptly  back 
to  the  previous  topic,  "so  you  refute  the  microbe  theory,  eh?" 

"I  said  I  did  and  did  not,"  she  laughed.  "Listen:  fear, 
worry,  hatred,  malice,  murder,  all  of  which  are  mental  things 
in  themselves,  manifest  to  the  human  mind  as  microbes.  These 
are  the  hurtful  microbes,  and  they  produce  toxins,  which  poison 
the  system.  What  is  the  cure?  Antitoxins?  No,  indeed! 
Jesus  gave  the  real  and  permanent  cure.  It  is  the  Christ-prin 
ciple.  Now  you  can  learn  that  principle,  and  how  to  apply  it. 
But  if  you  don't  care  to,  why,  then  you  must  go  on  with  your 
material  microbes  and  poisons,  and  with  your  diseases  and 
death,  until  you  are  ready  to  leave  them  and  turn  to  that  which 
is  real.  For  all  human-mind  activity  and  manifestation, 
whether  in  microbes,  death,  or  life,  is  mental,  and  is  but  the 
counterfeit  of  the  real  activity  of  divine  mind,  God. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  pursued  earnestly,  "I  heard  a  lecture 
the  other  day  in  which  it  was  said  that  life  is  a  sort  of  fermen 
tation  in  the  body.  Well,  as  regards  human  life*  I  guess  that  is 
so.  For  the  human  body  is  only  a  manifestation  of  the  human 

36 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


mind;  and  the  human  mind  surely  is  in  a  continuous  state  of 
ferment!" 

She  paused  and  laughed.  "The  lecturer,"  she  continued, 
"said  that  the  range  of  life  was  from  ultra-microbe  to  man,  and 
that  Shakespeare  began  as  a  single  cell.  Think  of  it!  The 
mundane  concept  of  Shakespeare's  body  may  have  unfolded 
from  a  cell-concept;  but  Shakespeare  was  a  manifestation  of 
mind!  And  that  mind  was  an  interpretation,  though  very  im 
perfect,  of  the  mind  that  is  God.  Why  can't  you  materialists 
raise  your  eyes  above  the  dust?  Why,  you  would  choke  the 
very  avenues  of  the  spirit  with  mud!" 

"H'm!  Well,  your  education  seems  to  be — 
"Yes,"  she  interrupted,  "my  education  is  beyond  the  vaga 
ries  that  are  so  generally  taught  in  the  name  of  knowledge. 
Intellectual  education  is  a  farce.  It  does  nothing  for  mankind, 
except  to  give  them  a  false  culture.  Were  the  so-called  great 
men  of  the  past  really  educated?  Here  is  an  extract  which  I 
copied  this  afternoon  from  Hawthorne."  She  opened  her  note 
book  and  read : 

"  'Ah,  but  there  is  a  half-acknowledged  melancholy  like  to  this 
when  we  stand  in  the  perfected  vigor  of  our  life  and  feel  that  Time 
has  now  given  us  all  his  flowers,  and  that  the  next  work  of  his  never- 
idle  fingers  must  be  to  steal  them  one  by  one  away.' 

"Now,"  she  asked,  "was  that  man  really  educated?  In 
current  theology,  yes.  But  that  theology  could  not  solve  his 
least  earthly  problem,  nor  meet  his  slightest  need!  Oh,  what 
inexpressibly  sad  lives  so  many  of  your  greatest  men  have  lived! 
Your  Hawthorne,  your  Longfellow,  they  yearned  for  the  rest 
which  they  were  taught  was  to  follow  death.  They  were  the 
victims  of  false  theology.  They  were  mesmerized.  If  they 
believed  in  the  Christ — and  they  thought  they  did — why,  then, 
did  they  not  rise  up  and  do  as  he  bade  them  do,  put  death  out? 
He  taught  no  such  resignation  to  human  beliefs  as  they  prac 
ticed!  He  showed  men  how  to  overcome  the  world.  Why  do 
we  not  try  to  overcome  it?  Has  the  time  not  come?  Is  the 
world  not  sufficiently  weary  of  dying?" 

He  looked  at  her  intently  for  some  moments.  She  seemed, 
as  she  stood  there  before  him,  like  a  thing  of  gossamer  and 
sunshine  that  had  drifted  into  his  laboratory,  despite  the  closed 
door. 

"Say,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  a  new  thought  struck  him, 
"I'd  like  to  have  you  talk  with  my  friend,  Reverend  Patterson 
Moore!  Pat  and  I  have  barked  at  each  other  for  many  years 
now,  and  I'm  getting  tired.  I'd  like  to  shift  him  to  a  younger 
and  more  vigorous  opponent.  I  believe  you've  been  provi 
dentially  sent  to  relieve  me." 

37 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Well,"  she  acquiesced.  "You  can  tell  Professor  Hitt, 
and—" 

"Hitt,  eh?    You  know  him?" 

"Yes,  indeed!  He  comes  often  to  our  house.  He  is  very 
much  interested  in  these  things  that  you  and  I  have  been  talk 
ing  about  to-day.  We  have  regular  meetings,  with  Father 
Waite,  and  Mr.  Haynerd,  and — " 

"Well,  no  wonder  you  can  argue!  You've  had  practice,  it 
seems.  But — suppose  I  have  Hitt  bring  me  to  one  of  your 
meetings,  eh?" 

"Do!"  cried  the  girl.     "And  bring  your  Reverend  Pat." 

The  genial  doctor  laughed  long  and  incontinently.  "I  im 
agine  Reverend  Pat  wouldn't  thank  you  for  referring  to  him 
that  way,"  he  said.  "He  is  a  very  high  Anglican,  and  his 
dignity  is  marvelous — to  say  nothing  of  his  self-esteem.  Well, 
we'll  see,  we'll  see.  But,  don't  go  yet!  We're  just  getting  ac 
quainted." 

"I  must,"  replied  the  girl.  "I  didn't  really  mean  to  come 
in  here,  you  know.  But  I  guess  I  was  led,  don't  you?" 

And  when  the  door  had  closed  upon  her,  the  doctor  sat 
silently  beside  the  pulseless  brain  of  his  deceased  comrade 
and  pondered  long. 

****** 

When  Carmen  entered  the  house,  late  that  afternoon,  she 
found  the  Beaubien  in  conversation  with  Professor  Williams, 
of  the  University  School  of  Music.  That  gentleman  had  learned 
through  Hitt  of  the  girl's  unusual  voice,  and  had  dropped  in  on 
his  way  home  to  ask  that  he  might  hear  and  test  it.  With 
only  a  smile  for  reply,  Carmen  tossed  her  books  and  hat  upon 
the  sofa  and  went  directly  to  the  piano,  where  she  launched 
into  the  weird  Indian  lament  which  had  produced  such  an 
astounding  effect  upon  her  chance  visitors  at  the  Elwin  school 
that  day  long  gone,  and  which  had  been  running  in  her  thought 
and  seeking  expression  ever  since  her  conversation  with  Doctor 
Morton  a  short  while  before. 

For  a  full  half  hour  she  sang,  lost  in  the  harmony  that 
poured  from  her  soul.  Father  Waite  entered,  and  quietly  took 
a  seat.  She  did  not  see  him.  Song  after  song,  most  of  them 
the  characteristic  soft  melodies  of  her  people,  and  many  her 
own  simple  improvisations,  issued  from  the  absorbed  girl's 
lips.  The  Beaubien  rose  and  stole  softly  from  the  room. 
Father  Waite  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  striving  to 
interpret  the  message  which  welled  from  the  depths  of  his 
own  being,  where  hidden,  unused  chords  were  vibrating  in 
unison  with  those  of  this  young  girl. 

Then,  abruptly,  the  singing  stopped,  and  Carmen  turned  and 

38 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


faced  her  auditors.  "There,"  she  said,  with  a  happy  sigh,  "that 
just  had  to  come  out!" 

Professor  Williams  rose  and  took  her  hand.  "Who,  may  I 
ask,  was  your  teacher?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion. 

Carmen  smiled  up  at  him.  "No  human  teacher,"  she  said 
gently. 

A  look  of  astonishment  came  into  the  man's  face.  He 
turned  to  Father  Waite  inquiringly.  The  latter  nodded  his 
confirmation  of  the  girl's  words. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  professor.  "I  wonder  if  you  realize 
what  you  have  got,  Miss  Carmen?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  simply.     "It's  a  beautiful  gift,  isn't  it?" 

"But — I  had  thought  of  asking  you  to  let  me  train  you — 
but — I — I  dare  not  undertake  to  handle  such  a  voice  as  yours. 
May  I — may  I  send  Maitre  Rossanni  to  you,  the  great  Italian? 
Will  you  sing  for  him?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  the  girl;  "I'll  sing  for  anybody.  The 
gift  isn't  mine,  you  know.  It  is  for  all.  I'm  only  the  channel." 

When  the  professor  had  taken  his  reluctant  departure,  the 
Beaubien  returned  and  handed  Carmen  a  letter.  With  a  cry 
of  joy  the  girl  seized  it  and  tore  it  open.  It  was  from  Colombia, 
the  second  one  that  her  beloved  Rosendo  had  succeeded  in 
getting  down  the  river  to  the  distant  coast.  It  had  been  written 
three  months  prior,  and  it  bore  many  stains  and  evidences  of 
the  vicissitudes  through  which  it  had  emerged.  Yes,  Rosendo 
and  his  family  were  well,  though  still  at  Maria  Rosa,  far  up  the 
Boque,  with  Don  Nicolas.  The  war  raged  below  them,  but  they 
were  safe. 

"And  not  a  word  from  Padre  Jose,  or  about  him,"  mur 
mured  the  girl,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  clasping  the  soiled 
letter  to  her  breast. 

Father  Waite  thought  of  the  little  newsboy  of  Cartagena, 
and  his  possible  share  in  the  cause  of  Jose's  silence.  But  he 
made  no  comment. 


CHAPTER  4 

CARMEN'S  first  serious  test  of  her  knowledge  of  English 
composition  was  made  early  in  the  semester,  in  an  essay 
on  town  life  in  Colombia;  and  so  meritorious  did  her  in 
structor  consider  it  that  he  advised  her  to  send  it  to  a  prominent 
literary   magazine.      The   result   was   that   the   essay  was   ac 
cepted,  and  a  request  made  for  further  contributions. 

The   girl   bubbled   with   new-found   happiness.      Then   she 
wrote  another,  and  still  another  article  on  the  life  and  customs 

39 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


of  her  people.  Both  were  given  publication;  and  with  the 
money  which  she  received  for  them  she  bought  a  silk  dress 
for  Jude,  much  to  that  adoring  woman's  surprise  and  ve 
hement  protest.  Carmen  might  have  saved  the  money  toward 
a  piano — but,  no;  that  would  have  been  thinking  of  herself, 
and  was  inadmissible.  Nor  did  the  Beaubien  offer  any  objec 
tion.  "Indeed,"  commented  that  fond  shepherd  of  this  lone 
lamb,  "she  would  have  poured  the  money  out  into  somebody's 
open  hand  anyway,  and  it  might  as  well  be  Jude's." 

Then  she  choked  back  the  tears  as  she  added:  "The  girl 
comes  home  every  night  with  an  empty  purse,  no  matter  how 
full  it  may  have  been  in  the  morning.  What  does  she  do  with 
the  money?  Follow  her  some  day  and  see." 

Carmen's  slight  success  in  the  field  of  letters  still  further 
aroused  Haynerds  interest.  The  peacefully  somnolent  Social 
Era,  he  thought,  might  awaken  to  new  things  under  the  stimu 
lus  of  such  fresh  writing  as  hers.  Perhaps  life  did  hold  some 
thing  of  real  value  after  all.  Would  she  furnish  him  with  a 
column  or  two  on  the  peculiar  social  aspect  of  the  metropolis? 

She  would,  and  did.  And  the  result  was  that  the  staid  con 
servative  sheet  was  given  a  smart  shaking;  and  several  promi 
nent  society  people  sat  up  and  blinked.  The  article  was  in  no 
way  malicious.  It  was  not  even  condemnatory.  It  but  threw 
a  clear  light  from  a  somewhat  unusual  angle  upon  certain 
phases  of  New  York's  social  life,  and  uncovered  a  few  of  the 
more  subtly  hidden  springs  of  its  peculiar  activity. 

Among  those  who  read  her  essay  in  the  Social  Era  was  J. 
Wilton  Ames.  He  first  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed 
uproariously.  And  then,  when  his  agents  discovered  for  him 
the  identity  of  the  author,  he  glowered.  The  Beaubien  was 
still  standing  between  him  and  this  budding  genius.  And 
though  he  might,  and  would,  ultimately  ruin  the  Beaubien 
financially,  yet  this  girl,  despite  her  social  ostracism,  bade 
fair  to  earn  with  her  facile  pen  enough  to  maintain  them  both 
in  luxury.  So  he  bent  anew  to  his  vengeful  schemes,  for  he 
would  make  them  come  to  him.  As  Trustee,  he  would  learn 
what  courses  the  girl  was  pursuing  in  the  University — for  he 
had  long  known  that  she  was  in  attendance  there.  Then  he 
would  learn  who  her  associates  were;  what  suggestions  and 
advice  her  instructors  gave  her;  and  her  plans  for  the  future. 
And  he  wrould  trace  her  sources  of  income  and  apply  pressure 
at  the  most  vital  point.  He  had  never  in  his  life  been  success 
fully  balked.  Much  less  by  a  woman. 

Then  Haynerd  came  to  congratulate  Carmen  again,  and 
to  request  that  she  attend  with  him  the  formal  opening  of  the 
new  Ames  mansion,  the  great  Fifth  Avenue  palace,  for  he 

40 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


wanted  her  vivid,  first-hand  impressions  for  his  account  of  the 
brilliant  affair  in  the  Social  Era.  As  reporters,  he  explained, 
they  would  of  necessity  remain  in  seclusion,  and  the  girl  might 
disguise  to  such  an  extent  as  to  prevent  recognition,  if  she 
chose.  It  was  business  for  him,  and  an  opportunity  for  rich 
experience  for  her.  And  the  fearless  girl  went,  because  it  would 
help  Haynerd,  though  the  Beaubien  inwardly  trembled. 

Invitations  to  the  number  of  three  hundred  had  been  issued 
to  the  elite  of  New  York,  announcing  the  formal  opening  of  the 
newly  finished,  magnificent  Ames  dwelling.  These  invitations 
were  wrought  in  enamel  on  cards  of  pure  gold.  Each  had  cost 
thirty  dollars.  The  mansion  itself,  twelve  millions.  A  month 
prior  to  the  opening,  the  newspapers  had  printed  carefully- 
worded  announcements  of  the  return  of  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames 
and  her  daughter,  after  a  protracted  stay  at  various  foreign 
baths  and  rest-cures  in  the  hope  of  restoring  the  former's  im 
paired  health.  But  Mrs.  Ames  now  felt  that  she  could  no 
longer  deprive  society  of  her  needed  activities,  and  so  had  re 
turned  to  conduct  it  through  what  promised  to  be  a  season  of 
unusual  brilliancy.  The  papers  did  not,  however,  state  that 
J.  Wilton  had  himself  recalled  her,  after  quietly  destroying 
his  bill  of  divorce,  because  he  recognized  the  necessity  of  main 
taining  the  social  side  of  his  complicated  existence  on  a  par 
with  his  vast  business  affairs. 

As  Carmen  and  Haynerd  approached  the  huge,  white  marble 
structure,  cupolaed,  gabled,  buttressed,  and  pinnacled,  an  over 
whelming  sense  of  what  it  stood  for  suddenly  came  upon  the 
girl,  and  she  saw  revealed  in  a  flash  that  side  of  its  owner's  life 
which  for  so  many  months  she  had  been  pondering.  The 
great  shadows  that  seemed  to  issue  from  the  massive  exterior 
of  the  building  swept  out  and  engulfed  her;  and  she  turned 
and  clasped  Haynerd's  arm  with  the  feeling  that  she  would 
suffocate  were  she  to  remain  longer  in  them. 

"Perk  up,  little  one,"  said  Haynerd,  taking  her  hand.  "We'll 
go  round  to  the  rear  entrance,  and  I  will  present  my  business 
card  there.  Ames's  secretary  telephoned  me  instructions,  and 
I  said  I  was  going  to  bring  a  lady  reporter  with  me." 

Carmen  caught  her  breath  as  she  passed  through  the  tall, 
exquisitely  wrought  iron  gateway  and  along  the  marble  walk 
which  led  to  the  rear.  Up  the  winding  steps  to  the  front  en 
trance,  where  swung  the  marvelous  bronze  doors  which  had 
stirred  the  imaginations  of  two  continents,  streamed  the  fa 
vored  of  the  fashionable  world.  Among  them  Carmen  saw 
many  whom  she  recognized.  The  buffoon,  Larry  Beers,  was 
there,  swinging  jauntily  along  with  the  bejeweled  wife  of  Sam 
son,  the  multimillionaire  packer.  Kane  and  his  wife,  and 

41 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Weston  followed.  Outside  the  gates  there  was  incessant  chug 
ging  of  automobiles,  mingled  with  the  shouted  orders  of  the 
three  policemen  detailed  to  direct  the  traffic.  A  pinched,  ragged 
urchin  and  his  tattered  little  sister  crept  up  and  peered  wildly 
through  the  iron  pickets  of  the  fence;  but  a  sharp  rap  from  a 
policeman's  club  sent  them  scattering.  Carmen  stood  for  a 
moment  in  the  shadows  and  watched  the  swarm  mount  the 
marble  steps  and  enter  through  those  wonderful  doors.  There 
were  congressmen  and  senators,  magnates  and  jurists,  dis 
tillers  and  preachers.  Each  one  owed  his  tithe  of  allegiance  to 
Ames.  Some  were  chained  to  him  hard  and  fast,  nor  would 
break  their  bonds  this  side  of  the  grave.  Some  he  owned  out 
right.  There  were  those  who  grew  white  under  his  most 
casual  glance.  There  were  others  who  knew  that  his  calloused 
hand  was  closing  about  them,  and  that  when  it  opened  again 
they  would  fall  to  the  ground,  dry  as  dust.  Others,  like  moths, 
not  yet  singed,  were  hovering  ever  closer  to  the  bright,  cruel 
flame.  Reverend  Darius  Borwell,  bowing  and  smiling,  alighted 
from  his  parochial  car  and  tripped  blithely  up  the  glistening 
marble  steps.  Each  and  all,  wrapping  the  skeleton  of  grief, 
greed,  shame,  or  fear  beneath  swart  broadcloth  and  shimmer 
ing  silk,  floated  up  those  ghostly  steps  as  if  drawn  by  a  tre 
mendous  magnet  incarnate  in  the  person  of  J.  Wilton  Ames. 

Carmen  shuddered  and  turned  away.  Did  the  pale  wraith 
of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles  sigh  in  the  wake  of  that  gilded  as 
sembly?  Did  the  moans  of  poor,  grief-stricken  Mrs.  Gannette, 
sitting  in  her  poverty  and  sorrow,  die  into  silence  against 
those  bronze  doors?  Was  he,  the  being  who  dwelt  in  that 
marble  palace,  the  hydra-headed  embodiment  of  the  carnal, 
Scriptural,  age-old  power  that  opposes  God?  And  could  he 
stand  forever? 

Two  detectives  met  them  at  the  rear  door.  How  many 
others  there  were  scattered  through  the  house  itself,  Hay- 
nerd  could  only  guess.  But  he  passed  inspection  and  was  ad 
mitted  with  the  girl.  A  butler  took  immediate  charge  of  them, 
and  led  them  quickly  through  a  short  passage  and  to  an  ele 
vator,  by  which  they  mounted  to  another  floor,  where,  opening 
a  paneled  oak  door,  the  dignified  functionary  preceded  them 
into  a  small  reception  hall,  with  lavatories  at  either  end.  Here 
he  bade  them  remove  their  wraps  and  await  his  return. 

"Well,"  commented  Haynerd,  with  a  light,  nervous  laugh, 
"we've  crossed  the  Rubicon!  Now  don't  miss  a  thing!" 

A  moment  later  the  butler  returned  with  a  sharp-eyed 
young  woman,  Mrs.  Ames's  social  secretary. 

"You  will  be  very  careful  in  your  report,"  the  latter  began 
at  once  in  a  business-like  manner.  "And  you  will  submit  the 

42 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


same  to  me  for  approval  before  it  is  published  in  your  maga 
zine.  Mr.  Ames  deems  that  imperative,  since  your  recent  pifb- 
lication  of  an  essay  on  modern  society  in  this  city.  I  have  a 
list  here  of  the  guests,  their  business  and  social  standing,  and 
other  data.  You  will  run  that  in  full.  You  will  say  that  this 
is  the  most  brilliant  assemblage  ever  gathered  under  one  roof 
in  New  York.  The  wealth  represented  here  to-night  will  total 
not  less  than  three  billion  dollars.  The  jewels  alone  displayed 
will  foot  up  not  less  than  twenty  millions.  Now,  let  me  see," 
again  consulting  her  notes. 

Haynerd  stole  a  covert  glance  at  Carmen  and  winked. 

"The  chef,"  the  secretary  resumed,  "was  brought  over  from 
Paris  by  Mrs.  Ames  on  her  recent  return.  His  name,  Pierre 
Lotard,  descendant  of  the  famous  chef  of  the  Emperor  Napo 
leon  First.  He  considers  that  his  menu  to-night  surpasses  any 
thing  he  ever  before  achieved." 

"May  I  ask,"  interrupted  Haynerd,  "the  probable  cost  of  the 
supper?" 

"Yes,  perhaps  you  had  better  mention  that  item.  It  will 
be  in  the  neighborhood  of  three  hundred  dollars  a  plate.  House 
and  table  decorations,  about  eight  thousand  dollars.  Here  is 
a  copy  of  the  menu.  Run  it  in  full.  The  menu  cards  were 
hand-illuminated  by  Parisian  artists,  and  each  bears  a  sketch 
illustrative  or  suggestive  of  the  guest  to  whom  it  is  given." 

"Cost?"  queried  Haynerd  off-handedly. 

"Three  thousand,  if  I  correctly  recall  it,"  was  the  nonchalant 
reply.  "As  to  the  viands,  you  will  mention  that  they  have  been 
gathered  from  every  part  of  the  world.  Now  come  with  me, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  house,  while  the  guests 
are  assembling  in  the  grand  salon.  Then  you  will  remain  in 
the  balcony,  where  you  will  make  what  notes  you  wish  on 
the  dress  displayed.  Refreshments  will  be  served  to  you  later 
in  this  waiting  room.  I  need  not  remind  you  that  you  are 
not  expected  to  mingle  with  the  guests,  nor  to  address  any  one. 
Keep  to  the  balcony,  and  quite  out  of  view." 

Opening  a  door  opposite  the  one  through  which  she  had 
entered,  the  young  woman  led  her  charges  directly  out  upon 
the  great  marble  balcony  overlooking  the  grand  salon  below. 
A  rush  of  brilliant  light  engulfed  them,  and  a  potpourri  of 
chatter  and  laughter,  mingled  with  soft  music  from  a  distant 
organ,  and  the  less  distinct  notes  of  the  orchestra  in  the  still 
more  distant  ballroom,  rose  about  them  in  confused  babel,  as 
they  tiptoed  to  the'exquisitely  carved  marble  railing  and  peered 
down  upon  the  gorgeous  pageant.  The  ceiling  rose  far  above 
them,  delicately  tinted  like  a  soft  Italian  sky.  The  lofty  walls 
dropped,  like  gold-gray  veils,  to  the  richly  carved  paneled 

43 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


wainscoting  beneath,  which  had  once  lined  the  halls  of  a  medi 
aeval  castle  on  the  Rhine.  The  great  windows  were  hidden 
behind  rare  Venetian  lace  curtains,  over  wrhich  fell  hangings  of 
brocade,  repeating  the  soft  tints  of  the  wall  and  the  brocade- 
covered  chairs  and  divans  ranged  close  about  the  sides  of  the 
splendid  room.  On  the  floor  lay  a  massive,  priceless  Persian 
carpet,  dating  from  the  fifteenth  century. 

Haynerd  drew  a  long  breath,  and  whistled  softly.  From 
the  end  of  the  salon  he  could  mark  the  short  flight  of  steps 
which  led  to  the  mezzanine,  \vith  its  walls  heavily  tapestried, 
and  broken  by  rich  oak  doors  opening  into  lavatories  and 
lounging  rooms,  itself  widening  at  the  far  end  into  the  grand 
billiard  and  smoking  parlors,  done  off  in  Circassian  walnut, 
with  tables  and  furniture  to  harmonize.  From  the  mezzanine 
he  saw  the  grand  stairway  falling  away  in  great,  sweeping 
curves,  all  in  blended  marble  from  the  world's  greatest  quar 
ries,  and  delicately  chased  and  carved  into  classic  designs. 
Two  tapestries,  centuries  old,  hung  from  the  walls  on  either 
side.  Far  above,  the  oak  ceiling,  for  which  the  Schwarzwald 
had  been  ranged,  was  overlaid  with  pure  gold  leaf.  The  whole 
was  suffused  writh  the  glow  of  myriad  hidden  and  inverted 
lights,  reflected  in  a  thousand  angles  from  burnished  gold  and 
marble  and  rarest  gems. 

Haynerd  turned  to  the  wraiting  secretary.  He  groped  in  the 
chambers  of  his  imagery  for  some  superlative  adjective  to  ex 
press  his  emotion  before  this  colossal  display  of  wealth.  But 
his  ample  vocabulary  had  faded  quite.  He  could  only  shake 
his  head  and  give  vent  to  the  inept  remark,  "Swell — by  George!" 

The  secretary,  without  replying,  motioned  them  to  follow. 
Passing  noiselessly  around  the  balcony  to  the  opposite  side,  she 
indicated  a  door  below,  leading  off  to  the  right  from  the  grand 
salon. 

"That  room  beyond,"  she  said,  "is  the  petit  salon.  The 
decorative  effects  are  by  French  artists.  Beyond  that  is  the 
morning  room.  It  is  in  panels  from  French  chateaux,  covered 
with  Gobelin  tapestry.  Now  from  here  you  can  see  a  bit  of 
the  music  room.  The  grand  organ  cost,  installed,  about  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  It  is  electrically  controlled,  with 
its  pipes  running  all  around  the  room,  so  as  to  give  the  effect 
of  music  coming  from  every  corner." 

Haynerd  again  softly  whistled. 

"There  are  three  art  galleries  beyond,  two  for  paintings,  and 
one  for  sculpture.  Mr.  Ames  has  without  doubt  the  finest  art 
collection  in  America.  It  includes  several  Titians,  Veroneses, 
da  Vincis,  Turners,  three  Rubens,  and  two  Raphaels.  By  the 
way,  it  may  interest  you  to  know  that  his  negotiations  for  the 

44 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Murillo  Madonna  were  completed  to-day,  and  the  picture  will 
be  sent  to  him  immediately." 

"Might  I  ask  what  he  paid  for  it?"  Haynerd  inquired  cas 
ually. 

"You  may  say  that  he  paid  something  over  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  it,"  she  replied,  in  a  quite  matter  of  fact 
tone.  "Now,"  she  continued,  "you  will  go  back  to  your  first 
position,  near  the  door  of  the  waiting  room,  and  remain  there 
until  I  return.  I  may  have  an  opportunity  later  to  show  you 
the  library.  It  is  very  unique.  Great  carved  stone  fireplace, 
taken  from  a  Scotch  castle.  Hundreds  of  rare  volumes  and 
first  editions.  Now,  if  any  one  approaches,  you  can  step  be 
hind  the  screen  and  remain  out  of  view.  You  have  chairs  and 
a  table  there  for  your  writing.  Do  not  in  any  event  leave  this 
balcony." 

With  this  final  injunction  she  turned  and  disappeared  into 
the  little  \vaiting  room  from  which  they  had  emerged. 

For  some  moments  Carmen  and  Haynerd  stood  looking  al 
ternately  at  each  other  and  about  them  at  their  magnificent 
environment.  Both  had  seen  much  of  the  gilded  life,  and  the 
girl  had  dwelt  some  months  in  its  alien  atmosphere.  But 
neither  had  ever  witnessed  such  a  stupendous  display  of  mate 
rial  wealth  as  was  here  unfolded  before  their  astonished  gaze. 
At  the  head  of  the  grand  stairway  stood  the  Ames  trio,  to 
receive  their  resplendent  guests.  The  women  were  magnifi 
cently  gowned.  But  Ames's  massive  form  in  its  simple  black 
and  chaste  linen  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  Even  Haynerd 
could  not  suppress  a  note  of  admiration  as  he  gazed  at  the 
splendid  figure. 

"And  yet,"  he  murmured,  "a  victim,  like  the  rest,  of  the 
great  delusion." 

Carmen  laid  down  the  opera  glasses  through  which  she  had 
been  studying  the  man.  "He  is  an  expression,"  she  said,  "of 
the  American  ideal — the  ideal  of  practical  material  life.  It  is 
toward  his  plane  of  life  that  this  country's  youth  are  struggling, 
at,  oh,  what  a  cost!  Think,  think,  what  his  immense,  mis 
used  revenue  could  do,  if  unselfishly  used!  Why,  the  cost  of 
this  single  night's  show  would  put  two  hundred  men  like 
Father  Waite  through  a  four-year  course  in  the  University, 
and  train  them  to  do  life's  work!  And  what,  what  will  Mr. 
Ames  get  out  of  it?" 

"Oh,  further  opportunities  to  increase  his  pile,  I  suppose," 
returned  Haynerd,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"But,  will  he  get  real  happiness?  Peace?  Joy?  And  does 
he  need  further  opportunities  to  accumulate  money?  Does  he 
not  rather  need  some  one  to  show  him  the  meaning  of  life, 
how  to  really  live?" 

45 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"He  does,  indeed!  And  it  may  be  your  mission,  Carmen,  to 
do  just  that.  But  if  you  don't,  then  I  sincerely  hope  the  man 
may  die  before  he  discovers  that  all  that  he  has  achieved,  his 
wealth,  his  prestige,  his  power,  have  not  been  worth  striving 
for!" 

"He  hasn't  the  slightest  idea  of  the  meaning  of  life,"  she 
murmured,  looking  down  upon  the  glittering  throng.  "Nor 
have  any  of  them." 

"No,"  he  replied.  "They  put  me  in  mind  of  Carlyle's  famous 
remark,  as  he  stood  looking  out  across  the  London  Strand: 
'There  are  in  this  city  some  four  million  people,  mostly  fools.' 
How  mean,  narrow  and  hard  their  lives  are!  These  are  the 
high  priests  of  vested  privilege,  of  mediaevalism,  of  old  in 
stitutions  whose  perpetual  maintenance,  even  in  a  generation 
that  has  progressed  far  beyond  them,  is  a  fungus  blight  upon 
us.  Ah,  there's  little  Willie  Van  Wot,  all  dolled  out!  He's 
glorifying  his  Creator  now  by  devoting  his  foolish  little  ex 
istence  to  coaching  trips  along  the  New  England  shore.  He  re 
minds  me  of  the  Fleet  street  poet  who  wrote  a  century  ago  of 
the  similar  occupation  of  a  young  dandy  of  that  day — 

What  can  little  T.  O.  do? 

Why,  drive  a  Phaeton  and  Two!    !    ! 

Can  little  T.  O.  do  no  more? 

Yes,   drive  a  Phaeton   and  Four!    !    !    ! 

He's  an  interesting  outgrowth  of  our  unique  social  system,  eh?" 
"We  must  follow  Emerson  and  treat  them  all  as  we  do 
pictures,  look  at  them  in  the  best  light,"  murmured  Carmen. 
"Aye,   hang   them   in   the   best   light!"   returned   Hay  nerd. 
"But  make  sure  they're  well  hung!     There  goes  the  pseudo- 
princess,  member  of  the  royal  house  of  England.     She  carries 
the  royal  taint,  too.    I  tell  you,  under  the  splash  and  glitter  you 
can  see  the  feet  of  clay,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  smiled  Carmen,  "resting  upon  the  high  heel." 
"Huh!"  muttered  Haynerd,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust.  "The 
women  of  fashion  seem  to  feel  that  the  Creator  didn't  do  a 
good  job  when  He  designed  the  feminine  sex — that  He  should 
have  put  a  hump  where  the  heel  is,  so's  to  slant  the  foot  and 
make  comfortable  walking  impossible,  as  well  as  to  insure  a 
plentiful  crop  of  foot-troubles  and  deformities.  The  Chinese 
women  used  to  manifest  a  similarly  insane  thought.  Good 
heavens!  High  heel,  low  brain!  The  human  mind  is  a  cave 
of  black  ignorance!" 

Carmen  did  not  reply,  but  bent  her  attention  again  to  the 
throng  below. 

"Look  there,"  said  Haynerd,  indicating  a  stout,  full- 
toiletted  woman,  resplendent  with  diamonds.  "That's  our 

46 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


eminent  French  guest,  Madam  Carot.  She  severed  herself 
from  her  tiresome  consort  last  year  by  means  of  a  bichloride 
tablet  deftly  immersed  in  his  coffee,  and  then,  leaving  a  sigh 
of  regret  hovering  over  his  unhandsome  remains,  hastened  to 
our  friendly  shores,  to  grace  the  beau  monde  with  her  gowns 
and  jewels." 

Carmen  turned  to  him  with  a  remonstrance  of  incredulity. 

"Fact,"  he  stubbornly  insisted.  "The  Social  Era  got  the 
whole  spicy  story.  And  there  beside  her  is  our  indispensable 
Mrs.  T.  Oliver  Pennymon.  See,  she's  drifted  up  to  young 
Watson!  Coquetting  for  a  husband  still,  the  old  buzzard!" 

"Mr.  Hay  nerd!" 

"Well,  it's  fact,  anyway,"  persisted  the  society  monitor. 
"And  there  beyond  her  is  fat  little  Mrs.  Stuffenheimer,  with 
her  two  unlovely,  red-faced  daughters.  Ah,  the  despairing 
mamma  is  still  vainly  angling  for  mates  for  her  two  chubby 
Venuses!  If  they're  not  married  off  properly  and  into  good 
social  positions  soon,  it's  mamma  for  the  scrap  heap!  By 
George!  it's  positively  tragic  to  see  these  anxious  mothers  at 
Newport  and  Atlantic  City  and  other  fashionable  places,  rush 
ing  madly  hither  and  yon  with  their  marriageable  daughters, 
dragging  them  from  one  function  to  another  in  the  wild  hope 
that  they  may  ultimately  land  a  man.  Worry  and  pain  dig  deep 
furrows  into  poor  mamma's  face  if  she  sees  her  daughters 
fading  into  the  has-been  class.  It  requires  heroism,  I  say,  to 
travel  in  society!  But  I  guess  you  know,  eh?  Well,"  taking 
up  his  notebook,  "we  must  get  busy  now.  By  the  way,  how's 
your  shorthand  progressing?" 

"Oh,  splendidly,"  replied  the  girl,  her  eyes  still  upon  the 
massive  figure  of  Ames.     Then,  recovering  from  her  abstrac 
tion,  "I  can  write  as  fast  in  it  now  as  in  longhand." 
14     "Good!"  said  Haynerd.     "You'll  need  it  later." 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  two  sat  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
splendid  balcony,  looking  down  upon  the  scene  of  magnificence 
below.  Through  the  mind  of  the  young  girl  ran  a  ceaseless 
paean  of  thanksgiving  for  her  timely  deliverance  from  the 
trammels  which  she  so  well  knew  enshackled  these  glittering 
birds  of  paradise.  With  it  mingled  a  great,  consuming  desire, 
a  soul-longing  to  pour  into  the  vacuity  of  high  society  the 
leaven  of  her  own  pure  thought.  In  particular  did  her  bound 
less  love  now  go  out  to  that  gigantic  figure  whose  ideals  of  life 
this  sumptuous  display  of  material  wealth  and  power  ex 
pressed.  Why  was  he  doing  this?  What  ulterior  motive  had 
he?  Was  it  only  a  vainglorious  exhibition  of  his  own  human 
prowess?  Was  it  an  announcement,  magnificent  beyond 
compare,  that  he,  J.  Wilton  Ames,  had  attained  the  supreme 

47 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


heights  of  gratified  world  ambition?  That  the  world  at  last 
lay  at  his  feet?  And  that  over  it  brooded  the  giant's  lament 
that  there  remained  nothing  more  to  conquer?  But,  if  so,  the 
girl  at  least  knew  that  the  man's  herculean  efforts  to  subdue 
the  material  world  were  as  nothing.  The  real  conquest  lay  still 
before  him,  the  conquest  of  self.  And  when  that  were  faced 
and  achieved,  well  she  knew  that  no  such  garish  display  as 
this  would  announce  the  victory  to  a  breathless  world. 

The  bustling  little  social  secretary  again  appeared,  and 
briefly  announced  the  production  of  an  opera  in  the  audito 
rium,  to  which  she  had  come  to  conduct  them.  Passing  through 
the  little  waiting  room  and  to  the  elevator,  they  quickly 
mounted  to  the  unoccupied  gallery  of  the  theater  above.  The 
parquet,  which  would  seat  nearly  a  thousand  spectators,  was 
rapidly  filling  with  an  eager,  curious  throng.  The  Ames  trio 
and  some  of  the  more  distinguished  guests  were  already  oc 
cupying  the  gorgeously  decorated  boxes  at  the  sides.  An 
orchestra  of  fifty  pieces  was  visible  in  the  hollow  below  the 
stage.  Caroni,  the  famous  grand  opera  leader,  stood  ready  to 
conduct.  The  opera  itself  was  the  much  discussed  music 
drama,  Salome. 

"Now,"  commented  Haynerd  to  his  fair,  wondering  com 
panion,  who  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  magnificent  mural 
decorations  of  the  little  theater,  "we  will  see  something  rare, 
for  this  opera  has  been  called  the  most  artistic  piece  of  inde 
cency  known  to  the  stage.  Good  heavens !  Ames  has  got  Marie 
Deschamps  for  the  title  role.  She'll  cost  him  not  less  than  five 
thousand  dollars  for  this  one  night.  And — see  here,"  drawing 
Carmen's  attention  to  the  bill,  "Marcou  and  Corvalle  besides! 
The  man  must  be  made  of  money!  These  stars  get  three  thou 
sand  dollars  a  night  during  the  regular  season." 

Every  phase  of  sophistication  was  manifested  in  that  glit 
tering  audience  when  the  curtain  rose  and  the  sensational 
theme  was  introduced.  But  to  none  came  thoughts  like  those 
which  clamored  for  admittance  at  the  portals  of  Carmen's 
mentality.  In  the  bold  challenge  of  the  insanely  sensual  por 
trayal  of  a  carnal  mind  the  girl  saw  the  age-old  defiance  of  the 
spirit  by  the  flesh.  In  the  rolls  of  the  wondrous  music,  in  its 
shrieks,  its  pleadings,  and  its  dying  echoes,  she  heard  voiced 
again  the  soul-lament  of  a  weary  world  searching  vainly  in 
the  mazes  of  human  thought  for  truth.  As  the  wronderful 
Deschamps  danced  weirdly  before  her  in  the  ghastly  light  and 
fell  gloating  over  her  gory  trophy,  Carmen  saw  but  the  frantic 
struggles  of  a  diseased  soul,  portrayed  as  the  skilled  surgeon 
lays  bare  the  malignant  growth  that  is  eating  the  quivering  tis 
sues  of  a  human  frame.  The  immodesty  of  dress,  the  sensual 

48 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


suggestiveness  of  the  dance,  the  brutal  flouting  of  every  element 
of  refinement  and  delicacy,  blazoned  in  frenzied  tone  and 
movement  the  bloody  orgy  and  dance  of  death  which  goes  on 
incessantly  upon  the  stage  of  human  life,  and  ends  in  the  mad 
whirl  and  confusion  and  insane  gibbering  over  the  lifeless 
trophies  for  which  mankind  sell  their  very  souls. 

"About  the  limit  of  tolerance,  eh?"  commented  Haynerd, 
when  the  final  curtain  dropped.  "Yes,  even  to  a  vitiated  taste. 
The  passionate  thirst  for  the  sensational  has  led  to  this  sicken 
ing  display  of  salacity — 

"Splendid,  wasn't  it?"  came  in  tones  of  admiration  from  the 
social  secretary,  who  had  returned  to  conduct  her  charges  back 
to  the  balcony  before  the  guests  emerged  from  the  theater. 
"You  will  run  the  program  in  full,  and  comment  at  some  length 
on  the  expense  attached,"  she  went  on.  "You  have  just  wit 
nessed  the  private  production  of  a  full  opera,  unabridged,  and 
with  the  regular  operatic  cast.  Supper  will  follow  in  a  half 
hour.  Meantime,  you  will  remain  in  the  balcony  where  you 
were  before." 

Returning  to  their  former  position,  Carmen  sank  into  a 
chair  at  the  little  table  behind  the  screen,  and  strove  to  orient 
her  thought.  Haynerd  sat  down  beside  her  to  arrange  his  vo 
luminous  notes.  Presently  footsteps  were  heard,  and  the  sound 
of  voices.  Haynerd  glanced  through  the  hinge  of  the  screen. 
"Ha!"  he  whispered,  "here  comes  Ames  and — who's  with  him? 
Ah,  Representative  Wales.  Showing  him  about,  I  suppose." 

Carmen  gazed  at  the  approaching  men  with  fascinated  eyes, 
although  she  saw  but  one,  the  towering  magician  who  had 
reared  this  fairy  palace.  She  saw  Ames  lead  his  companion 
to  the  door  of  the  little  waiting  room  at  their  right,  and  heard 
the  congressman  protest  against  entering. 

"But  we  can  talk  undisturbed  in  here,"  urged  Ames,  his 
hand  on  the  door. 

"Better  remain  out  here  on  the  balcony,"  replied  the  con 
gressman  nervously,  as  he  moved  toward  the  railing. 

Ames  laughed  and  shrugged  his  enormous  shoulders.  He 
understood  the  man's  repugnance  fully.  But  he  humored  him. 

"You  know,  Wales,"  he  said  easily,  going  to  the  railing  and 
peering  over  at  the  brilliant  assemblage  below,  "if  I  could  get 
the  heathen  Chinee  to  add  an  extra  half-inch  to  his  shirt  length, 
I'd  make  a  hundred  millions.  And  then,  perhaps,  I  wouldn't 
need  to  struggle  with  your  Ways  and  Means  Committee  as  I 
do.  By  the  way,  the  cotton  schedule  will  be  reported  out  un 
changed,  I  presume."  He  turned  and  looked  quizzically  at  his 
companion  as  he  said  this. 

Wales  trembled  slightly  when  he  replied  to  the  question  he 
had  been  awaiting.  "I  think  not,  Mr.  Ames." 

49  49 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  giant's  face  clouded.  "Parsons  will  vote  for  it,"  he 
said  suggestively.  "What  will  you  do?" 

The  congressman  hesitated.  "I — the  party,  Mr.  Ames,  is 
committed  to  the  high  tariff  principle.  We  can  not  let  in  a 
flood  of  foreign  cotton — 

"Then  you  want  the  fight  between  the  farmers  and  spinners 
to  continue,  eh?"  interposed  Ames  cynically.  "You  don't  seem 
to  realize  that  in  the  end  both  will  get  more  money  than  they 
are  getting  now,  and  that  it  will  come  from  the  consumer,  who 
will  pay  vastly  higher  for  his  finished  products,  in  addition  to 
the  tariff.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"It  is  a  party  principle,  Mr.  Ames,"  returned  the  con 
gressman  tenaciously. 

"Look  here,  Wales,"  said  Ames,  turning  savagely  upon  his 
companion.  "The  cotton  farmers  are  organizing.  They  have 
got  to  be  stopped.  Their  cooperative  associations  must  be 
smashed.  The  tariff  schedule  which  you  have  before  your  Com 
mittee  will  do  it.  And  you  are  going  to  pass  it." 

"Mr.  Ames,"  replied  the  congressman,  "I — I  am  opposed  to 
the  constant  manipulation  of  cotton  by  you  rich  men.  I — " 

"There,"  interrupted  Ames,  "never  mind  explaining  your 
conscientious  scruples.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  do  you  in 
tend  to  cast  your  vote  for  the  unaltered  schedule?" 

"N— no,  Mr.  Ames,  I  can't—" 

"H'm,"  murmured  Ames.  Then,  with  easy  nonchalance, 
turning  to  an  apparently  irrelevant  topic  as  he  gazed  over  the 
railing,  "I  heard  just  before  coming  from  my  office  this  even 
ing  that  the  doors  of  the  Mercantile  Trust  would  not  open  to 
morrow.  Too  bad !  A  lot  of  my  personal  friends  are  heavily 
involved.  Bank's  been  shaky  for  some  time.  Ames  and  Com 
pany  will  take  over  their  tangible  assets.  I  believe  you  were 
interested,  were  you  not?"  He  glanced  at  the  trembling  man 
out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

Wales  turned  ashen.  His  hands  shook  as  he  grasped  the 
railing  before  him  and  tried  to  steady  himself. 

"Hits  you  pretty  hard,  eh?"  coolly  queried  Ames. 

"It— it — yes — very  hard,"  murmured  the  dazed  man.  "Are 
you — positive?" 

"Quite.  But  step  into  the  waiting  room  and  'phone  the  news 
papers.  They  will  corroborate  my  statements." 

Representative  Wales  was  serving  his  first  term  in  Congress. 
His  election  had  been  a  matter  of  surprise  to  everybody,  him 
self  included,  excepting  Ames.  Wales  knew  not  that  his  de 
tailed  personal  history  had  been  for  many  months  carefully 
filed  in  the  vaults  of  the  Ames  tower.  Nor  did  he  ever  suspect 
that  his  candidacy  and  election  had  been  matters  of  most  care- 

50 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ful  thought  on  the  part  of  the  great  financier  and  his  political 
associates.  But  when  he,  a  stranger  to  congressional  halls, 
was  made  a  member  of  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee,  his 
astonishment  overleaped  all  bounds.  Then  Ames  had  smiled 
his  own  gratification,  and  arranged  that  the  new  member 
should  attend  the  formal  opening  of  the  great  Ames  palace 
later  in  the  year.  Meantime,  the  financier  and  the  new  con 
gressman  had  met  on  several  occasions,  and  the  latter  had  felt 
no  little  pride  in  the  attention  which  the  great  man  had  shown 
him. 

And  so  the  path  to  fame  had  unrolled  steadily  before  the 
guileless  Wales  until  this  night,  when  the  first  suspicions  of  his 
thraldom  had  penetrated  and  darkened  his  thought.  Then, 
like  a  crash  from  a  clear  sky,  had  come  the  announcement  of 
the  Mercantile  Trust  failure.  And  as  he  stood  there  now, 
clutching  the  marble  railing,  his  thought  busy  with  the  woman 
and  the  two  fair  children  who  would  be  rendered  penniless  by 
this  blow,  the  fell  presence  of  the  monster  Ames  seemed  to 
bend  over  him  as  the  epitome  of  ruthless,  brutal,  inhuman 
cunning. 

"How  much  are  you  likely  to  lose  by  this  failure?"  the  giant 
asked. 

Wales  collected  his  scattered  senses.  "Not  less  than  fifty 
thousand  dollars,"  he  replied  in  a  husky  voice. 

"H'm!"  commented  Ames.  "Too  bad!  too  bad!  Well,  let's 
go  below.  Ha!  what's  this?"  stooping  and  apparently  taking 
up  an  object  that  had  been  lying  on  the  floor  back  of  the  con 
gressman.  "Well!  well!  your  bank  book,  Wales.  Must  have 
slipped  from  your  pocket." 

Wales  took  the  book  in  a  dazed,  mechanical  way.  "Why — 
I  have  no — this  is  not  mine,"  he  murmured,  gazing  alternately 
at  the  pass  book  and  at  Ames. 

"Your  name's  on  it,  at  least,"  commented  Ames  laconically. 
"And  the  book's  been  issued  by  our  bank,  Ames  and  Company. 
Guess  you've  forgotten  opening  an  account  there,  let  me  see, 
yes,  a  week  ago."  He  took  the  book  and  opened  it.  "Ah,  yes, 
I  recall  the  incident  now.  There's  your  deposit,  made  last 
Friday." 

Wales  choked.  What  did  it  mean?  The  book,  made  out  in 
his  name  on  Ames  and  Company,  showed  a  deposit  to  his  credit 
of  fifty  thousand  dollars! 

Ames  slipped  his  arm  through  the  confused  congressman's, 
and  started  with  him  down  the  balcony.  "You  see,"  he  said, 
as  they  moved  away,  "the  Mercantile  failure  will  not  hit  you 
as  hard  as  you  thought.  Now,  about  that  cotton  schedule,  when 
you  cast  your. vote  for  it,  be  sure  that — "  The  voice  died  away 

51 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


as  the  men  disappeared  in  the  distance,  leaving  Carmen  and 
Haynerd  staring  blankly  at  each  other. 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Haynerd  at  length.     "What  now?" 

"We   must   save   them  both,"   said   Carmen   quietly. 

"I  could  make  my  everlasting  fortune  out  of  this !"  exclaimed 
Haynerd  excitedly. 

"And  lose  your  soul,"  replied  the  girl.  "But  I  will  see  Mr. 
Ames,  and  tell  him  that  we  overheard  his  conversation.  He 
will  save  us  all." 

Haynerd  then  smiled,  but  it  was  a  hard  smile,  coming  from 
one  who  knew  the  world.  "Listen,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "we 
will  keep  quiet,  you  and  I.  To  mention  this  would  be  only  to 
court  disaster  at  the  hands  of  one  who  would  strangle  us  at 
the  slightest  intimation  of  our  knowledge.  Can  you  not  see 
the  consequences  to  us?" 

"I  can  see  but  the  right,"  returned  Carmen  determinedly. 
"And  the  right  shall  prevail!" 

"But,  my  dear  girl,"  cried  Haynerd,  now  thoroughly  alarmed 
both  for  himself  and  her,  "he  would  ruin  us!  This  is  no 
affair  of  ours.  We  had  no  intention  of  hearing;  and  so  let  it 
be  as  if  we  had  not  heard." 

"And  let  the  lie  of  evil  prevail?  No,  Mr.  Haynerd,  I  could 
not,  if  I  would.  Mr.  Ames  is  being  used  by  evil;  and  it  is 
making  him  a  channel  to  ruin  Mr.  Wales.  Shall  I  stand  idly 
by  and  permit  it?  No!" 

She  rose,  with  a  look  of  fixed  resolution  on  her  face.  Hay 
nerd  sprang  to  his  feet  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  arm. 
As  he  did  so,  the  screen  was  quickly  drawn  aside,  and  Kathleen 
Ames  and  two  of  her  young  companions  bent  their  curious  gaze 
in  upon  them.  Absorbed  in  their  earnest  conversation,  Carmen 
and  Haynerd  had  not  heard  the  approach  of  the  young  ladies, 
who  were  on  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  house  before  supper. 

"Reporters  for  the  Social  Era,  Miss  Ames,"  explained  Hay 
nerd,  hastily  answering  the  unspoken  question,  while  he  made 
a  courteous  bow. 

But  Kathleen  had  not  heard  him.  "What— you!"  she  cried, 
instantly  recognizing  Carmen,  and  drawing  back.  "How  dared 
you!  Oh!" 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  one  of  the  young  ladies,  as  her 
eyes  roved  over  Carmen's  tense,  motionless  figure. 

"You — creature!"  cried  Kathleen,  spurting  her  venom  at 
Carmen,  while  her  eyes  snapped  angrily  and  her  hands  twitched. 
"When  the  front  door  is  closed  against  you,  you  sneak  in 
through  the  back  door!  Leave  this  house,  instantly,  or  I  shall 
have  you  thrown  into  the  street!" 

"Why,  Kathleen  dear!"  exclaimed  one  of  her  companions. 
"She  is  only  a  reporter!" 

52 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"She  is  a  low,  negro  wench!"  cried  Kathleen  maliciously. 
"She  comes  from  a  brothel!  She  foisted  herself  upon  society, 
and  was  discovered  and  kicked  out!  Her  father  is  a  dirty 
negro  priest,  and  her  mother  a  low — 

Haynerd  rushed  to  the  maddened  girl  and  clapped  his 
hand  over  her  mouth.  "Hush,  for  God's  sake,  Miss  Ames!" 
Then,  to  her  companions,  "Take  her  away!"  he  pleaded.  "And 
we  will  leave  at  once!" 

But  a  house  detective,  attracted  by  the  loud  conversation, 
had  come  up  and  interposed.  At  his  signal  another  one  ap 
proached.  "Bring  Mr.  Ames,"  he  quietly  commanded.  "I  can 
not  put  them  out  if  they  have  his  permission  to  remain,"  he 
explained  to  the  angry  Kathleen. 

In  a  few  moments,  during  which  the  little  group  stood  tense 
and  quiet,  Ames  himself  appeared. 

"Well?"  he  demanded.  "Ah!"  as  his  eyes  lighted  upon 
Carmen.  "My  little  girl!  And — so  this  is  your  assistant?" 
turning  inquiringly  to  Haynerd.  "By  George!  Her  article  in 
last  week's  Social  Era  was  a  corker.  But,"  staring  from 
Kathleen  to  the  others,  "what's  the  row?" 

"I  want  that  creature  put  out  of  the  house!"  demanded 
Kathleen,  trembling  with  rage  and  pointing  to  Carmen. 

"Tut,  tut,"  returned  Ames  easily.  "She's  on  business,  and 
has  my  permission  to  remain.  But,  by  George!  that's  a  good 
joke,"  winking  at  Haynerd  and  breaking  into  a  loud  laugh. 
"You  put  one  over  on  us  there,  old  man!"  he  said. 

"Father!"  Scalding  tears  of  anger  and  humiliation  were 
streaming  down  Kathleen's  face.  "If  she  remains,  I  shall  go — 
I  shall  leave  the  house — I  will  not  stay  under  the  same  roof 
W7ith  the  lewd  creature!" 

"Very  well,  then,  run  along,"  said  Ames,  taking  the  humil 
iated  Kathleen  by  the  shoulders  and  turning  her  about.  "I 
will  settle  this  without  your  assistance."  Then  he  motioned 
to  the  house  detectives  to  depart,  and  turned  to  Haynerd  and 
Carmen.  "Come  in  here,"  he  said,  leading  the  way  to  the  little 
waiting  room,  and  opening  the  door. 

"Lord!  but  you  belong  down  stairs  with  the  rest,"  he 
ejaculated  as  he  faced  Carmen,  standing  before  him  pale  but 
unafraid.  "There  isn't  one  down  there  who  is  in  your  class !"  he 
exclaimed,  placing  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders  and  looking 
down  into  her  beautiful  face.  "And,"  he  continued  with  sud 
den  determination,  "I  am  going  to  take  you  down,  and  you 
will  sit  at  the  table  with  me,  as  my  special  guest!" 

A  sudden  fear  gripped  Haynerd,  and  he  started  to  interpose. 
But  Carmen  spoke  first. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  said  quietly.  "Take  me  down. 
I  have  a  question  to  ask  Mr.  Wales  when  we  are  at  the  table." 

53 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


An  expression  of  surprise  and  inquiry  came  into  Ames's 
face.  "Mr.  Wales?"  he  said  wonderingly.  "You  mean  Con 
gressman — 

Then  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  looked  searchingly  at  Car 
men  and  her  companion.  Haynerd  paled.  Carmen  stood  un 
flinching.  Ames's  expression  of  surprise  gave  place  to  one 
dark  and  menacing. 

"You  were  behind  that  screen  when  Congressman  Wales 
and  I- 

"Yes,"  returned  Carmen  calmly.  "I  overheard  all  you  said. 
I  saw  you  bribe  him." 

Ames  stood  like  a  huge,  black  cloud,  glowering  down  upon 
the  slender  girl.  She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled. 

"You  are  going  to  tell  him  that  the  fifty  thousand  dollars 
are  just  a  loan,  and  that  he  may  vote  as  he  chooses,  aren't 
you?"  she  said.  "You  will  not  ruin  his  life,  and  the  lives  of 
his  wife  and  babies,  will  you?  You  would  never  be  happy, 
you  know,  if  you  did."  Her  voice  was  as  quiet  as  the  morning 
breeze. 

"So!"  the  giant  sneered.  "You  come  into  my  house  to  play 
spy,  eh?  And  if  I  had  not  caught  you  when  I  did  you  would 
have  written  another  interesting  article  for  the  Social  Era, 
wouldn't  you?  By  God!  I'll  break  you,  Haynerd,  and  your 
infernal  sheet  into  a  million  pieces  if  you  dare  print  any  such 
rot  as  this!  And  as  for  you,  young  lady — " 

"You  can  do  nothing  to  me,  Mr.  Ames;  and  you  don't  really 
want  to,"  said  Carmen  quickly.  "My  reputation,  you  know — 
that  is,  the  one  wrhich  you  people  have  given  me — is  just  as 
black  as  it  could  be,  isn't  it?  So  that  is  safe."  She  laughed 
lightly. 

Then  she  became  very  serious  again.  "It  doesn't  really 
make  any  difference  to  you,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  said,  "whether  the 
cotton  schedule  is  passed  or  not.  You  still  have  your  millions — 
oh,  so  much  more  than  you  will  ever  know  what  to  do  with! 
But  Mr.  Wales,  he  has  his  wife  and  his  babies  and  his  good 
reputation — would  you  rob  him  of  those  priceless  treasures, 
just  to  make  a  few  dollars  more  for  yourself? — dollars  that 
you  can't  spend,  and  that  you  won't  let  others  have?" 

During  the  girl's  quiet  talk  Ames  was  regaining  his  self- 
control.  When  she  concluded  he  turned  to  Haynerd.  "Miss 
Carmen  can  step  out  into  the  balcony.  You  and  I  will  arrange 
this  matter  together,"  he  said. 

Carmen  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Now,"  said  Ames  significantly,  and  in  a  low  voice,  "what's 
your  price?" 

Instantly  the  girl  turned  back  and  threw  herself  between 

54 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  two  men.  "He  is  not  for  sale!"  she  cried,  her  eyes  flashing 
as  she  confronted  Ames. 

"Then,  by  God!"  shouted  Ames,  who  had  lost  himself  com 
pletely,  "I  will  crush  him  like  a  dirty  spider!  And  you,  I'll  drag 
you  through  the  gutters  and  make  your  name  a  synonym  of  all 
that  is  vile  in  womanhood!" 

Carmen  stepped  quietly  to  the  elevator  and  pressed  the 
signal  button. 

"You  shall  not  leave  this  house!"  cried  the  enraged  Ames, 
starting  toward  her.  "Or  you'll  go  under  arrest!" 

The  girl  drew  herself  up  with  splendid  dignity,  and  faced 
him  fearlessly.  "We  shall  leave  your  house,  and  now,  Mr. 
Ames!"  she  said.  "You  and  that  for  which  you  stand  can  not 
touch  us!  The  carnal  mind  is  back  of  you!  Omnipotent  God 
is  with  us!" 

She  moved  away  from  him,  then  turned  and  stood  for  a 
moment,  flashing,  sparkling,  radiant  with  a  power  which  he 
could  not  comprehend.  "You  know  not  what  you  do.  You  are 
blinded  and  deceived  by  human  lust  and  greed.  But  the  god 
you  so  ignorantly  worship  now  will  some  day  totter  and  fall 
upon  you.  Then  you  will  awake,  and  you  will  see  your  present 
life  as  a  horrid  dream." 

The  elevator  appeared.  Carmen  and  the  dazed  Haynerd 
stepped  quickly  into  it  and  descended  without  opposition  to 
the  lower  floor.  A  few  moments  later  they  were  again  in  the 
street  and  hurrying  to  the  nearest  car  line. 

"Girlie,"  said  Haynerd,  mopping  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow,  "we're  in  for  it  now — and  I  shall  be  crushed !  But  you — 
I  think  your  God  will  save  you." 

Carmen  took  his  hand.  "His  arm  is  not  shortened,"  she 
murmured,  "that  He  can  not  save  us  both." 


CHAPTER  5 

ON  the  Monday  morning  following  the  Ames  reception  the 
society  columns  of  the  daily  papers  still  teemed  with  ex 
travagant  depictions  of  the  magnificent  affair.     On  that 
same  morning,  while  Haynerd  sat  gloomily  in  the  office  of  the 
Social  Era,  meditating  on  his  giant  adversary's  probable  first 
move,  Carmen,  leaving  her  studies  and  classes,  sought  out  an 
unpretentious  home  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  for 
an  hour  or  more  talked  earnestly  with  the  timid,  frightened 
little  wife  of  Congressman  Wales.     Then,  her  work  done,  she 
dismissed  the  whole  affair  from  her  mind,  and  hastened  joy- 

55 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ously  back  to  the  University.  She  would  have  gone  to  see 
Ames  himself.  "But,"  she  reflected,  as  she  dwelt  on  his  con 
duct  and  words  of  the  previous  Saturday  evening,  "he  is  not 
ready  for  it  yet.  And  when  he  is,  I  will  go  to  him.  And  Kath 
leen — well,  I  will  help  her  by  seeing  only  the  real  child  of  God, 
which  was  hidden  that  night  by  the  veil  of  hatred  and  jealousy. 
And  that  veil,  after  all,  is  but  a  shadow." 

That  evening  the  little  group  of  searchers  after  God  as 
sembled  again  in  the  peaceful  precincts  of  the  Beaubien  cot 
tage.  It  was  their  third  meeting,  and  they  had  come  together 
reverently  to  pursue  the  most  momentous  inquiry  that  has 
ever  stimulated  human  thought. 

Haynerd  and  Carmen  had  said  little  relative  to  the  Ames 
reception;  but  the  former,  still  brooding  over  the  certain  conse 
quences  of  his  brush  with  Ames,  was  dejected  and  distraught. 
Carmen,  leaning  upon  her  sustaining  thought,  and  conceding 
no  mite  of  power  or  intelligence  to  evil,  glowed  like  a  radiant 
star. 

"What  are  you  listening  to?"  she  asked  of  Haynerd,  drawing 
him  to  one  side.  "Are  you  giving  ear  to  the  voices  of  evil,  or 
good?  Which  are  you  making  real  to  yourself?  For  those 
thoughts  which  are  real  to  you  will  become  outwardly  man 
ifested,  you  know." 

"Bah!  He's  got  us — tight!"  muttered  Haynerd,  with  a 
gesture  signifying  defeat.  "And  the  insults  of  that  arrogant 
daughter  of  his — " 

"She  did  not  insult  me,"  said  Carmen  quickly.  "She  could 
not,  for  she  doesn't  know  me.  She  merely  denounced  her  con 
cept  of  me,  and  not  my  real  self.  She  vilified  what  she  thought 
was  Carmen  Ariza;  but  it  was  only  her  own  thought  of  me  that 
she  insulted.  Can't  you  see?  And  such  a  concept  of  me  as 
she  holds  deserves  denouncing,  doesn't  it?" 

"Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  he  pursued  testily. 

"We  are  going  to  know,"  she  whispered,  "that  we  two  with 
God  constitute  an  overwhelming  majority."  She  said  nothing 
about  her  visit  to  the  Wales  home  that  morning,  but  pressed 
his  hand,  and  then  went  to  take  her  place  at  the  table,  where 
Father  Waite  \vas  already  rapping  for  order. 

"My  friends,"  began  that  earnest  young  man,  looking  lov 
ingly  about  at  the  little  group,  "as  we  are  gathered  here  we 
symbolize  that  analytical,  critical  endeavor  of  the  unbiased 
human  mind  to  discover  the  essence  of  religion.  Religion  is 
that  which  binds  us  to  absolute  truth,  and  so  is  truth  itself.  If 
there  is  a  God,  we  believe  from  our  former  investigations  that 
He  must  be  universal  mind.  This  belief  carries  with  it  as  nec 
essary  corollaries  the  beliefs  that  He  must  be  perfect,  eternal, 

56 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  self-existent.  The  question,  Who  made  God?  must  then 
receive  its  sufficient  answer  in  the  staggering  statement  that 
He  has  always  existed,  unchanged  and  unchangeable." 

A  sigh  from  Haynerd  announced  that  quizzical  soul's  strug 
gle  to  grasp  a  statement  at  once  so  radical  and  stupendous. 

"True,"  continued  Father  Waite,  addressing  himself  to  his 
doubting  friend,  "the  acceptance  as  fact  of  what  we  have  de 
duced  in  our  previous  meetings  must  render  the  God  of  ortho 
dox  theology  quite  obsolete.  But,  as  a  compensation,  it  gives  to 
us  the  most  enlarged  and  beautiful  concept  of  Him  that  we  have 
ever  had.  It  ennobles,  broadens,  purifies,  and  elevates  our  idea 
of  Him.  It  destroys  forever  our  belittling  view  of  Him  as  but 
a  magnified  human  character,  full  of  wrath  and  caprice  and 
angry  threats,  and  delighting  in  human  ceremonial  and  re 
ligious  thaumaturgy.  And,  most  practical  of  all  for  us,  it 
renders  the  age-long  problem  of  evil  amenable  to  solution." 

Just  then  came  a  ring  at  the  front  door;  and  a  moment 
later  the  Beaubien  ushered  Doctor  Morton  into  the  room.  All 
rose  and  hastened  to  welcome  him. 

"I — I  am  sure,"  began  the  visitor,  looking  at  Carmen,  "that 
I  am  not  intruding,  for  I  really  come  on  invitation,  you  know. 
Miss  Carmen,  first;  and  then,  our  good  friend  Hitt,  who  told 
me  this  afternoon  that  you  would  probably  meet  this  evening. 
I — I  pondered  the  matter  some  little  time — ah,  but — well,  to 
make  it  short,  I  couldn't  keep  away  from  a  gathering  so  ab 
solutely  unique  as  this — I  really  couldn't." 

Carmen  seized  both  his  hands.  "My!"  she  exclaimed,  her 
eyes  dancing,  "I  am  glad  you  came." 

"And  I,  too,"  interposed  Haynerd  dryly,  "for  now  we  have 
two  theological  Philistines.  I  was  feeling  a  bit  lonely." 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  replied  the  doctor,  "I  am  simply  an  advo 
cate  of  religious  freedom,  not  a — " 

"And  religious  freedom,  as  our  wise  Bill  Nye  once  said,  is 
but  the  art  of  giving  intolerance  a  little  more  room,  eh?"  re 
turned  Haynerd  with  a  laugh. 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You  are  a  Philistine," 
he  said.  "I  am  a  human  interrogation." 

Carmen  took  the  doctor  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  a  place 
beside  her  at  the  table.  "You — you  didn't  bring  poor  Yorick?" 
she  whispered,  with  a  glint  of  mischief  in  her  bright  eyes. 

"No,"  laughed  the  genial  visitor,  "he's  a  dead  one,  you  told 
me." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  "awfully  dead!  He  is  an  outward 
manifestation  of  dead  human  beliefs,  isn't  he?  But  now  listen, 
Father  Waite  is  going  to  speak." 

After  a  brief  explanation  to  the  doctor  of  the  purpose  of 

57 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


the  meeting,  and  a  short  resume  of  their  previous  deductions, 
Father  Waite  continued  the  exposition  of  his  subject. 

"The  physical  universe,"  he  said,  "is  to  human  beings  a 
reality.  And  yet,  according  to  Spencer's  definition  of  reality, 
we  must  admit  that  the  universe  as  we  see  it  is  quite  unreal. 
For  the  real  is  that  which  endures." 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  the  universe  will  not  endure?" 
queried  Haynerd  abruptly. 

"I  do,"  replied  Father  Waite.  "The  phenomena  of  the 
universe,  even  as  we  see  it,  are  in  a  state  of  ceaseless  change. 
Birth,  growth,  maturity,  decay,  and  death  seems  to  be  the  law 
for  all  things  material.  There  is  perpetual  genesis,  and  per 
petual  exodus." 

"But,"  again  urged  Haynerd,  "matter  itself  remains,  is  in 
destructible." 

"Not  so,"  said  Father  Waite.  "Our  friend,  Doctor  Morton, 
will  corroborate  my  statement,  I  am  sure." 

The  doctor  nodded.  "It  is  quite  true,"  he  said  in  reply. 
"And  as  revolutionary  as  true.  The  discovery,  in  the  past  few 
years,  of  the  tremendously  important  fact  that  matter  dis 
integrates  and  actually  disappears,  has  revolutionized  all  physi 
cal  science  and  rendered  the  world's  text  books  obsolete." 

"And  matter  actually  disappears?"  echoed  Miss  Wall  in 
credulously. 

"Absolutely!"  interposed  Hitt.  "The  radium  atom,  we  find, 
lasts  some  seventeen  hundred  years,  or  a  trifle  longer.  What 
becomes  of  it  when  it  is  destroyed?  We  can  only  say  that  it 
disappears  from  human  consciousness." 

"And  so  you  reason  that  the  whole  material  universe  will 
ultimately  disappear  from  the  human  consciousness?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Hitt,  "I  feel  certain  of  it.  Let  us  consider 
of  what  the  universe  consists.  For  many  months  I  have  been 
pondering  this  topic  incessantly.  I  find  that  I  can  agree,  in  a 
measure,  with  those  scientists  who  regard  the  physical  uni 
verse  as  composed  of  only  a  few  elementary  constituents, 
namely,  matter,  energy,  space,  and  time — " 

"Each  one  of  these  elements  is  mental,"  interrupted  Car 
men. 

"Exactly!"  replied  Hitt.  "And  the  physical  universe,  even 
from  the  human  standpoint,  is,  therefore,  wholly  mental." 

"Well,  but  we  see  it!"  ejaculated  Haynerd.  "And  we  feel 
and  hear  it!  And  I'm  sure  we  smell  it!" 

Hitt  laughed.     "Do  we?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  interposed  Father  Waite;  "we  see  only  our  mental 
concept  of  a  universe,  for  seeing  is  wholly  a  mental  process. 
Our  comprehension  of  anything  is  entirely  mental." 

58 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But  now,"  resumed  Hitt,  "to  get  back  to  the  supposed 
reality  of  the  physical  universe,  let  us  examine  its  constituents. 
First,  let  us  consider  its  unity  established  by  the  harmonious 
interplay  of  the  forces  permeating  it.  This  great  fact  is  what 
led  Herbert  Spencer  to  conclude  that  the  universe  could  have 
but  one  creator,  one  ruler,  and  that  polytheism  was  untenable." 

"We  are  quite  agreed  regarding  that,"  said  Father  Waite. 
"If  the  Creator  is  mind,  He  is  of  very  necessity  infinite  and 
omnipotent;  hence  there  can  be  but  one  Creator." 

"Very  well,"  continued  Hitt.  "Now  as  to  time.  Is  it  mate 
rial  or  tangible?  Would  it  exist,  but  as  a  convenience  for  the 
human  mind?  Is  it  not  really  a  creation  of  that  mind?  And, 
lastly,  is  it  not  merely  a  mental  concept?" 

"Our  consciousness  of  time,"  replied  Carmen,  "is  only  our 
awareness  of  a  continuous  series  of  mental  states." 

"That  classifies  it  exactly,"  said  Hitt,  "and  renders  it  wholly 
mental.  And  now  as  to  space,"  he  resumed.  "We  are  ac 
customed  to  say,  loosely,  that  space  is  that  in  which  we  see 
things  about  us.  But  in  what  does  the  process  of  seeing  con 
sist?  I  say,  I  see  a  chair.  What  I  really  mean  is  that  I  am 
conscious  of  a  chair.  The  process  of  seeing,  we  are  told,  is 
this:  light,  coming  from  the  chair,  enters  the  eye  and  casts  an 
image  of  the  chair  upon  the  retina,  much  as  a  picture  is  thrown 
upon  the  ground  glass  of  a  camera.  Then,  in  some  way,  the 
little  rods  and  cones — the  branching  tips  of  the  optic  nerve 
which  project  from  the  retina — are  set  in  motion  by  the  light 
waves.  This  vibration  is  in  some  mysterious  manner  carried 
along  the  optic  nerve  to  a  center  in  the  brain,  and — well,  then 
the  mind  becomes  cognizant  of  the  chair  out  there,  that's  all." 

They  sat  silent  for  some  moments.  Then  Miss  Wall  spoke. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  queried,  "that,  after  thousands  of 
years  of  thought  and  investigation,  mankind  now  know  noth 
ing  more  than  that  about  the  process  of  seeing?" 

"I  do,"  returned  Hitt.    "I  confess  it  in  all  humility." 

"Then  all  I've  got  to  say,"  put  in  Haynerd,  "is  that  the 
most  remarkable  thing  about  you  learned  men  is  your  igno 
rance!" 

The  doctor  smiled.  "I  find  it  is  only  the  fool  who  is  cock 
sure,"  he  replied. 

"Now,"  said  Hitt,  resuming  the  conversation,  "let  us  go  a 
step  further  and  inquire,  first,  What  is  light?  since  the  process 
of  seeing  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  it." 

"Light,"  offered  the  doctor,  "is  vibrations,  or  wave-motion, 
so  physicists  tell  us." 

"Just  so,"  resumed  Hitt.  "Light,  we  say,  consists  of  vibra 
tions.  Not  vibrations  of  anything  tangible  or  definitely  mate- 

59 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


rial,  but — well,  just  vibrations  in  the  abstract.  It  is  vibratory 
or  wave  motion.  Now  let  us  concede  that  these  vibrations  in 
some  way  get  to  the  brain  center;  and  then  let  us  ask,  Is  the 
mind  there,  in  the  brain,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  these  vibra 
tions  to  inform  it  that  there  is  a  chair  outside?" 

Haynerd  indulged  in  a  cynical  laugh. 

"It  is  too  serious  for  laughter,  my  friend,"  said  Hitt.  "For 
to  such  crude  beliefs  as  this  we  may  attribute  all  the  miseries 
of  mankind." 

"How  is  that?"  queried  Miss  Wall  in  surprise. 

"Simply  because  these  beliefs  constitute  the  general  belief 
in  a  universe  of  matter  without  and  about  us.  As  a  plain  state 
ment  of  fact,  there  is  no  such  thing.  But,  I  ask  again,  Is  the 
mind  within  the  brain,  waiting  for  vibrations  that  will  give  it 
information  concerning  the  external  world?  Or  does  the  mind, 
from  some  focal  point  without  the  brain,  look  first  at  these 
vibrations,  and  then  translate  them  into  terms  of  things  with 
out?  Do  these  vibrations  in  some  way  suggest  form  and  color 
and  substance  to  the  waiting  mind?  Does  the  mind  first  look 
at  vibrating  nerve-points,  and  then  form  its  own  opinions  re 
garding  material  objects?  Does  anything  material  enter  the 
eye?" 

"No,"  admitted  the  doctor;  "unless  we  believe  that  vibra 
tions  per  se  are  material." 

"Now  I  ask,  Is  the  mind  reduced  to  such  slavery  that  it 
must  depend  upon  vibrations  for  its  knowledge  of  an  outside 
world?"  continued  Hitt.  "And  vibrations  of  minute  pieces  of 
flesh,  at  that!  Flesh  that  will  some  day  decay  and  leave  the 
mind  helpless!" 

"Absurd!"  exclaimed  Haynerd.  "Why  doesn't  the  mind 
look  directly  at  the  chair,  instead  of  getting  its  knowledge  of 
the  chair  through  vibrations  of  bits  of  meat?  Or  isn't  there 
any  chair  out  there  to  look  at?" 

"There!"  exclaimed  Hitt.  "Now  you've  put  your  mental 
finger  upon  it.  And  now  we  are  ready  to  nail  to  the  cross  of 
ignominy  one  of  the  crudest,  most  insensate  beliefs  of  the 
human  race.  The  human  mind  gets  nothing  whatsoever  from 
vibrations,  from  the  human,  fleshly  eye,  nor  from  any  one  of 
the  five  so-called  physical  senses!  The  physical  sense-testimony 
which  mankind  believe  they  receive  from  the  eyes,  the  ears,  and 
the  other  sense  organs,  can,  even  at  best,  consist  only  of  a  lot  of 
disconnected,  unintelligible  vibrations;  and  anything  that  the 
mind  may  infer  from  such  vibrations  is  inferred  without  any 
outside  authority  whatsoever!" 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Miss  Wall  and  Haynerd  in  a  breath. 

"And,   further,"   continued  Hitt,  "we   are   forced  to  admit 

60 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


that  all  that  the  mind  knows  is  the  contents  of  itself,  of  its 
own  consciousness,  and  nothing  more.  Then,  instead  of  seeing, 
hearing,  and  feeling  real  material  objects  outside  of  ourselves, 
we  are  in  reality  seeing,  hearing,  and  feeling  our  own  mental 
concepts  of  things — in  other  words,  our  own  thoughts  of 
things!" 

A  deep  silence  lay  for  some  moments  over  the  little  group  at 
the  conclusion  of  Hitt's  words.  Then  Doctor  Morton  nodded 
his  acquiescence  in  the  deduction.  "And  that,"  he  said,  "ef 
fectually  disposes  of  the  question  of  space." 

"There  is  no  space,  Doctor,"  replied  Hitt.  "Space  is  like 
wise  a  mental  concept.  The  human  mind  sees,  hears,  and  feels 
nothing  but  its  own  thoughts.  These  it  posits  within  itself 
with  reference  to  one  another,  and  calls  the  process  'seeing 
material  objects  in  space.'  The  mind  as  little  needs  a  space  in 
which  to  see  things  as  in  which  to  dream  them.  I  repeat,  we 
do  not  see  external  things,  or  things  outside  of  ourselves.  We 
see  always  and  only  the  thoughts  that  are  within  our  own 
mentalities.  Everything  is  within." 

"That's  why,"  murmured  Carmen,  "Jesus  said,  'The  king 
dom  of  heaven  is  within  you.'  " 

"Exactly!"  said  Hitt.  "Did  he  not  call  evil,  and  all  that 
originates  in  matter,  the  lie  about  God?  And  a  lie  is  wholly 
mental.  I  tell  you,  the  existence  of  a  world  outside  of  ourselves, 
an  objective  world  composed  of  matter,  is  wholly  inferred — it 
is  mental  visualizing — and  it  is  unreal,  for  it  is  not  based  upon 
fact,  upon  truth!" 

"Then,"  queried  Haynerd,  "our  supposed  'outer  world'  is 
but  our  collection  of  thought-concepts  which  we  hold  within 
us,  within  our  own  consciousness,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

"But— the  question  of  God?" 

"We  are  ready  for  that  again,"  replied  Hitt.  "We  have 
said  that  in  the  physical  universe  all  is  in  a  state  of  incessant 
change.  Since  the  physical  universe  is  but  a  mental  concept 
to  each  one  of  us,  we  must  admit  that,  were  the  concept  based 
upon  truth,  it  would  not  change.  Our  concept  of  the  universe 
must  be  without  the  real  causative  and  sustaining  principle  of 
all  reality,  else  would  it  not  pass  away.  And  yet,  beneath  and 
behind  all  these  changes,  something  endures.  What  is  it? 
Matter?  No.  There  is  an  enduring  substance,  invisible  to  hu 
man  sight,  but  felt  and  known  through  its  own  influence.  Is 
it  law?  Yes.  Mind?  Yes.  Ideas?  Yes.  But  none  of  these 
things  is  in  any  sense  material.  The  material  is  the  fleeting, 
human  concept,  composed  of  thought  that  is  not  based  upon 
reality.  These  other  things,  wholly  mental,  or  spiritual,  if  you 

61 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


prefer,  are  based  upon  that  'something'  which  does  endure, 
and  which  I  will  call  the  Causative  Principle.  It  is  the  Uni 
versal  Mind.  It  is  what  you  loosely  call  God." 

"Then  did  God  make  matter?"  persisted  Haynerd. 

"I  think,"  interposed  Doctor  Morton  at  this  juncture,  "that 
I  can  throw  some  light  upon  the  immaterial  character  of  mat 
ter,  if  I  may  so  put  it;  for  even  our  physical  reasoning  throws 
it  entirely  into  the  realm  of  the  mental." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Hitt.     "Let  us  hear  from  you,  Doctor." 

The  doctor  sat  for  some  moments  in  a  deep  study.  Then 
he  began: 

"The  constitution  of  matter,  speaking  now  from  an  admit 
tedly  materialistic  standpoint,  that  of  the  physical  sciences,  is 
a  subject  of  vastest  interest  and  importance  to  mankind,  for 
human  existence  is  material. 

"The  ultimate  constituent  of  matter  has  been  called  the 
atom.  But  we  have  said  little  when  we  have  said  that.  The 
atom  was  once  defined  as  a  particle  of  matter  so  minute  as  to 
admit  of  no  further  division.  That  definition  has  gone  to  the 
rubbish  heap,  for  the  atom  can  now  be  torn  to  pieces.  But — 
and  here  is  the  revolutionary  fact  in  modern  physical  science 
— it  is  no  longer  held  necessary  that  matter  should  consist  of 
material  particles!  In  fact,  the  great  potential  discovery  of 
our  day  is  that  matter  is  electrical  in  composition,  that  it  is 
composed  of  what  are  called  'electrons,'  and  that  these  elec 
trons  are  themselves  composed  of  electric  charges.  But  what 
is  an  electric  charge?  Is  it  matter?  No,  not  as  we  know  matter. 
Is  it  even  material?  We  can  not  say  that  it  is.  It  is  without 
weight,  bulk,  dimensions,  or  tangibility.  Well,  then,  it  comes 
dangerously  near  being  a  mental  thing,  known  to  the  human 
mind  solely  by  its  manifestations,  does  it  not?  And  of  course 
our  comprehension  of  it  is  entirely  mental,  as  is  our  compre 
hension  of  everything." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  that  his  words  might  be  fully 
grasped.  Then  he  went  on : 

"Now  these  atoms,  whatever  they  are,  are  supposed  to  join 
together  to  form  molecules.  What  brings  them  together  thus? 
Affinity,  we  are  told.  And  what  is  affinity?  Why,  it  is — well, 
law,  if  you  please.  And  law?  A  mental  thing,  we  must  admit. 
Very  good.  Then,  going  a  step  further,  molecules  are  held 
together  by  cohesion  to  form  material  objects,  chairs,  trees, 
coal,  and  the  like.  But  what  is  cohesion?  Is  it  glue?  Cement? 
Ah,  no !  Again,  it  is  law.  And  law  is  mental." 

"But,  Doctor — "  interrupted  Haynerd. 

The  doctor  held  up  a  detaining  hand.  "Let  me  finish,"  he 
said.  "Now  we  have  the  very  latest  word  from  our  physical 

62 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


scientists  regarding  the  constitution  of  matter:  it  is  composed 
of  electric  charges,  held  together  by  law.  Again,  you  may 
justly  ask:  Is  matter  material — or  mental?" 

He  paused  again,  and  took  up  a  book  that  lay  before  him. 

"Here,"  he  continued,  "I  hold  a  solid,  material,  lumpy 
thing,  composed,  you  will  say,  of  matter.  And  yet,  in  essence, 
and  if  we  can  believe  our  scientists,  this  book  is  composed  of 
billions  of  electric  charges — invisible  things,  without  form, 
without  weight,  without  color,  without  extension,  held  together 
by  law,  and  making  up  a  material  object  which  has  mass,  color, 
weight,  and  extension.  From  millions  of  things  which  are 
invisible  and  have  no  size,  we  get  an  object,  visible  and  ex 
tended." 

"It's  absurd!"  exclaimed  Miss  Wall. 

"Granted,"  interposed  Hitt.  "Yet,  the  doctor  is  giving  the 
very  latest  deductions  of  the  great  scientists." 

"But,  Doctor,"  said  Father  Waite,  "the  scientists  tell  us 
that  they  have  experimental  evidence  in  support  of  the  theories 
which  you  have  stated  regarding  the  composition  of  matter. 
Electricity  has  been  proven  granular,  or  atomic,  in  structure. 
And  every  electrical  charge  consists  of  an  exact  number  of 
electrical  atoms  spread  out  over  the  surface  of  the  charged 
body.  All  this  admits  of  definite  calculation." 

"Admitted,"  said  Hitt,  taking  up  the  challenge.  "And  their 
very  calculations  and  deductions  are  rapidly  wearing  away  the 
'materialistic  theory'  of  matter.  You  will  admit  that  mathe 
matics  is  wholly  confined  to  the  realm  of  mind.  It  is  a  strictly 
mental  science,  in  no  way  material.  It  loses  definiteness  when 
'practically'  applied  to  material  objects.  Kant  saw  this,  and 
declared  that  a  science  might  be  regarded  as  further  removed 
from  or  nearer  to  perfection  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of 
mathematics  it  contained.  Now  there  has  been  an  astonishing 
confirmation  of  this  great  truth  just  lately.  At  a  banquet  given 
in  honor  of  the  discoverer  of  wireless  telegraphy  it  was  stated 
that  the  laws  governing  the  traversing  of  space  by  the  invisible 
electric  waves  were  more  exact  than  the  general  laws  of  physics, 
where  very  complex  formulas  and  coefficients  are  required  for 
correcting  the  general  laws,  due  to  surrounding  material  con 
ditions.  The  greater  exactness  of  laws  governing  the  invisible 
electric  waves  was  said  to  be  due  to  the  absence  of  matter. 
And  it  was  further  stated  that  whenever  matter  had  to  be  taken 
into  consideration  there  could  be  no  exact  law  of  action!" 

"Which  shows — ?" 

"That  matter  admits  of  no  definite  laws,"  replied  Hitt. 
"That  there  are  no  real  laws  of  matter.  And  that  definiteness 
is  attained  only  as  we  dematerialize  matter  itself." 

63 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"In  other  words,  get  into  the  realm  of  the  mental?" 

"Just  so.  And  now  for  the  application.  I  have  said  that 
we  do  not  receive  any  testimony  whatsoever  through  the  so- 
called  material  senses,  but  that  we  see,  hear,  feel,  taste,  and 
smell  our  own  thoughts — that  is,  the  thoughts  which,  from 
some  source,  come  into  our  mentalities.  Very  well,  our  scien 
tists  show  us  that,  as  they  get  farther  away  from  dense  mate 
rial  thoughts,  and  deal  more  and  more  with  those  which  have 
less  material  structure,  less  material  composition,  their  laws 
become  more  definite,  more  exact.  Following  this  out  to  its 
ultimate  conclusion,  we  may  say,  then,  that  only  those  laws 
which  have  to  do  with  the  non-material  are  perfect." 

"And  those,"  said  Carmen,  "are  the  laws  of  mind." 

"Exactly!  And  now  the  history  of  physical  science  shows 
that  there  has  been  a  constant  deviation  from  the  old  so-called 
fixed  'laws  of  matter.'  The  law  of  impenetrability  has  had  to 
go.  A  great  physicist  tells  us  that,  when  dealing  with  suffi 
ciently  high  speeds,  matter  has  no  such  property  as  impenetra 
bility.  Mass  is  a  function  of  velocity.  The  law  of  indestructi 
bility  has  had  to  go.  Matter  deteriorates  and  goes  to  pieces. 
The  material  elements  are  not  fixed.  The  decided  tendency  of 
belief  is  toward  a  single  element,  of  which  all  matter  is  com 
posed,  and  of  which  the  eighty-odd  constituent  elements  of 
matter  accepted  to-day  are  but  modifications.  That  unit  ele 
ment  may  be  the  ether,  of  course.  And  the  great  Russian 
chemist,  Mendeleef,  so  believed.  But  to  us,  the  ether  is  a 
mental  thing,  a  theory.  But,  granting  its  existence,  its  uni 
versal  penetrability  renders  matter,  as  we  know  it,  non-exist 
ent.  Everything  reduces  to  the  ether,  in  the  final  analysis. 
And  all  energy  becomes  vibrations  in  and  of  the  ether." 

"And  the  ether,"  supplemented  the  doctor,  "has  to  be  with 
out  mass,  invisible,  tasteless,  intangible,  much  more  rigid  than 
steel,  and  at  the  same  time  some  six  hundred  billion  times 
lighter  than  air,  in  order  to  fulfill  all  the  requirements  made 
of  it  and  to  meet  all  conditions." 

"Yes;  and  yet  the  ether  is  a  very  necessary  theory,  if  we 
are  going  to  continue  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  force  on  a 
material  basis." 

"But  if  we  abandon  that  basis — ?" 

"Then,"  said  Carmen,  "matter  reduces  to  what  it  really  is, 
the  human  mind's  interpretation  of  substance." 

"Yes,"  said  Hitt,  turning  to  her;  "I  think  you  are  right; 
matter  is  the  way  real  substance — let  us  say,  spirit — looks  to 
the  human  mentality.  It  is  the  way  the  human  mind  inter 
prets  its  ideas  of  spirit.  In  other  words,  the  human  mind  looks 
at  the  material  thoughts  and  ideas  which  enter  it,  and  calls 

64 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


them  solid  substance,  occupying  space — calls  them  matter,  with 
definite  laws,  and,  in  certain  forms,  containing  life  and  in 
telligence." 

"Aye,  that  is  it!"  said  Father  Waite.  "And  that  has  been 
the  terrible  mistake  of  the  ages,  the  one  great  error,  the  one 
lie,  that  has  caused  us  all  to  miss  the  mark  and  come  short, 
far  short,  of  the  glory  of  the  mind  that  is  God.  There  is  the 
origin  of  the  problem  of  evil!" 

"Undoubtedly,"  replied  Hitt.  "For  evil  is  in  essence  but 
evil  thought.  And  evil  thought  is  invariably  associated  with 
matter.  The  origin  of  all  evil  is  matter  itself.  And  matter, 
we  find,  is  but  a  mental  concept,  a  thing  of  thought.  Oh,  the 
irony  of  it!" 

"Well,"  put  in  Haynerd,  who  had  been  twitching  nervously 
in  his  chair,  "let's  get  to  the  conclusion  of  this  very  learned 
discussion.  I'm  a  plain  man,  and  I'd  like  to  know  just  where 
we've  landed.  What  have  you  said  that  I  can  take  home  with 
me?  The  earth  still  revolves  around  the  sun,  even  if  it  is  a 
mean  mud  ball.  And  I  can't  see  that  I  can  get  along  with  less 
than  three  square  meals  a  day." 

"We  have  arrived,"  replied  Hitt  gravely,  "at  a  most  mo 
mentous  conclusion,  deduced  by  the  physical  scientists  them 
selves,  namely,  that  things  are  not  what  they  seem.  In  other 
words,  all  things  material  seem  to  reduce  to  vibrations  in  and 
of  the  ether;  the  basis  of  all  materiality  is  energy,  motion, 
activity — mental  things.  All  the  elements  of  matter  seem  to 
be  but  modifications  of  one  all-pervading  element.  That  ele 
ment  is  probably  the  ether,  often  called  the  'mother  of  matter.' 
The  elements,  such  as  carbon,  silicon,  and  the  others,  are  not 
elementary  at  all,  but  are  forms  of  one  universal  element,  the 
ether.  Hence,  atoms  are  not  atoms.  The  so-called  rare  ele 
ments  are  rare  only  because  their  lives  are  short.  They  dis 
integrate  rapidly  and  change  into  other  forms  of  the  universal 
element — or  disappear.  'Atoms  are  but  fleeting  phases  of  mat 
ter,'  we  are  told.  They  are  by  no  means  eternal,  even  though 
they  may  endure  for  millions  of  years." 

"Y-e-s?"  commented  Haynerd  with  a  yawn. 

"A  great  scientist  of  our  own  day,"  Hitt  continued,  "has 
said  that  'the  ether  is  so  modified  as  to  constitute  matter,  in 
some  way.'  What  does  that  mean?  Simply  that  'visible  mat 
ter  and  invisible  ether  are  one  and  the  same  thing.'  But  to  the 
five  so-called  physical  senses  the  ether  is  utterly  incompre 
hensible.  So,  then,  matter  is  wholly  incomprehensible  to  the 
five  physical  senses.  What  is  it,  then,  that  we  call  matter? 
It  can  be  nothing  more  than  the  human  mind's  interpretation 
of  its  idea  of  an  all-pervading,  omnipresent  something,  a  some 
thing  which  represents  substance  to  it." 

so  65 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Let  me  add  a  further  quotation  from  the  great  physical 
scientist  to  whom  you  have  referred,"  said  the  doctor.  "He 
has  said  that  the  ether  is  not  matter,  but  that  it  is  material. 
And  further,  that  we  can  not  deny  that  the  ether  may  have 
some  mental  and  spiritual  functions  to  subserve  in  some  other 
order  of  existence,  as  matter  has  in  this.  It  is  wholly  unrelated 
to  any  of  our  senses.  The  sense  of  sight  takes  cognizance  of 
it,  but  only  in  a  very  indirect  and  not  easily  recognized  way. 
And  yet — stupendous  conclusion! — without  the  ether  there 
could  be  no  material  universe  at  all!" 

"In  other  words,"  said  Hitt,  "the  whole  fabric  of  the  mate 
rial  universe  depends  upon  something  utterly  unrecognizable 
by  the  five  physical  senses." 

"Exactly!"  replied  the  doctor. 

"Then,"  concluded  Hitt,  "the  physical  senses  give  us  no 
information  whatsoever  of  a  real  physical  universe  about  us." 

"And  so,"  added  Father  Waite,  "we  come  back  to  Carmen's 
statement,  namely,  that  seeing,  hearing,  smelling,  tasting,  and 
feeling  are  mental  processes,  in  no  way  dependent  upon  the 
outer  fleshly  organs  of  sense — 

"Nonsense!"  interjected  Haynerd.  "Why  is  it,  then,  that  if 
the  eyes  are  destroyed  wre  do  not  see?" 

"Simply,  my  friend,  because  of  human  belief,"  replied  Hitt. 
"The  human  mind  has  been  trained  for  untold  centuries  to  de 
pendence  upon  beliefs  in  the  reality  of  matter,  and  beliefs  in 
its  dependence  upon  material  modes  for  sight,  hearing,  touch, 
and  so  on.  It  is  because  of  its  erroneous  beliefs  that  the  human 
mind  is  to-day  enslaved  by  matter,  and  dependent  upon  it  for 
its  very  sense  of  existence.  The  human  mind  has  made  its 
sense  of  sight  dependent  upon  a  frail,  pulpy  bit  of  flesh,  the 
eye.  As  long  as  that  fleshly  organ  remains  intact,  the  human 
mind  sees  its  sense  of  sight  externalized  in  the  positing  of  its 
mental  concepts  about  it  as  natural  objects.  But  let  that 
fleshly  eye  be  destroyed,  and  the  human  mind  sees  its  belief 
of  dependence  upon  the  material  eye  externalized  as  blindness. 
When  the  fleshly  eye  is  gone  the  mind  declares  that  it  can  no 
longer  see.  And  what  it  declares  as  truth,  as  fact,  becomes 
externalized  to  it.  I  repeat,  the  human  mind  sees  and  hears 
only  its  thoughts,  its  beliefs.  And  holding  to  these  beliefs? 
and  making  them  real  to  itself,  it  eventually  sees  them  exter 
nalized  in  what  it  calls  its  outer  world,  its  environment,  its 
universe.  And  yet,  the  materialistic  scientists  themselves  show 
that  the  human  mind  can  take  no  cognizance  whatever  through 
the  five  physical  senses  of  the  all-pervading  basis  of  its  very 
existence,  the  ether.  And  the  ether — alas!  it  is  but  a  theory 
which  we  find  necessary  for  any  intelligible  explanation  of  the 
farce  of  human  existence  on  a  material  basis." 

66 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Now  see  here!"  retorted  Haynerd,  rising  and  giving  ex 
pression  to  his  protest  by  means  of  emphatic  gestures.  "I'm 
getting  mixed — badly!  You  tell  me  that  the  existence  of  things 
demands  a  creator,  and  I  admit  it,  for  there  can  be  no  effect 
without  a  cause.  Then  you  say  that  the  universe  is  infinite; 
and  I  admit  that,  too,  for  the  science  of  astronomy  finds  no 
limits  to  space,  and  no  space  unoccupied.  You  say  that  the 
unity  manifested  in  the  universe  proves  that  there  can  be  but 
one  creator.  Moreover,  to  create  an  infinite  universe  there 
must  needs  be  an  omnipotent  creator;  and  there  can  be  but  one 
who  is  omnipotent.  I  cordially  agree.  Further,  I  can  see  how 
that  creator  must  be  mind — infinite  mind.  And  I  can  see  why 
that  mind  must  be  absolutely  perfect,  with  no  intelligence  of 
evil  whatsoever,  else  would  it  be  a  house  divided  against  itself. 
And  such  a  house  must  eventually  fall.  Now  I  admit  that  the 
universe  must  be  the  manifestation,  the  expression,  of  that 
infinite  creative  mind.  But — and  here's  the  sticking  point — 
the  universe  is  both  good  and  evil!  Hence,  the  mind  which 
it  manifests  is  likewise  both  good  and  evil — and  the  whole 
pretty  theory  blows  up!" 

He  sat  down  abruptly,  with  the  air  of  having  given  finality 
to  a  perplexing  question. 

All  eyes  then  turned  to  Carmen,  who  slowly  rose  and  sur 
veyed  the  little  group. 

"It  is  not  surprising,"  she  said,  smiling  at  the  confused 
Haynerd,  "that  difficulties  arise  when  you  attempt  to  reach 
God  through  human  reasoning — spirit  through  matter.  You 
have  taken  the  unreal,  and,  through  it,  have  sought  to  reach 
back  to  the  real." 

"Well,"  interrupted  Haynerd  testily,  "kindly  explain  the 
difference." 

"Then,  first,"  replied  Carmen,  "let  us  adopt  some  common 
meeting  ground,  some  basis  which  we  can  all  accept,  and  from 
which  we  can  rise.  Are  you  all  agreed  that,  in  our  every-day 
life,  everything  is  mental? — every  action? — every  object? — and 
that,  as  the  philosopher  Mill  said,  'Everything  is  a  feeling  of 
which  the  mind  is  conscious'?  Let  me  illustrate  my  meaning," 
she  continued,  noting  Haynerd's  rising  protest.  "I  see  this 
book;  I  take  it  up;  and  drop  it  upon  the  table.  Have  I  really 
seen  a  book?  No;  I  have  been  conscious  of  thoughts  which  I 
call  a  book,  nothing  more.  A  real  material  book  did  not  get 
into  my  mind;  but  thoughts  of  a  book  did.  And  the  activity 
of  such  thought  resulted  in  a  state  of  consciousness — for  con 
sciousness  is  mental  activity,  the  activity  of  thought.  Remem 
ber  that,  even  according  to  your  great  physical  scientists,  this 
book  is  composed  of  millions  of  charges  of  electricity,  or  elec- 

67 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Irons,  moving  at  a  tremendously  high  rate  of  speed.  And  yet, 
regardless  of  its  composition,  I  am  conscious  only  of  my 
thoughts  of  the  book.  It  is  but  my  thoughts  that  I  see,  after 
all." 

She  paused  and  waited  for  the  protest  which  was  not  voiced. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  continuing;  "so  it  is  with  the  sense 
of  touch;  I  had  the  thought  of  touching  it,  and  that  thought  I 
saw;  I  was  conscious  of  it  when  it  became  active  in  my  men 
tality.  So  with  sound;  when  I  let  the  book  drop,  I  was  con 
scious  of  my  thought  of  sound.  If  the  book  had  been  dropped 
in  a  vacuum  I  should  not  have  been  conscious  of  a  thought  of 
sound — why?  Because,  as  Mr.  Hitt  has  told  us,  the  human 
mind  has  made  its  sense-testimony  dependent  upon  vibrations. 
And  yet,  there  is  a  clock  ticking  up  there  on  the  wrall.  Do 
you  hear  it?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Haynerd;  "now  that  you've  called  my  atten 
tion  to  it." 

"Ah,  yes,"  replied  the  girl.  "You  hear  it  when  your 
thought  is  directed  to  it.  And  yet  the  air  was  vibrating  all  the 
time,  and,  if  hearing  is  dependent  upon  the  fleshly  ear,  you 
should  have  heard  it  incessantly  when  you  were  not  thinking 
of  it,  as  well  as  you  hear  it  now  when  you  are  thinking  of  it. 
Am  I  not  right?" 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  assented  Haynerd  with  some  reluctance. 

"We  hear,  see,  and  feel,"  continued  the  girl,  "when  our 
thought  is  directed  to  these  processes.  And  the  processes  are 
wholly  mental — they  take  place  within  our  mentalities — and 
it  is  there,  within  our  minds,  that  we  see,  hear,  and  feel  all 
things.  And  it  is  there,  within  our  minds,  that  the  universe 
exists  for  us.  It  is  there  that  we  hold  our  world,  our  fleshly 
bodies,  everything  that  we  call  material.  The  universe  that  we 
think  we  see  all  about  us  consists  of  the  mental  concepts,  made 
up  of  thought,  which  we  hold  within  our  mentalities." 

Haynerd  nodded  somewhat  dubiously.  Carmen  proceeded 
with  the  exposition  of  her  theme. 

"Whence  come  these  material  thoughts  that  are  within  us? 
And  are  they  real?  Can  we  control  them?  And  how?  They 
are  real  to  us,  at  any  rate,  are  they  not?  And  if  they  are 
thoughts  of  pain  and  suffering  and  death,  they  are  terribly  real 
to  us.  But  let  us  see,  now  that  we  can  reason  from  the  basis 
of  the  mental  nature  of  all  things.  We  have  agreed  that  the 
creative  principle  is  mind,  and  we  call  it  God.  This  infinite 
mind  constantly  expresses  and  manifests  itself  in  ideas.  Why, 
that  is  a  fundamental  law  of  mind!  You  express  yourself  in 
your  ideas  and  thoughts,  which  you  try  to  externalize  mate 
rially.  But  the  infinite  mind  expresses  itself  in  an  infinite 

68 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


number  and  variety  of  ideas,  all,  like  itself,  pure,  perfect, 
eternal,  good,  without  any  elements  or  seeds  of  decay  or  dis 
cord.  And  the  incessant  expression  of  the  creative  mind  in 
and  through  its  numberless  ideas  constitutes  the  never-ending 
process  of  creation." 

"Let  me  add  here,"  interrupted  Hitt,  "that  the  Bible  states 
that  God  created  the  heavens  and  earth  in  seven  days.  But 
numbers,  we  must  remember,  were  mystical  things  to  the 
ancient  Hebrews,  and  were  largely  used  symbolically.  The 
number  seven,  for  example,  was  used  to  express  wholeness, 
completeness.  So  we  must  remember  that  its  use  in  Genesis 
has  a  much  wider  meaning  than  its  absurd  theological  inter 
pretation  into  seven  solar  days.  As  Carmen  says,  the  infinite 
creative  mind  can  never  cease  to  express  itself;  creation  can 
never  cease;  and  creation  is  but  the  whole,  complete  revelation 
or  unfoldment  of  infinite  mind's  ideas." 

"And  infinite  mind,"  continued  Carmen,  "requires  infinite 
time  in  which  to  completely  express  itself.  So  time  ceases  to 
be,  and  we  find  that  all  real  things  exist  now,  in  an  endless 
present.  Now,  the  ideas  of  infinite  mind  range  throughout  the 
realm  of  infinity,  but  the  greatest  idea  that  the  creative  mind 
can  have  is  the  idea  of  itself.  That  idea  is  the  image  and  like 
ness  of  the  infinite  creative  mind.  It  is  the  perfect  reflection 
of  that  mind — its  perfect  expression.  That  idea  is  what  the 
man  Jesus  always  saw  back  of  the  human  concept  of  man. 
That  idea  is  the  real  man!" 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Haynerd.  "That's  quite  a  different 
proposition  from  the  mud-men  that  I  do  business  with  daily. 
What  are  they?  Children  of  God?" 

"If  they  were  real,"  said  Carmen,  "they  would  have  to  be 
children  of  God.  But  then  they  would  not  be  'mud-men/  Now 
I  have  just  spoken  of  the  real,  the  spiritual  creation.  That  is 
the  creation  mentioned  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  where 
all  was  created — revealed,  unfolded — by  God,  and  He  saw  that 
it  was  perfect,  good.  'In  the  beginning,'  says  the  commentator. 
That  is,  'To  begin  with — God.'  Everything  begins  with  God 
in  the  realm  of  the  real.  The  creative  mind  is  first.  And  the 
creation,  or  unfoldment,  is  like  its  creative  principle,  eternal 
and  good." 

"But,"  persisted  Haynerd,  "how  about  the  material  man?" 

"Having  created  all  things  spiritually,"  continued  the  girl, 
"was  it  necessary  that  the  creative  mind  should  repeat  its 
work,  do  it  over  again,  and  produce  the  man  of  dust  described 
in  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis?  Is  that  second  account  of 
the  creation  an  inspiration  of  truth — or  a  human  comment?" 

"Call  it  what  you  will,"   said  the   cynical  Haynerd;   "the 

69 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


fact  remains  that  the  mud-man  exists  and  has  to  be  reckoned 
with." 

"Both  of  your  premises  are  wholly  incorrect,"  returned  the 
girl  gently.  "He  does  not  exist,  excepting  in  human,  mortal 
thought.  He  is  a  product  of  only  such  thought.  He  and  his 
material  universe  are  seen  and  dealt  with  only  in  such  thought. 
And  such  thought  is  the  direct  antithesis  of  God's  thought. 
And  it  is  therefore  unreal.  It  is  the  supposition,  the  lie,  the 
mist  that  went  up  and  darkened  the  earth." 

"But— the  human  man — ?" 

"Is  just  what  you  have  said,  a  hue  of  a  man,  a  dark  hue, 
the  shadowy  opposite  which  seems  to  counterfeit  the  real, 
spiritual  man  and  claim  all  his  attributes.  He  is  not  a  com 
pound  of  mind  and  matter,  for  we  have  seen  that  all  things  are 
mental,  even  matter  itself.  He  is  a  sort  of  mentality,  a  counter 
feit  of  real  mind.  His  body  and  his  universe  are  in  himself. 
And,  like  all  that  is  unreal,  he  is  transient,  passing,  ephemeral, 
mortal." 

"Yet,  God  made  him!" 

"No,  for  he  does  not  exist,  excepting  in  supposition.  Does 
a  supposition  really  exist?  If  so,  then  not  even  truth  can  de 
stroy  it.  But  supposition  passes  out  before  truth.  No,  the 
human  mind  is  the  'old  man'  of  Paul.  He  is  to  be  put  off  by 
knowing  his  nothingness,  and  by  knowing  the  unreality  of  his 
supposed  material  environment  and  universe.  As  he  goes  out 
of  consciousness,  the  real  man,  the  idea  of  God,  perfect,  har 
monious,  and  eternal,  comes  in." 

"And  there,"  said  Father  Waite  impressively,  "you  have 
the  whole  scheme  of  salvation,  as  enunciated  by  the  man 
Jesus." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  added  Hitt.  "And,  oh,  my  friends! 
how  futile,  how  base,  how  worse  than  childish  now  appear  the 
whole  theological  fabric  of  the  churches,  their  foolish  man- 
made  dogmas,  their  insensate  beliefs  in  a  fiery  hell  and  a  golden 
heaven.  Oh,  how  belittling  now  appear  their  concepts  of  God 
— a  God  who  can  damn  unbaptised  infants,  who  can  predestine 
his  children  to  eternal  sorrow,  who  creates  and  then  curses  his 
handiwork!  Do  you  wonder  that  sin,  sorrow,  and  death  re 
main  among  us  while  such  awful  beliefs  hold  sway  over  the 
human  mind?  God  help  us,  and  the  world!" 

Haynerd,  who  had  been  sitting  quietly  for  some  moments, 
deep  in  thought,  rose  and  held  out  his  hands,  as  if  in  entreaty. 
"Don't — don't!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can't  hear  any  more.  I  want 
to  think  it  all  over.  It  seems — it  seems  as  if  a  curtain  had 
been  raised  suddenly.  And  what  I  see  beyond  is — 

Carmen  went  swiftly  to  the  man  and  slipped  an  arm  about 

70 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


him.  "That  infinite  creative  Mind,  so  misunderstood  and  mis 
interpreted  by  human  beings,  is  back  of  you,"  she  whispered. 
"And  it  is  Love." 

Haynerd  turned  and  grasped  her  hands.  "I  believe  it,"  he 
murmured.  "But  had  I  not  seen  the  proof  in  you,  no  amount 
of  reasoning  would  have  convinced  me."  And,  bowing  to  the 
little  group,  he  went  out. 

"Well?"  said  Hitt,  turning  inquiringly  to  the  doctor. 

The  latter  raised  his  head.  "If  these  things  are  true,"  he 
made  answer  slowly,  "then  I  shall  have  to  recast  my  entire 
mentality,  my  whole  basis  of  thinking." 

"It  is  just  what  you  must  do,  Doctor,  if  you  would  work  out 
your  salvation,"  said  Carmen.  "Jesus  said  we  must  repent  if 
we  would  be  saved.  Repentance — the  Greek  metanoia — means 
a  complete  and  radical  change  of  thought." 

"But — do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  whole  world  has  been 
mistaken?  That  the  entire  human  race  has  been  deceived  for 
ages?" 

"Why,"  said  Hitt,  "it  was  only  in  our  own  day,  compara 
tively  speaking,  that  the  human  race  was  undeceived  in  regard 
to  the  world  being  round.  And  there  are  thousands  of  human 
beings  to-day  who  still  believe  in  witchcraft,  and  who  worship 
the  sun  and  moon,  and  whose  lives  are  wholly  under  the  spell 
of  superstition.  Human  character,  a  great  scientist  tells  us, 
has  not  changed  since  history  began." 

"But  we  can't  revamp  our  thought-processes!" 

"Then  we  must  go  on  missing  the  mark,  sinning,  suffering, 
sorrowing,'  and  dying,  over  and  over  and  over  again,  until  we 
decide  that  we  can  do  so,"  said  Hitt. 

The  doctor  looked  at  Carmen  and  met  that  same  smile  of 
unbounded  love  which  she  gave  without  stint  to  a  sin-weary 
world. 

"I— I'll  come  again,"  he  said.    "When?    To-morrow  night?" 

"Yes,"  said  Carmen,  rising  and  coming  around  to  him. 
"And,"  in  a  whisper,  "bring  Pat." 


CHAPTER  6 

THE  Social  Era  had  for  many  years  made  its  weekly  ap 
pearance   every   Saturday  morning,  that  its   fashionable 
clientele  might  appease  their  jaded  appetites  on  the  Sab 
bath  day  by  nibbling  at  its  spicy  pabulum.     But,  though  the 
Ames  reception  had  fallen  on  a  Saturday  night,  the  following 
Friday  morning  found  the  columns  of  the  Era  still  awaiting 

71 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


a  report  of  the  notable  affair.  For  Haynerd's  hand  seemed 
paralyzed.  Whenever  he  set  his  pen  to  the  task,  there  loomed 
before  him  only  the  scene  in  the  little  waiting  room,  and  he 
could  write  of  nothing  else.  He  found  himself  still  dwelling 
upon  the  awful  contrast  between  the  slender  wisp  of  a  girl 
and  her  mountainous  opponent,  as  they  had  stood  before  him; 
and  the  terrifying  thoughts  of  what  was  sure  to  follow  in  con 
sequence  drenched  his  skin  with  cold  perspiration. 

On  the  desk  before  him  lay  the  essay  which  he  had  asked 
Carmen  to  write  during  the  week,  as  her  report  of  the  brilliant 
event.  He  had  read  it  through  three  times,  and  each  time  had 
read  into  it  a  new  meaning.  He  dared  not  run  it.  Not  that  it 
ridiculed  or  condemned — at  least,  not  openly — but  because 
every  one  of  its  crisp  comments  admitted  of  an  interpretation 
which  revealed  the  hidden  depths  of  the  social  system,  and  its 
gigantic  incarnation,  as  if  under  the  glare  of  a  powerful  search 
light.  It  was  in  no  sense  a  muck-raking  exposition.  Rather, 
it  was  an  interpretation,  and  a  suggestion.  It  was,  too,  a  pre 
diction;  but  not  a  curse.  The  girl  loved  those  about  whom  she 
wrote.  And  yet,  he  who  read  the  essay  aright  would  learn 
that  her  love  stopped  not  at  the  flimsy  veil  of  the  flesh,  but 
penetrated  until  it  rested  upon  the  fair  spiritual  image  beyond. 
And  then  Haynerd  saw  that  the  essay  was,  in  substance,  a  social 
clinic,  to  which  all  searchers  after  truth  were  bidden,  that  they 
might  learn  a  great  lesson  from  her  skillful  dissection  of  the 
human  mind,  and  her  keen  analysis  of  its  constituent  thought. 

As  he  sat  wrapped  in  reflection,  the  early  morning  mail  was 
brought  in.  He  glanced  up,  and  then  started  to  his  feet.  The 
letters  spread  over  his  desk  like  an  avalanche  of  snow;  and 
the  puffing  mail  carrier  declared  that  he  had  made  a  special 
trip  with  them  alone.  Haynerd  began  to  tear  them  open,  one 
after  another.  Then  he  called  the  office  boy,  and  set  him  at 
the  task.  There  were  more  than  five  hundred  of  them,  and 
each  contained  a  canceled  subscription  to  the  Social  Era. 

A  dark  foreboding  settled  down  over  Haynerd's  mind.  He 
rose  and  went  to  the  card-index  to  consult  his  subscription 
list.  It  was  gone!  He  stood  confusedly  for  a  moment,  then 
hastened  to  the  window  that  looked  out  upon  a  fire-escape.  Its 
lock  lay  broken  upon  the  floor.  He  turned  and  rushed  to  the 
vault,  which,  reflecting  his  own  habitual  carelessness,  was 
never  locked.  His  ledgers  and  account  books  were  not  there. 
Then  he  crept  back  to  his  desk  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

The  noon  mail  brought  more  letters  of  like  nature,  until 
the  office  boy  tallied  nearly  eight  hundred.  Then  Haynerd, 
as  if  rousing  from  a  dream,  reached  for  the  telephone  and 
summoned  Hitt  to  his  rescue.  The  Social  Era  was  foundering. 

72 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Its  mailing  list  had  contained  some  fifteen  hundred  names. 
The  subscription  price  was  twelve  dollars  a  year — and  never, 
to  his  knowledge,  had  it  been  paid  in  advance  by  his  ultra- 
rich  patrons,  most  of  whom  were  greatly  in  arrears.  Haynerd 
saw  it  all  vanishing  now  as  quietly  as  the  mist  fades  before 
the  summer  sun. 

Within  an  hour  the  wondering  Hitt  was  in  conference  with 
him,  and  Haynerd  had  told  the  story  of  the  theft,  of  the  Ames 
bribe,  and  the  encounter  following.  "But,"  he  cried,  "can 
Ames  kill  my  entire  subscription  list,  and  in  a  single  week?" 

"Easily,"  replied  Hitt,  "and  in  any  one  of  several  ways. 
Apparently  he  had  caused  your  subscription  list  and  books  to 
be  stolen.  Your  sun  has  set,  Ned.  Or,  rather,  Ames  has  lifted 
it  bodily  from  the  sky." 

"Then  I'll  shoot  him!  I'll — !  But  we've  got  the  goods  on 
him!  Carmen  and  I  saw  him  bribe  Wales!  We'll  expose  him!" 

Hitt  laughed.  "Forget  all  that,"  he  said,  laying  a  hand 
on  the  excited  man's  arm.  "Remember,  that  Wales  would 
never  dare  breathe  a  word  of  it;  Carmen  has  no  reputation  or 
standing  whatsoever  now  in  this  city;  and  Ames  would  make 
out  a  case  of  blackmail  against  you  so  quickly  that  it  would 
sweep  you  right  into  the  Tombs.  Go  easy.  And  first,  let  us  get 
the  girl  herself  down  here." 

He  took  the  telephone  and  called  up  several  of  the  Univer 
sity  departments,  after  first  ascertaining  that  she  was  not  at 
her  home.  Then,  having  located  her,  he  plunged  into  a  study 
of  the  situation  with  the  distracted  publisher. 

"That's  the  way  of  it!"  cried  Haynerd  at  length.  "Here  I 
waste  my  evenings  in  learned  philosophical  discussions  with 
you  people,  and  meantime,  while  we're  figuring  out  that  there 
is  no  evil,  that  monster,  Ames,  stretches  out  a  tentacle  and 
strangles  me!  Fine  practical  discussions  we've  been  having, 
ain't  they?  I  tell  you,  I'm  through  with 'em!"  He  brought  his 
fist  down  upon  the  desk  writh  a  crash. 

"Ned,"  said  Hitt,  "you're  a  fool." 

"Sure  I  am!"  shouted  Haynerd.  "Do  I  deny  it?  Here  I 
had  a  nice,  clean  business,  no  work,  good  pay — and,  just  be 
cause  I  associated  with  you  and  that  girl,  the  whole  damn 
thing  goes  up  the  flue!  Pays  to  be  good,  doesn't  it?  Nix!" 

"H'm;  well,  Ned,  you're  not  only  a  fool,  but  a  blooming 
idiot,"  replied  Hitt  calmly. 

"Lay  it  on!  Lay  it  on  thick!"  roared  Haynerd.  "And  if 
you  run  out  of  epithets,  I'll  supply  a  few!  I'm  a— 

The  door  swung  open,  and  Carmen  entered,  fresh  as  the  sea 
breeze,  and  panting  with  her  haste.  "Do  you  know,"  she 
began  eagerly,  "two  men  followed  me  all  the  way  down  from 

73 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


the  University!  They  watched  me  come  in  here,  and — but, 
what  is  wrong  with  you  two?"  She  stopped  and  looked  in 
quiringly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Well,"  began  Hitt  hesitatingly,  "we  were  reflecting — " 

"Reflecting?    What?    Good,  or  evil?"  she  demanded. 

"We  were  just  holding  a  wake,  that's  all,"  muttered  Hay- 
nerd. 

"Then  wake  up!"  she  cried,  seizing  his  hand. 

Hitt  pushed  out  a  chair  for  the  girl,  and  bade  her  sit  down. 
Then  he  briefly  related  the  events  which  had  led  to  her  being 
summoned.  "And  now,"  he  concluded,  "the  question  is,  does 
Wales  know  that  you  and  Ned  saw  Ames  try  to  bribe  him?" 

"Why,  of  course  he  knows!"  cried  Carmen.  "His  wife  told 
him." 

"And  who  informed  her?" 

"I  did — last  Monday  morning,  early,"  answered  the  won 
dering  girl. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  ejaculated  Haynerd,  turning  upon  Hitt 
and  waving  his  arms  about.  "What  do  you — " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Ned!"  interrupted  Hitt.  Then,  to  Car 
men,  "Why  did  you  tell  her?" 

"Why — to  save  her,  and  her  husband,  and  babies!  I  told 
her  because  it  was  right!  You  know  it  was  right!" 

"But,  to  save  them,  you  have  ruined  Ned,"  pursued  Hitt. 

The  girl  turned  to  Haynerd,  who  sat  doubled  up  in  his 
chair,  the  picture  of  despair.  "I  haven't  ruined  you,  Ned." 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  used  this  name  in  addressing  him. 
"Things  never  happen,  you  know.  And  if  you  have  been 
pushed  out  of  this  business,  it  is  because  it  isn't  fit  for  you, 
and  because  you've  been  awakened.  You  are  for  higher,  better 
things  than  the  publishing  of  such  a  magazine  as  the  Social 
Era.  I  knew  you  just  couldn't  stay  at  this  work.  You  have 
got  to  go  up — " 

"Eh!"  Haynerd  had  roused  out  of  his  torpor.  "Go  up? 
Yes,  I've  gone  up,  nicely!  And  I  was  making  ten  thousand 
dollars  a  year  out  of  it!  It  was  a  bully  proposition!"  he 
blurted. 

The  girl  smiled.     "I  wasn't  speaking  of  money,"  she  said. 

"But  I  was!"  retorted  Haynerd.  "When  I  talk,  it's  in  dol 
lars  and  cents!" 

"And  that's  why  your  talk  is  mostly  nonsense,"  put  in  Hitt. 
"The  girl's  right,  I  guess.  You've  stagnated  here  long  enough, 
Ned.  There's  no  such  thing  as  standing  still.  Progress  is  a 
divine  demand.  It's  now  your  move." 

"But — good  Lord!  what  am  I  to  do?"  wailed  the  man. 

"You  now  have  a  grand  opportunity,"  said  Carmen,  taking 
his  hand. 

74 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Opportunity!" 

"Yes;  every  trial  in  this  life  is  an  opportunity  to  prove 
that  there  is  no  evil,"  she  said.  "Listen;  you  have  been  trained 
as  a  publisher.  Very  well,  the  world  is  waiting  for  the  right 
kind  of  publications.  Oh,  I've  seen  it  for  a  long,  long  time. 
The  demand  is  simply  tremendous.  Now  meet  it!" 

Haynerd  looked  confusedly  from  Carmen  to  Hitt.  The 
latter  turned  to  the  girl.  "What,  exactly,  do  you  mean,  Car 
men?"  he  asked. 

"Let  him  publish  now  a  clean  magazine,  or  paper;  let  him 
print  real  news;  let  him  work,  not  for  rich  people's  money,  but 
for  all  people.  Why,  the  press  is  the  greatest  educator  in  the 
world!  But,  oh,  how  it  has  been  abused!  Now  let  him  come 
out  boldly  and  stand  for  clean  journalism.  Let  him  find  his 
own  life,  his  own  good,  in  service  for  others." 

"But,  Carmen,"  protested  Hitt,  "do  the  people  want  clean 
journalism?  Could  such  a  paper  stand?" 

"It  could,  if  it  had  the  right  thought  back  of  it,"  returned 
the  confident  girl. 

Haynerd  had  again  lapsed  into  sulky  silence.  But  Hitt 
pondered  the  girl's  words  for  some  moments.  She  was  not  the 
first  nor  the  only  one  who  had  voiced  such  sentiments.  He 
himself  had  even  dared  to  hold  the  same  thoughts,  and  to 
read  in  them  a  leading  that  came  not  from  material  ambitions. 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  an  idea  flamed  up  in  his  mind. 

"The  Express!"  he  exclaimed. 

Carmen  waited  expectantly.  Hitt's  eyes  widened  with  his 
expanding  thought.  "Carlson,  editor  of  the  Express,  wants  to 
sell,"  he  continued,  speaking  rapidly. 

"It's  a  semi-weekly  newspaper,  printed  only  for  country 
circulation;  has  no  subscription  list,"  commented  Haynerd, 
with  a  cynical  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"Buy  it!"  exclaimed  Carmen.  "Buy  it!  And  change  it  into 
a  daily!  Make  it  a  real  newspaper!" 

Hitt  looked  into  Carmen's  glowing  eyes.  "How  old  are 
you?"  he  suddenly  asked.  The  abruptness  of  the  strange,  ap 
parently  irrelevant  question  startled  the  girl. 

"Why,"  she  replied  slowly,  "as  old  as — as  God.  And  as 
young." 

"And,  as  human  beings  reckon  time,  eighteen,  eh?"  con 
tinued  Hitt. 

She  nodded,  wondering  what  the  question  meant.  Hitt 
then  turned  to  Haynerd.  "How  much  money  can  you  scrape 
together,  if  you  sell  this  lot  of  junk?"  he  asked,  sweeping  the 
place  with  a  glance. 

"Five  or  six  thousand,   all   told,   including  bank  account, 

75 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


bonds,  and  everything,   I  suppose,"  replied  Haynerd  mechan 
ically. 

"Carlson  wants  forty  thousand  for  the  Express.  I'm  not  a 
rich  man,  as  wealth  is  estimated  to-day,  but — well,  oil  is  still 
flowing  down  in  Ohio.  It  isn't  the  money — it's — it's  what's  back 
of  the  cash." 

Carmen  reached  over  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "We 
can  do  it,"  she  whispered. 

Hitt  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  then  sprang  to  his  feet. 
"And  we  will!"  he  cried.  "I've  pondered  and  studied  this 
scheme  for  a  year,  but  I've  only  to-day  seen  the  right  help. 
That  is  your  tremendous,  driving  thought,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Carmen.  "That  thought  is  a  spiritual  dynamite,  that  will  blast 
its  way  through  every  material  obstacle!  Ned,"  seizing  Hay- 
nerd  by  the  shoulder  and  shaking  him  out  of  his  chair,  "rouse 
up !  Your  light  has  come !  Now  I'll  'phone  Carlson  right  away 
and  make  an  appointment  to  talk  business  with  him.  You'll 
stand  with  me,  Carmen?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply. 

"And  you,  Ned?" 

Haynerd  blinked  for  a  few  moments,  like  an  owl  in  the 
light.  But  then,  as  a  comprehension  of  Hitt's  plan  dawned 
upon  his  waking  thought,  he  straightened  up. 

"Buy  the  Express!  Make  a  real  paper  of  it!  A — but 
Ames?" 

"He  can't  touch  us!  The  clientele  of  the  Express  will  not 
be  made  up  of  his  puppets!  Our  paper  will  be  for  the  people!" 

"But— your  University  work,  Hitt?" 

"I  give  my  last  lecture  next  week." 

"And  you,  Carmen?" 

"I  was  only  biding  my  time,"  she  replied  gently.  "This  is 
a  real  call.  And  my  answer  is:  Here  am  I." 

Tears  began  to  trickle  slowly  down  Haynerd's  cheeks,  as 
the  tension  in  his  nerves  slackened.  He  rose  and  seized  the 
hands  of  his  two  friends.  "Hitt,"  he  said,  in  a  choking  voice, 
"I — I  said  I  was  a  fool.  But  that  fellow's  dead  now.  The  real 
man  has  waked  up,  and — well,  what  are  you  standing  there  for, 
you  great  idiot?  Go  and  call  up  Carlson!" 

****** 

Again  that  evening  the  little  group  sat  about  the  table  in 
the  dining  room  of  the  Beaubien  cottage.  But  only  the  three 
most  directly  concerned,  and  the  Beaubien,  knew  that  the 
owner  of  the  Express  had  received  that  afternoon  an  offer  for 
the  purchase  of  his  newspaper,  and  that  he  had  been  given 
twenty-four  hours  in  which  to  accept  it.  Doctor  Morton  was 
again  present;  and  beside  him  sat  his  lifelong  friend  and  joust- 

76 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ing-mate,  the  very  Reverend  Patterson  Moore.  Hitt  took  the 
floor,  and  began  speaking  low  and  earnestly. 

"We  must  remember,"  he  said,  "in  conjunction  with  what 
we  have  deduced  regarding  the  infinite  creative  mind  and  its 
manifestations,  that  we  mortals  in  our  daily  mundane  exist 
ence  deal  only  and  always  with  phenomena,  with  appearances, 
with  effects,  and  never  with  ultimate  causes.  And  so  all  our 
material  knowledge  is  a  knowledge  of  appearances  only.  Of 
the  ultimate  essence  of  things,  the  human  mind  knows  noth 
ing.  All  of  its  knowledge  is  relative.  A  phenomenon  may  be 
so-and-so  with  regard  to  another;  but  that  either  is  absolute 
truth  we  can  not  affirm.  And  yet — mark  this  well — as  Spencer 
says,  'Every  one  of  the  arguments  by  which  the  relativity  of 
our  knowledge  is  demonstrated  distinctly  postulates  the  posi 
tive  existence  of  something  beyond  the  relative.' ' 

"And  just  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  Miss  Wall. 

"It  is  a  primitive  statement  of  what  is  sometimes  called 
the  'Theory  of  suppositional  opposites,' "  replied  Hitt.  "It 
means  that  to  every  reality  there  is  the  corresponding  unreality. 
For  every  truth  there  may  be  postulated'  the  supposition.  We 
can  not,  as  the  great  philosopher  says,  conceive  that  our  knowl 
edge  is  a  knowledge  of  appearances  only,  without  at  the  same 
time  conceiving  a  reality  of  which  they  are  appearances.  He 
further  amplifies  this  by  saying  that  'every  positive  notion — 
the  concept  of  a  thing  by  what  it  is — suggests  a  negative  no 
tion — the  concept  of  a  thing  by  what  it  is  not.  But,  though 
these  mutually  suggest  each  other,  the  positive  alone  is  real.' 
Most  momentous  language,  that!  For,  interpreted,  it  means: 
we  must  deny  the  seeming,  or  that  which  appears  to  human 
sense,  in  order  to  see  that  which  is  real." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  exclaimed  Miss  Wall,  glancing  about  to 
note  the  effect  of  the  speaker's  words  on  the  others. 

But  Carmen  nodded  her  thorough  agreement,  and  added: 
"Did  not  Jesus  say  that  we  must  deny  ourselves?  Deny  which 
self?  Why,  the  self  that  appears  to  us,  the  matter-man,  the 
dust-man,  the  man  of  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis.  We  must 
deny  his  reality,  and  know  that  he  is  nothing  but  a  mental 
concept,  formed  out  of  suppositional  thought,  out  of  dust- 
thought.  And  that  is  material  thought." 

"Undoubtedly  correct,"  said  Hitt,  turning  to  Carmen.  "But, 
before  we  consider  the  astonishing  teachings  of  Jesus,  let  us 
sum  up  the  conclusions  of  philosophy.  To  begin  with,  then, 
there  is  a  First  Cause,  omnipotent  and  omnipresent,  and  of 
very  necessity  perfect.  That  Cause  lies  back  of  all  the  phe 
nomena  of  life;  and,  because  of  its  real  existence,  there  arises 
the  suppositional  existence  of  its  opposite,  its  negative,  so  to 

77 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


speak,  which  is  unreal.  The  phenomena  of  human  existence 
have  to  do  only  with  the  suppositional  existence  of  the  great 
First  Cause's  opposite.  They  are  a  reflection  of  that  supposi 
tion.  Hence  all  human  knowledge  of  an  external  world  is  but 
phenomenal,  and  consists  of  appearances  which  have  no  more 
real  substance  than  have  shadows.  We,  as  mortals,  know  but 
the  shadowy,  phenomenal  existence.  We  do  not  know  reality. 
Therefore,  our  knowledge  is  not  real  knowledge,  but  supposi 
tion. 

"Now,"  he  went  on  hastily,  for  he  saw  an  expression  of 
protest  on  Reverend  Moore's  face,  "we  are  more  or  less  familiar 
with  a  phenomenal  existence,  with  appearances,  with  effects; 
and  our  knowledge  of  these  is  entirely  mental.  We  see  all 
things  as  thought.  These  thoughts,  such  as  feeling,  seeing, 
hearing,  and  so  on,  we  ignorantly  attribute  to  the  five  physical 
senses.  This  is  what  Ruskin  calls  the  'pathetic  fallacy.'  And 
because  we  do  so,  we  find  ourselves  absolutely  dependent  upon 
these  senses — in  belief.  Moreover,  quoting  Spencer  again,  only 
the  absolutely  real  is  the  absolutely  persistent,  or  enduring. 
Truth,  for  example.  The  truth  of  the  multiplication  table  will 
endure  eternally.  It  is  real.  But  is  it  any  whit  material?" 

"No,"  admitted  Miss  Wall,  speaking  for  the  others. 

"And,  as  regards  material  objects  which  we  seem  to  see  and 
touch,"  went  on  Hitt,  "we  appear  to  see  solidity  and  hardness, 
and  we  conceive  as  real  objects  what  are  only  the  mental  signs 
or  indications  of  objects.  Remember,  matter  does  not  and  can 
not  get  into  the  mind.  Only  thoughts  and  ideas  enter  our 
mentalities.  We  see  our  thoughts  of  hardness,  solidity,  and 
so  on;  and  these  thoughts  point  to  something  that  is  real.  That 
something  is — what?  I  repeat:  the  ideas  of  the  infinite  crea 
tive  Mind.  The  thoughts  of  size,  shape,  hardness,  and  so  on, 
which  we  group  together  and  call  material  chairs,  trees,  moun 
tains,  and  other  objects,  are  but  'relative  realities,'  point 
ing  to  the  absolute  reality,  infinite  mind  and  its  eternal  ideas 
and  thoughts." 

He  paused  again  for  comments.  But  all  seemed  absorbed  in 
his  statements.  Then  he  resumed: 

"Our  concept  of  matter,  which  is  now  proven  to  be  but  a 
mental  concept,  built  up  out  of  false  thought,  points  to  mind 
as  the  real  substance.  Our  concept  of  measurable  space  and 
distance  is  the  direct  opposite  of  the  great  truth  that  infinite 
mind  is  ever-present.  Our  concept  of  time  is  the  opposite  of 
infinity.  It  is  but  human  limitation.  Age  is  the  opposite  of 
eternity — and  the  old-age  thought  brings  extinction.  So,  to 
every  reality  there  is  the  corresponding  unreality.  The  oppo 
site  of  good  is  evil.  If  the  infinite  creative  mind  is  good — and 

78 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


we  saw  that  by  very  necessity  it  must  be  so — then  evil  becomes 
an  awful  unreality,  and  is  real  only  to  the  false  thought  which 
entertains  or  holds  it.  If  life  is  real — and  infinite  mind  must 
itself  be  life — then  death  becomes  the  opposite  unreality.  And, 
as  Jesus  said,  it  can  be  overcome.  But  were  it  real,  no  power, 
divine  or  human,  could  ever  overcome  or  destroy  it!" 

"Seems  to  me,"  remarked  Haynerd  dryly,  "that  our  study 
so  far  simply  goes  to  show,  as  Burke  puts  it,  'what  shadows 
we  are  and  what  shadows  we  pursue.'  " 

Hitt  smiled.  "When  the  world  humiliates  itself  to  the  point 
that  it  will  accept  that,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "then  it  will  be 
come  receptive  to  truth. 

"But  now  let  us  go  a  little  further,"  he  went  on.  "The 
great  Lamarck  voiced  a  mighty  fact  when  he  said,  'Function 
precedes  structure.'  For  by  that  we  mean  that  the  egg  did 
not  produce  the  bird,  but  the  bird  the  egg.  The  world  seems 
about  to  pass  from  the  very  foolish  belief  that  physical  struc 
ture  is  the  cause  of  life,  to  the  great  fact  that  a  sense  of  life 
produces  the  physical  structure.  The  former  crude  belief  en 
slaved  man  to  his  body.  The  latter  tends  to  free  him  from 
such  slavery." 

"You  see,  Doctor,"  interrupted  Carmen,  "the  brain  which 
you  were  cutting  up  the  other  day  did  not  make  poor  Yorick's 
mind  and  thought,  but  his  mind  made  the  brain." 

The  doctor  smiled  and  shook  a  warning  finger  at  the  girl. 

"The  body,"  resumed  Hitt,  "is  a  manifestation  of  the  human 
mind's  activity.  What  constitutes  the  difference  between  a 
bird  and  a  steam  engine?  This,  in  part:  the  engine  is  made 
by  human  hands  from  without;  the  bird  makes  itself,  that  is, 
its  body,  from  within.  So  it  is  with  the  human  body.  But 
the  ignorant  human  mind — ignorant  per  se — falls  a  slave  to 
its  own  creation,  the  mental  concept  which  it  calls  its  physical 
body,  and  which  it  pampers  and  pets  and  loves,  until  it  can 
cling  to  it  no  longer,  because  the  mental  concept,  not  being 
based  on  any  real  principle,  is  forced  to  pass  away,  having 
nothing  but  false  thought  to  sustain  it." 

"But  now,"  interposed  Haynerd,  who  was  again  waxing 
impatient,  "just  what  is  the  practical  application  of  all  this 
abstruse  reasoning?" 

"The  very  greatest  imaginable,  my  friend,"  replied  Hitt. 
"A  real  thing  is  real  forever.  And  so  matter  can  not  become 
non-existent  unless  it  is  already  nothing!  The  world  is  begin 
ning  to  recognize  the  tremendous  fact  that  from  nothing  noth 
ing  can  be  made.  Very  well,  since  the  law  of  the  conservation 
of  energy  seems  to  be  established  as  regards  energy  m  toto, 
why,  we  must  conclude  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  annihila- 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


tion.  And  that  means  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute 
creation!  Whatever  is  real  has  always  existed.  The  shadow 
never  was  real,  and  does  not  exist.  And  so  creation  becomes 
unfolding,  or  revelation,  or  development,  of  what  already 
exists,  and  has  always  existed,  and  always  will  exist.  There 
fore,  if  matter,  and  all  it  includes  as  concomitants,  evil,  sin, 
sickness,  accident,  chance,  lack,  and  death,  is  based  upon 
unreal,  false  thought,  then  it  can  all  be  removed,  put  out  of 
consciousness,  by  a  knowledge  of  truth  and  a  reversal  of  our 
accustomed  human  thought-processes." 

"And  that,"  said  Carmen,  "is  salvation.  It  is  based  on 
righteousness,  which  is  right-thinking,  thinking  true  thoughts, 
and  thinking  truly." 

"And  knowing,"  added  Hitt,  "that  evil,  including  matter,  is 
the  suppositional  opposite  of  truth.  The  doctrine  of  material 
ism  has  been  utterly  disproved  even  by  the  physicists  them 
selves.  For  physicists  have  at  last  agreed  that  inertia  is  the 
great  essential  property  of  matter.  That  is,  matter  is  not  a 
cause,  but  an  effect.  It  does  not  operate,  but  is  operated  upon. 
It  is  not  a  law-giver,  but  is  subject  to  the  human  mind's  so- 
called  laws  concerning  it.  It  of  itself  is  utterly  without  life  or 
intelligence. 

"Very  good,"  he  continued.  "Now  Spencer  said  that  matter 
was  a  manifestation  of  an  underlying  power  or  force.  Physi 
cists  tell  us  that  matter  is  made  of  electricity,  that  it  is  an 
electrical  phenomenon,  and  that  the  ultimate  constituent  of 
matter  is  the  electron.  The  electron  is  said  by  some  to  be  made 
up  of  superimposed  layers  of  positive  and  negative  electricity, 
and  by  others  to  be  made  up  of  only  negative  charges.  I 
rather  prefer  the  latter  view,  for  if  composed  of  only  negative 
electricity  it  is  more  truly  a  negation.  Matter  is  the  negative 
of  real  substance.  It  is  a  sort  of  negative  truth. 

"Now  electricity  is  a  form  of  energy.  Hence  matter  is  a 
form  of  energy  also.  But  our  comprehension  of  it  is  wholly 
mental.  Energy  is  mental.  The  only  real  energy  there  is  or 
can  be  is  the  energy  of  the  infinite  mind  we  call  God.  This  the 
human  mind  copies,  or  imitates,  by  reason  of  what  has  been 
called  'the  law  of  suppositional  opposites,'  already  dwelt  upon 
at  some  length.  Everything  manifests  this  so-called  law.  Elec 
tricity  is  both  positive  and  negative.  Gravitation  is  regarded 
by  some  physicists  as  the  negative  aspect  of  radiation-pressure, 
the  latter  being  the  pressure  supposed  to  be  exerted  by  all 
material  bodies  upon  one  another.  The  third  law  of  motion 
illustrates  this  so-called  law,  for  it  states  that  action  and  reac 
tion  are  equal  and  opposite.  There  can  be  no  positive  action 
without  a  resultant  negative  one.  The  truth  has  its  lie.  The 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


divine  mind,  God,  has  His  opposite  in  the  communal  human, 
or  mortal,  mind.  The  latter  is  manifested  by  the  so-called 
minds  which  we  call  mankind.  And  from  these  so-called 
minds  issue  matter  and  material  forms  and  bodies,  with  their 
so-called  material  laws. 

"Yes,  the  material  universe  is  running  down.  Stupendous 
fact!  The  entire  human  concept  is  running  down.  Matter, 
the  human  mental  concept,  is  not  eternally  permanent. 
Neither,  therefore,  are  its  concomitants,  sin  and  discord.  Mat 
ter  disintegrates  and  passes  away — out  of  human  conscious 
ness.  The  whole  material  universe — the  so-called  mortal-mind 
concept — is  hastening  to  its  death!" 

"But  as  yet  I  think  you  have  not  given  Mr.  Haynerd  the 
practical  application  which  he  asks,"  suggested  Father  Waite, 
as  Hitt  paused  after  his  long  exposition. 

"I  am  now  ready  for  that,"  replied  Hitt.  "We  have  said 
that  the  material  is  the  relative.  So  all  human  knowledge  is 
relative.  But,  that  being  so,  we  can  go  a  step  further  and  add 
that  human  error  is  likewise  relative.  And  now — startling 
fact! — it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  really  know  error!" 

"Why — !"  burst  from  the  incredulous  Miss  Wall. 

"Well?"  said  Hitt,  turning  to  her.  "Can  you  know  that  two 
plus  two  equals  seven?" 

"N— no." 

"Let  me  make  this  statement  of  truth:  nothing  can  be 
known  definitely  except  as  it  is  explained  by  the  principle 
which  governs  it.  Now  what  principle  governs  an  error, 
whether  that  error  be  in  music,  mathematics,  or  life  conduct?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  the  question. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Hitt.  "Evil  can  not  be  really  known. 
And  that  is  why  God — infinite  Mind — can  not  behold  evil.  And 
now,  friends,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  of  a  long  series  of 
deductions.  If  infinite  mind  is  the  cause  and  creator,  that  is, 
the  revealer,  of  all  that  really  exists,  its  suppositional  opposite, 
its  negative,  must  likewise  simulate  a  creation,  or  revelation,  or 
unfolding,  for  this  opposite  must  of  very  necessity  pose  as  a  cre 
ative  principle.  It  must  simulate  all  the  powers  and  attributes 
of  the  infinite  creative  mind.  If  the  creative  mind  gave  rise  to 
a  spiritual  universe  and  spiritual  man,  by  which  it  expresses 
itself,  then  this  suppositional  opposite  must  present  its  uni 
verse  and  its  man,  opposite  in  every  particular  to  the  reality. 
It  is  this  sort  of  man  and  this  sort  of  universe  that  we,  as  mor 
tals,  seem  to  see  all  about  us,  and  that  we  refer  to  as  human 
beings  and  the  physical  universe.  And  yet,  all  that  we  see, 
feel,  hear,  smell,  or  taste  is  the  false,  suppositional  thought 
that  comes  into  our  so-called  mentalities,  and  by  its  supposi- 

51  81 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


tional  activity  there  causes  what  we  call  consciousness  or 
awareness  of  things." 

"Then,"  said  Father  Waite,  more  to  enunciate  his  own 
thought  than  to  question  the  deduction,  "what  the  human  con 
sciousness  holds  as  knowledge  is  little  more  than  belief  and 
speculation,  with  no  basis  of  truth,  no  underlying  principle." 

"Just  so.  And  it  brings  out  the  fruits  of  such  beliefs  in 
discord,  decay,  and  final  dissolution,  called  death.  For  this 
human  consciousness  forms  its  own  concept  of  a  fleshly  body, 
and  a  mind-and-matter  man.  It  makes  the  laws  which  govern 
its  body,  and  it  causes  its  body  to  obey  these  false  laws.  Upon 
the  quality  of  thought  entering  this  human  consciousness  de 
pend  all  the  phenomena  of  earthly  life  and  environment  which 
the  mortal  experiences.  The  human  consciousness,  in  other 
words,  is  a  self-centered  mass  of  erroneous  thought,  utterly 
without  any  basis  of  real  principle,  but  actively  engaged  in 
building  up  mental  images,  and  forming  and  maintaining  an 
environment  in  which  it  supposes  itself  to  live.  This  false 
thought  in  the  human  consciousness  forms  into  a  false  concept 
of  man,  and  this  is  the  soul-and-body  man,  the  mind-and- 
matter  man,  which  is  called  a  human  being,  or  a  mortal." 

"And  there,"  commented  Carmen,  with  a  dreamy,  far-away 
look,  "we  have  what  Padre  Jose  so  long  ago  spoke  of  as  the 
'externalization  of  thought.'  It  is  the  same  law  which  Jesus 
had  in  mind  when  he  said,  'As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so 
is  he." 

"Yes,"  said  Hitt.  "For  we  know  only  what  enters  our  men 
talities  and  becomes  active  there.  And  every  thought  that 
does  so  enter,  tends  at  once  to  become  externalized.  That  is, 
there  is  at  once  the  tendency  for  us  to  see  it  visualized  in  some 
way,  either  as  material  object,  or  environment,  or  on  our 
bodies.  And  it  is  the  very  activity  of  such  thought  that  con 
stitutes  the  human  mentality,  as  I  have  already  said." 

"And  that  thought  is  continually  changing,"  suggested 
Father  Waite. 

"Just  so.  Its  very  lack  of  true  principle  requires  that  it 
should  change  constantly,  in  order  to  simulate  as  closely  as 
possible  the  real.  That  accounts  for  the  fleeting  character  of 
the  whole  human  concept  of  man  and  the  physical  universe. 
The  human  personality  is  never  fixed,  although  the  elements  of 
human  character  remain;  that  is,  those  elements  which  are 
essentially  unreal  and  mortal,  such  as  lust,  greed,  hatred,  and 
materiality,  seem  to  remain  throughout  the  ages.  They  will 
give  way  only  before  truth,  even  as  Paul  said.  But  not  until 
truth  has  been  admitted  to  the  human  mentality  and  begins 
its  solvent  work  there,  the  work  of  denying  and  tearing  down 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


the  false  thought-concepts  and  replacing  them  with  true  ones." 

"And  will  truth  come  through  the  physical  senses?"  asked 
Miss  Wall. 

"No,  decidedly  no!"  said  Hitt.  "The  physical  senses  testify 
of  nothing.  Their  supposed  testimony  is  the  material  thought 
which  enters  the  human  mentality  and  becomes  active  there, 
resulting  in  human  consciousness  of  both  good  and  evil.  And 
that  thought  will  have  to  give  way  to  true  thought,  before  we 
can  begin  to  put  off  the  'old  man'  and  put  on  the  'new.'  Hu 
man  thoughts,  or,  as  we  say,  the  physical  senses,  do  not  and 
can  not  testify  of  absolute  truth.  They  do  not  know  God." 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Haynerd,  rousing  up.  "There  goes  the 
Church,  and  original  sin,  and  fallen  man!" 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  'fallen  man,'  my  friend,"  said 
Hitt  quietly.  "The  spiritual  man,  the  image  and  likeness,  the 
reflection,  of  the  infinite  creative  mind,  is  perfect  as  long  as  its 
principle  remains  perfect — and  that  is  eternally.  The  mortal 
man  never  was  perfect.  He  is  a  product  of  false,  suppositional 
thought.  He  is  not  and  never  was  man.  He  did  not  fall,  be 
cause  he  has  had  no  perfection  to  lose." 

Reverend  Patterson  Moore,  who  had  sat  a  silent,  though  not 
wholly  sympathetic  listener  throughout  the  discussion,  could 
now  no  longer  withhold  his  protest.  "No  wonder,"  he  abruptly 
exclaimed,  "that  there  are  so  few  deep  convictions  to-day  con 
cerning  the  great  essentials  of  Christianity!  As  I  sit  here  and 
listen  to  you  belittle  God  and  rend  the  great  truths  of  His 
Christ,  as  announced  in  His  Word,  the  Bible,  I  am  moved  by 
feelings  poignantly  sorrowful!  The  Christ  has  once  been  cru 
cified;  and  will  you  slay  him  again?" 

"No,"  said  Carmen,  her  eyes  dilating  with  surprise,  "but 
we  would  resurrect  him!  Don't  you  think  you  have  kept  him 
in  the  tomb  long  enough?  The  Christ-principle  is  intended  for 
use,  not  for  endless  burial!" 

"I?  My  dear  Miss  Carmen,  it  is  I  who  preach  the  risen 
Christ!" 

"You  preach  human  theology,  Mr.  Moore,"  returned  the 
girl.  "And  because  of  centuries  of  such  preaching  the  world 
has  steadily  sunk  from  the  spiritual  to  the  material,  and  lip 
service  has  taken  the  place  of  that  genuine  spiritual  worship 
which  knows  no  evil,  and  which,  because  of  that  practical 
knowledge,  heals  the  sick  and  raises  the  dead." 

"You  insinuate  that — " 

"No,  I  state  facts,"  said  Carmen.  "Paul  made  some  mis 
takes,  for  he  was  consumed  with  zeal.  But  he  stated  truth 
when  he  said  that  the  second  coming  of  Christ  would  occur 
when  the  'old  man'  was  put  off.  We  have  been  discussing  the 

83 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


'old  man'  to-night,  and  showing  how  he  may  be  put  off.  Now 
do  you  from  your  pulpit  teach  your  people  how  that  may  be 
done?" 

"I  teach  the  vicarious  atonement  of  the  Christ,  and  prepare 
my  flock  for  the  world  to  come,"  replied  the  minister  with 
some  heat. 

"But  I  am  interested  in  the  eternal  present,"  said  the  girl, 
"not  in  a  suppositional  future.  And  so  was  Jesus.  The  world 
to  come  is  right  here.  'I  am  that  which  is,  and  which  was, 
and  which  is  to  come,'  says  the  infinite,  ever-present  mind, 
God!" 

"I  see  no  Christianity  whatsoever  in  your  speculative  phi 
losophy,"  retorted  the  minister.  "If  what  you  say  is  true,  and 
the  world  should  accept  it,  all  that  we  have  learned  in  the  ages 
past  would  be  blotted  out,  and  falsehood  would  be  written 
across  philosophy,  science,  and  religion.  By  wafting  evil 
lightly  aside  as  unreal,  you  dodge  the  issue,  and  extend  license 
to  all  mankind  to  indulge  it  freely.  Evil  is  an  awful,  a  stu 
pendous  fact!  And  it  can  not  be  relegated  to  the  realm  of 
shadow,  as  you  are  trying  to  do!" 

"Did  Jesus  regard  it  as  a  reality?"  she  asked.  "You  know, 
Duns  Scotus  said:  'Since  there  is  no  real  being  outside  of 
God,  evil  has  no  substantial  existence.  Perfection  and  reality 
are  synonyms,  hence  absolute  imperfection  is  synonymous  with 
absolute  unreality.'  Did  Jesus  know  less  than  this  man?  And 
do  you  really  think  he  looked  upon  evil  as  a  reality?" 

"He  most  certainly  did!" 

"Then,  if  that  is  true,"  said  the  girl,  "I  will  have  to  reject 
him.  But  come,  we  are  right  up  to  the  point  of  discussing 
him  and  his  teachings,  and  that  will  be  the  subject  of  our  next 
meeting.  Will  you  join  us,  Mr.  Moore?  It  is  love,  you  know, 
that  has  drawn  us  all  together.  You'll  come?" 

"It's  an  open  forum,  Moore,"  said  the  doctor,  patting  him 
on  the  back.  "Wisdom  isn't  going  to  die  with  you.  Come 
and  get  a  new  viewpoint." 

"I  am  quite  well  satisfied  with  my  present  one,  Doctor," 
replied  the  minister  tartly. 

"Well,  then,  come  and  correct  us  when  we  err.  It's  your 
duty  to  save  us  if  we're  in  danger,  you  know." 

"He  will  come,"  said  Hitt.  "And  now,  Carmen,  the  piano 
awaits  you.  By  the  way,  what  did  Maitre  Rossanni  tell  you?" 

"Oh,"  replied  the  girl  lightly,  "he  begged  me  to  let  him 
train  me  for  Grand  Opera." 

"Yes?" 

"He  said  I  would  make  a  huge  fortune,"  she  laughed. 

"And  so  you  would!    Well?" 

84 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"I  told  him  I  carried  my  wealth  with  me,  always,  and  that 
my  fortune  was  now  so  immense  that  I  couldn't  possibly  hope 
to  add  to  it." 

"Then  you  refused  the  chance!" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Hitt,"  she  said,  going  to  him  and  looking  up 
into  his  face,  "I  am  too  busy  for  Grand  Opera  and  money- 
making.  My  voice  belongs  to  the  world.  I  couldn't  be  happy 
if  I  made  people  pay  to  hear  me  sing." 

With  that  she  turned  and  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  where 
she  launched  into  a  song  that  made  the  very  Reverend  Patter 
son  Moore  raise  his  glasses  and  stare  at  her  long  and  curiously. 


CHAPTER  7 

MAN  reasons  and  seeks  human  counsel;  but  woman  obeys 
her  instincts.  Carmen  did  this  and  more.  Her  life  had 
been  one  of  utter  freedom  from  dependence  upon  human 
judgment.  The  burden  of  decision  as  to  the  wisdom  of  a 
course  of  action  rested  always  upon  her  own  thought.  Never 
did  she  seek  to  make  a  fellow-being  her  conscience.  When 
the  day  of  judgment  came,  the  hour  of  trial  or  vital  demand, 
it  found  her  standing  boldly,  because  her  love  was  made  per 
fect,  not  through  instinct  alone,  but  through  conformity  with 
the  certain  knowledge  that  he  who  lacks  wisdom  may  find  it 
in  the  right  thought  of  God  and  man.  And  so,  when  on  the 
next  day  she  joined  Hitt  and  Haynerd  in  the  office  of  the  Social 
Era,  and  learned  that  Carlson  had  met  their  terms,  eagerly, 
and  had  transferred  to  them  the  moribund  Express,  she  had  no 
qualms  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the  step  which  they  were  taking. 

But  not  so  her  companions.  Haynerd  was  a  composite 
picture  of  doubt  and  fear,  as  he  sat  humped  up  in  his  chair. 
Hitt  was  serious  to  the  point  of  gloom,  reflecting  in  a  measure 
his  companion's  dismal  forebodings. 

"I  was  scared  to  death  for  fear  he  wouldn't  sell,"  Haynerd 
was  saying  as  the  girl  entered;  "and  I  was  paralyzed  when 
ever  I  thought  that  he  would." 

Carmen  laughed  aloud  when  she  heard  these  words.  "Do 
you  know,"  she  said,  "you  remind  me  of  Lot's  wife.  She  was 
told  to  go  ahead,  along  the  right  course.  But  she  looked  back 
—alas  for  her!  Now  you  two  being  started  right  are  looking 
back;  and  you  are  about  to  turn  to  salt  tears! 

"Now  listen,"  she  continued,  as  Haynerd  began  to  remon 
strate;  "don't  voice  a  single  fear  to  me!  You  couldn't  make 
me  believe  them  true  even  if  you  argued  for  weeks — and  we 

85 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


have  no  time  for  such  foolishness  now.  The  first  thing  that 
you  have  got  to  do,  Ned,  is  to  start  a  little  cemetery.  In  it 
you  must  bury  your  fears,  right  away,  and  without  any  mourn 
ing.  Put  up  little  headstones,  if  you  wish;  but  don't  ever  go 
near  the  place  afterward,  excepting  to  plant  the  insults,  and 
gibes,  and  denouncements,  and  vilifications  which  the  human 
mind  will  hurl  at  you,  once  the  Express  starts  out  on  its  new 
career.  Good  is  bound  to  stir  up  evil;  and  the  Express  is  now 
in  the  business  of  good.  Remember,  the  first  thing  the  Apostles 
always  did  was  to  be  afraid.  And  they  kept  Jesus  busy  point 
ing  out  the  nothingness  of  their  fears." 

"Business  of  good!"  retorted  Haynerd  savagely.  "I  guess 
we'll  find  ourselves  a  bit  lonely  in  it,  too!" 

"True,  humanly  speaking,"  replied  the  girl,  taking  a  chair 
beside  him.  "But,  Ned,  let  me  tell  you  of  the  most  startling 
thing  I  have  found  in  this  great,  new  country.  It  is  this:  you 
Americans  have,  oh,  so  much  animal  courage — and  so  little 
true  moral  courage!  You  know  that  the  press  is  one  of  the 
most  corrupt  institutions  in  America,  don't  you?  The  truth 
is  not  in  it.  Going  into  thousands  of  homes  every  day,  it  is  a 
deadlier  menace  than  yellow  fever.  You  know  that  it  is  muz 
zled  by  so-called  religious  bodies,  by  liquor  interests,  by  vice- 
politicians,  by  commercialism,  and  its  own  craven  cowardice. 
And  yet,  Ned,  despite  your  heart-longing,  you  dare  not  face  the 
world  and  stand  boldly  for  righteousness  in  the  conduct  of  the 
Express ! 

"Now,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  "let  me  tell  you  more.  While 
you  have  been  debating  with  your  fears  as  you  awaited  Mr. 
Carlson's  decision,  I  have  been  busy.  If  I  had  allowed  my 
mentality  to  become  filled  with  fear  and  worry,  as  you  have 
done,  I  would  have  had  no  room  for  real,  constructive  thought. 
But  I  first  thanked  God  for  this  grand  opportunity  to  witness 
to  Him;  and  then  I  put  out  every  mental  suggestion  of  failure, 
of  malicious  enmity  from  the  world,  and  from  those  who  think 
they  do  not  love  us,  and  with  it  every  subtle  argument  about 
the  unpreparedness  of  the  human  mind  for  good.  After  that 
I  set  out  to  visit  various  newspaper  offices  in  the  city.  I  have 
talked  with  four  managing  and  city  editors  since  yesterday 
noon.  I  have  their  viewpoints  now,  and  know  what  motives 
animate  them.  I  know  what  they  think.  I  know,  in  part, 
what  the  Express  will  have  to  meet — and  how  to  meet  it." 

Both  men  stared  at  her  in  blank  amazement.  Haynerd's 
jaw  dropped  as  he  gazed.  He  had  had  a  long  apprenticeship 
in  the  newspaper  field,  but  never  would  he  have  dared  attempt 
what  this  fearless  girl  had  just  done. 

"I  have  found  out  what  news  is,"  Carmen  resumed.     "It  is 

86 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


wholly  a  human  invention!  It  is  the  published  vagaries  of  the 
carnal  mind.  In  the  yellow  journal  it  is  the  red-inked,  scream 
ing  report  of  the  tragedies  of  sin.  I  asked  Mr.  Fallom  if  he 
knew  anything  about  mental  laws,  and  the  terrible  results  of 
mental  suggestion  in  his  paper's  almost  hourly  heralding  of 
murder,  theft,  and  lust.  But  he  only  laughed  and  said  that  the 
lurid  reports  of  crime  tended  to  keep  people  alive  to  what  was 
going  on  about  them.  He  couldn't  see  that  he  was  making  a 
terrible  reality  of  every  sort  of  evil,  and  holding  it  so  constantly 
before  an  ignorant,  credulous  world's  eyes  that  little  else  could 
be  seen.  The  moral  significance  of  his  so-called  news  reports 
had  no  meaning  whatsoever  for  him!" 

"Did  you  go  to  see  Adams?"  asked  Haynerd,  not  believing 
that  she  would  have  dared  visit  that  journalistic  demon. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  to  his  utter  astonishment.  "Mr. 
Adams  said  he  had  no  time  for  maudlin  sentimentalism  or 
petticoat  sophistry.  He  was  in  the  business  of  collecting  and 
disseminating  news,  and  he  wanted  that  news  to  go  shrieking 
out  of  his  office!  Here  is  one  of  his  afternoon  extras.  You 
can  see  how  the  report  of  an  Italian  wife-murder  shrieks  in 
red  letters  an  inch  high  on  the  very  first  page.  But  has  Mr. 
Adams  thereby  seen  and  met  his  opportunity?  Or  has  he 
further  prostituted  journalism  by  this  ignorant  act?" 

"The  people  want  it,  Carmen,"  said  Hitt  slowly,  though  his 
voice  seemed  not  to  sound  a  real  conviction. 

"They  do  not!"  cried  Carmen,  her  eyes  snapping.  "If  the 
church  and  the  press  were  not  mortally  and  morally  blind,  they 
would  see  the  deadly  destruction  which  they  are  accomplishing 
by  shrieking  from  pulpit  and  sanctum:  'Evil  is  real!  Pietro 
Lasanni  cuts  his  wife's  throat!  Evil  is  real!  Look,  and  be 
convinced!'  " 

"But,  Carmen,  while  what  you  say  is  doubtless  true,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  the  average  man,  especially  the  day  laborer, 
reads  his  yellow  journal  avidly,  and — " 

"Yes,  he  does,"  returned  the  girl.  "And  why?  The  average 
man,  as  you  call  him,  is  a  victim  of  the  most  pernicious  social 
system  ever  devised  by  the  human  mind!  Swept  along  in  the 
mad  rush  of  commercialism,  or  ground  down  beneath  its  ruth 
less  wheels,  his  jaded,  jarred  nerves  and  his  tired  mind  cry 
out  for  artificial  stimulation,  for  something  that  will  for  a 
moment  divert  his  wearied  thought  from  his  hopeless  situa 
tion.  The  Church  offers  him  little  that  is  tangible  this  side  of 
the  grave.  But  whiskey,  drugs,  and  yellow  journalism  do. 
Can't  you  see,  Mr.  Hitt — can't  you,  Ned— that  the  world's  cry 
for  sensationalism  is  but  a  cry  for  something  that  will  make  it 
forget  its  misery  for  a  brief  moment?  The  average  man  feels 

87 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


the  superficiality  of  the  high  speed  of  this  century  of  mad 
rush;  he  longs  as  never  before  for  a  foundation  of  truth  upon 
which  to  rest;  he  is  tired  of  theological  fairy-tales;  he  is  desper 
ately  tired  of  sin,  and  sickness,  and  dying.  He  cares  little 
about  a  promised  life  beyond  the  grave.  He  wants  help  here 
and  now  to  solve  his  problems.  What  does  the  press  offer  him? 
Little  beyond  a  recount  of  his  own  daily  miseries,  and  reports 
of  graft  and  greed,  and  accounts  of  vulgar  displays  of  material 
wealth  that  he  has  not  and  can  not  have.  And  these  reports 
divert  his  jaded  mind  for  a  moment  and  give  him  a  false,  fleet 
ing  sense  of  pleasure — and  then  leave  him  sunk  deeper  than 
before  in  despair,  and  in  hatred  of  existing  conditions!" 

"The  girl  is  right,"  said  Hitt,  turning  to  Haynerd.  "And 
we  knew  it,  of  course.  But  we  have  let  our  confidence  slip. 
This  steam-calliope  age  reflects  the  human-mind  struggle  for 
something  other  than  its  own  unsatisfying  ideas.  It  turns  to 
thrills;  it  expresses  its  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction  with 
itself  by  futurist  and  cubist  art,  so-called;  by  the  rattle  and 
vibration  of  machinery;  by  flaring  billboards  that  insult  every 
sense  of  the  artistic;  and  by  the  murk  and  muck  of  yellow 
journalism,  with  its  hideous  colored  supplements  and  spine- 
thrilling  tales.  So  much  for  the  reader.  But  the  publisher 
himself — well,  he  battens  materially,  of  course,  upon  the  tired 
victims  of  our  degrading  social  system.  He  sees  but  the  sordid 
revenue  in  dollars  and  cents.  Beyond  that  his  morals  do  not 
extend." 

"And  they  can't,"  said  Haynerd.  "Decent  journalism 
wouldn't  pay — doesn't — never  did !  Other  papers  have  tried  it, 
and  miserably  failed!" 

"Then,"  returned  Hitt  calmly,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
"oil  will  meet  the  deficit.  As  long  as  my  paternal  wells  flow 
in  Ohio  the  Express  will  issue  forth  as  a  clean  paper,  a  digni 
fied,  law-supporting  purveyor  to  a  taste  for  better  things — even 
if  it  has  to  create  that  taste.  Its  columns  will  be  closed  to 
salacious  sensation,  and  its  advertising  pages  will  be  barred 
to  vice,  liquor,  tobacco,  and  drugs." 

"Good!"  cried  Carmen.  "And  now  we've  got  to  get  right 
down  to  business." 

"Just  so,"  said  Hitt,  rising.  "It  is  my  intention  to  issue  the 
Express  one  more  week  on  its  present  basis,  and  then  turn  it 
into  a  penny  morning  daily.  I  have  seen  and  talked  with  its 
staff.  They're  good  men.  I'm  going  to  assume  the  manage 
ment  myself,  with  you,  Carmen,  as  my  first  assistant.  Hay 
nerd  will  become  city  editor.  Now,  what  suggestions  have 
you?" 

"Oh,  lots!"  cried  the  girl  enthusiastically.  "But,  first,  how 
far  may  I  go?" 

88 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"The  limit,"  replied  Hitt,  rubbing  his  hands  together.  "You 
are  my  brain,  so  to  speak,  henceforth.  As  to  financial  re 
sources,  I  am  prepared  to  dump  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
right  into  the  Express  before  a  cent  of  revenue  comes  back." 

"Another  question,  then:  will  you  issue  a  Sunday  edition?" 
she  asked. 

"For  a  while,  yes,"  he  said.  "We'll  see  how  it  works,  for 
I  have  some  ideas  to  try  out." 

"Well,  then,"  resumed  the  girl  eagerly,  "I  want  this  paper 
to  be  for  all  the  people;  to  be  independent  in  the  truest  sense 
of  the  term;  and  to  be  absolutely  beyond  the  influence  of  po 
litical  and  religious  sectarianism — you'll  soon  enough  learn 
what  that  will  cost  you — to  be  an  active,  constructive  force  in 
this  great  city,  and  a  patient,  tireless,  loving  educator." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Haynerd,  although  he  was  listening 
very  carefully. 

"The  Express  will  succeed,"  the  girl  went  on,  without  notic 
ing  him,  "because  our  thought  regarding  it  is  successful.  We 
have  already  succeeded;  and  that  success  will  be  externalized 
in  our  work.  It  makes  no  difference  what  the  people  may  think 
of  us;  but  it  makes  a  lot  of  difference  what  we  think  of  them 
and  ourselves.  Now,  our  program  is  unlimited.  We  assume 
superiority  over  adverse  conditions,  and  we  claim  success,  be 
cause  we  know  that  these  things  are  mental,  and  that  they  are 
divinely  ours.  Lot's  wife  didn't  have  the  sort  of  confidence 
that  wins — she  looked  back.  Our  bridges  are  burnt  behind  us 
now.  But  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  outcome.  And  so  there  is 
no  doubt  lurking  in  us  to  take  the  edge  off  our  efforts,  is  there? 
The  thought  regarding  the  Express  has  not  been  timidly  born 
within  us;  it  has  come  forth  flashing  vigor!  Yes  it  has,  Ned, 
despite  your  doubts!  And  we  have  within  us  a  power  mightier 
than  any  force  outside  of  us.  That  is  the  knowledge  of  infinite 
mind's  omnipotence,  and  our  ability  to  use  the  Christ-principle 
to  meet  every  problem.  Is  it  not  so?" 

Haynerd  began  to  rouse  up  with  a  returning  sense  of  con 
fidence.  Hitt  smiled  and  nodded  to  Carmen.  The  girl  went  on 
rapidly  and  eagerly: 

"We  are  going  to  give  the  people  news  from  a  new  stand 
point,  aren't  we?  We  are  not  going  on  the  assumption  that 
the  report  of  mankind's  errors  is  the  report  of  real  news.  The 
only  thing  that  is  really  new  is  good.  We'll  report  that.  When 
I  was  in  Mr.  Adams's  office  two  items  came  in  over  the  'phone. 
One  was  the  report  of  a  jewel  robbery,  and  the  other  was  an 
announcement  of  the  draining  by  the  Government  of  sub 
merged  lands  in  Louisiana,  so  as  to  give  an  additional  opportu 
nity  to  those  seeking  farms.  Which  item  did  Mr.  Adams  put 

89 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


in  bold  type  on  the  front  page?  The  first,  yes.  I  was  unable  to 
locate  the  latter  anywhere  in  the  paper,  although  it  was  a 
timely  bit  of  news." 

"Very  true,"  replied  Hitt. 

"Now  another  thing,"  continued  the  girl,  "I  want  the  Sun 
day  edition  of  the  Express  to  contain  a  resume  of  the  important 
and  vital  news  of  the  week,  with  the  very  clearest,  most  im 
partial  and  enlightening  editorial  comment  upon  it.  This  calls 
for  nice  discrimination  in  the  selection  of  those  items  for  our 
comment.  It  means,  however,  the  best  practical  education  for 
the  people.  This  was  John  Ruskin's  idea,  and  certainly  is  a 
splendid  one.  Still  another  thing,  the  Express  will  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  women  for  equal  suffrage.  Are 
you  agreed?" 

"Most  emphatically!"  declared  Hitt.  "It  is  the  women  who 
will  clean  up  and  regenerate  this  world,  not  the  men.  Reform 
is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  women.  They  have  been  held  back 
long  enough.  And  India  proves  that  backward  women  mean 
a  backward  nation." 

"Then,"  continued  Carmen,  "make  a  distinct  Women's 
Department  in  the  Express,  and  put  Miss  Wall  on  the  staff." 

"Very  well.     Next?"  inquired  Hitt,  smiling. 

"A  daily  educational  department  for  foreigners,  our  immi 
grants,  giving  them  every  possible  aid  in  suggestions  regarding 
their  naturalization,  the  languages,  hotels,  boarding  houses, 
employment,  and  so  on." 

"Done,"  said  Hitt.     "And  what  else?" 

"The  Express  is  going  to  maintain  a  social  service,  and 
night  schools.  It  is  going  to  establish  vacation  and  permanent 
homes  for  girls.  It  is  going  to  provide  for  vocational  training. 
It  is  going  to  establish  a  lecture  bureau — for  lectures  on  good. 
It  is  going  to  build  a  model  city  for  workingmen.  Then  it  is 
going  to  found  a  model  city  for  everybody.  It  is  going  to  estab 
lish  clubs  and  meeting  places  for  workingmen,  places  where 
they  may  meet,  and  play  games,  and  read,  and  have  social  in 
tercourse,  and  practical  instruction.  It  is  going  to  establish 
the  same  for  young  boys.  It  is  going  to  take  the  lead  for  civic 
betterment  in  this  city,  and  for  child-welfare,  and  for — 

By  this  time  Haynerd  was  sitting  erect  and  staring  in  be 
wilderment  at  the  girl.  "What  do  you  mean?"  he  sputtered. 
"Aren't  you  wandering,  somewhat  beyond  strict  newspaper 
limits?  We  are  in  the  news  business!" 

"And  haven't  I  told  you,"  returned  the  girl  promptly,  "that 
the  only  thing  new  in  this  w^orld  is  good?  Our  news  is  going 
to  be  good  news — the  collection  and  dissemination  of  good  to 
all  mankind.  People  who  read  our  paper  will  no  longer  feel 

90 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


that  it  is  dangerous  to  be  alive,  but  a  glorious  privilege.  I  am 
simply  laying  out  our  program.  And  Mr.  Hitt  said  I  could  go 
the  limit,  you  know." 

Hitt  had  caught  the  girl's  infectious  enthusiasm,  and  his 
face  was  beaming. 

"That's  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  your  unlimited  thought, 
Carmen,  that  we  old  dry-bones  want!  I  understand  you!" 

"Of  course  you  do!"  she  cried.  "And  so  does  dear  old 
protesting  Ned.  Why,  what  is  money?  What  is  anything  in 
this  life,  compared  with  real  service  to  our  fellow-men?  The 
Express  is  not  in  business  to  make  money!  It  is  in  the  busi 
ness  of  collecting  and  scattering  the  newrs  of  good.  Its  divi 
dends  will  be  the  happiness  and  joy  it  gives  to  mankind.  Will 
it  fail?  It  simply  can't!  For  good  is  the  greatest  success 
there  is!" 

It  is  likely  that  Hitt  did  not  catch  the  full  meaning  of  the 
girl's  words;  and  it  is  certain  that  Haynerd  did  not.  But  her 
boundless  enthusiasm  did  penetrate  in  large  degree  into  their 
souls,  and  they  ceased  to  insist  on  the  query,  Will  it  pay?  The 
broader  outlook  was  already  beginning  to  return  profits  to 
these  men,  as  the  newer  definition  of  'news'  occupied  their 
thought.  Fear  and  doubt  fled.  Seizing  their  hats,  they  bade 
Carmen  go  with  them  to  inspect  the  plant  of  the  Express,  and 
meet  its  staff. 

"There's  a  question  I'd  like  to  ask,"  said  Haynerd,  as  they 
pursued  their  way  toward  their  recent  purchase.  "I  want  to 
know  what  our  editorial  policy  will  be.  Do  we  condone  the 
offenses  of  our  grafters  and  spoilsmen  by  remaining  silent  re 
garding  their  crimes?  Or  do  we  expose  them?" 

"We  will  let  their  guilt  expose  and  kill  itself,"  quickly  re 
turned  Carmen.  "How?  Well,  you  will  see." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  entered  the  gloomy,  dust-laden 
offices  of  the  Express.  Hitt's  spirits  sank  again  as  he  looked 
about  him.  But  Carmen  seemed  to  suffer  no  loss  of  enthu 
siasm.  After  a  mental  appraisal  of  the  dingy,  uninviting  en 
vironment  she  exclaimed:  "Well,  one  nice  thing  about  this 
is  that  we  don't  have  much  to  start  with!" 

Hitt  reflected  upon  her  cryptical  remark,  and  then  laughed. 

Carlson  joined  them  at  this  juncture.  It  was  evident  that 
the  sale  of  his  plant  had  removed  a  heavy  load  from  his 
shoulders. 

"My  best  reporter  was  out  yesterday  when  you  called,"  he 
said,  addressing  Hitt.  "He — well,  he  was  a  little  the  worse  for 
wear.  But  he's  in  now.  Come  into  my  office  and  I'll  send 
for  him." 

In  a  few  minutes   a  tall,  boyish   fellow  responded  to  the 

91 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


editor's  summons.  He  must  have  been  well  under  twenty, 
thought  Hitt,  marveling  that  so  young  a  man  should  be  re 
garded  as  Carlson's  best  news  gatherer.  But  his  wonder  grew 
apace  when  the  editor  introduced  him  as  Mr.  Sidney  Ames. 

"Huh!"  ejaculated  Haynerd.     "Know  J.  Wilton?" 

The  lad  smiled  pallidly,  as  he  bent  his  gaze  upon  Carmen, 
and  addressed  his  reply  to  her.  "My  governor,"  he  said  lacon 
ically. 

"The  deuce  he  is!"  returned  Haynerd,  beginning  to  bristle. 

Carlson  dismissed  the  reporter,  and  turned  to  the  curious 
group. 

"The  boy  has  the  making  of  a  fine  newspaper  man  in  him. 
Has  something  of  his  father's  terrible  energy.  But  he's  doomed. 
Whiskey  and  morphine  got  him.  He  used  to  come  down  here 
before  his  father  threw  him  out.  I  let  him  w7rite  little  articles 
for  the  Express  when  he  was  barely  sixteen  years  old;  and 
they  were  mighty  good,  too.  But  he  got  mixed  up  in  some 
scandal,  and  J.  Wilton  cut  him  off.  The  boy  always  did  drink, 
I  guess.  But  since  his  family  troubles  he's  been  on  the  straight 
road  to  the  insane  asylum.  It's  too  bad.  But  you'll  keep  him, 
I  suppose?" 

"Certainly  not!"  replied  Haynerd  aggressively.  "His  father 
is  no  friend  of  mine,  and — " 

"We  shall  keep  him,"  calmly  interrupted  Carmen.  "His 
father  is  a  very  good  friend  of  mine." 

Carlson  looked  from  one  to  the  other  quizzically.  "H'm!" 
he  mused.  "Well,"  squinting  over  his  glasses  at  the  girl,  "this 
surely  is  woman's  era,  isn't  it?" 

****** 

A  week  later  the  Express,  scarcely  recognizable  in  its  clean, 
fresh  type  and  modest  headlines,  with  its  crisp  news  and  well 
written  editorials,  very  unostentatiously  made  its  entry  into 
the  already  crowded  metropolitan  field.  Few  noticed  it.  Adams 
picked  it  up  and  laughed,  a  short,  contemptuous  laugh.  Fal- 
lom  glanced  over  it  and  wondered.  J.  Wilton  Ames,  who  had 
been  apprised  of  its  advent,  threw  it  into  the  waste  basket — 
and  then  drew  it  out  again.  He  re-read  the  editorial  announc 
ing  the  policy  of  the  paper.  From  that  he  began  a  careful 
survey  of  the  whole  sheet.  His  eye  caught  an  article  on  the 
feminist  movement,  signed  by  Carmen  Ariza.  His  lip  curled, 
but  he  read  the  article  through,  and  finished  with  the  mental 
comment  that  it  was  well  written.  Then  he  summoned  Wil- 
lett. 

"I  want  this  sheet  carefully  watched,"  he  commanded, 
tossing  the  paper  to  his  secretary.  "If  anything  is  noticed  that 
in  any  way  refers  to  me  or  my  interests,  call  my  attention  to  it 
immediately." 

92 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  secretary  bowed  and  departed.  A  moment  afterward 
Henry  Glaus,  nominal  head  of  the  great  Glaus  brewing  interests, 
was  ushered  in. 

"We  licked  'em,  Mr.  Ames,  we  licked  'em!"  cried  the  new 
comer,  rushing  forward  and  clasping  the  financier's  hand. 
"The  city  council  last  night  voted  against  the  neighborhood 
saloon  license  bill!  Lined  up  solidly  for  us!  Fine,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  commented  the  laconic  Ames.  "Our  aldermen  are  a 
very  intelligent  lot  of  statesmen,  Glaus.  They're  wise  enough 
to  see  that  their  jobs  depend  upon  whiskey.  It  requires  very 
astute  statesmanship,  Glaus,  to  see  that.  But  some  of  our 
congressmen  and  senators  have  learned  the  same  thing." 

The  brewer  pondered  this  delphic  utterance  and  scratched 
his  head. 

"Well,"  continued  Ames,  "have  you  your  report?" 

"Eh?    Yes,  sure,  Mr.  Ames.     Here." 

Ames  studied  the  document.  Then  he  looked  severely  at 
Glaus.  "Sales  less  than  last  month,"  he  remarked  dryly. 

"It's  the  local  option  law  what  done  it,  Mr.  Ames,"  replied 
the  brewer  apologetically.  "Them  women — " 

"Bah!  Let  a  few  petticoats  whip  you,  eh?  But,  anyway, 
you  don't  know  how  to  market  your  stuff.  Look  here,  Glaus, 
you've  got  to  encourage  the  young  people  more.  We've  got 
to  get  the  girls  and  boys.  If  we  get  the  girls,  we'll  get  the  boys 
easily  enough.  It's  the  same  in  the  liquor  business  as  in  cer 
tain  others,  Glaus,  you've  got  to  land  them  young." 

"But,  Mr.  Ames,  I  can't  take  'em  and  pour  it  down  their 
throats!"  expostulated  the  brewer. 

"You  could  if  you  knew  how,"  returned  Ames.  "Why,  man! 
if  I  had  nothing  else  to  do  I'd  just  like  to  devote  myself  to  the 
sales  end  of  the  brewing  business.  I'd  use  mental  suggestion 
in  such  a  way  through  advertising  that  this  country  would 
drown  in  beer!  Beer  is  just  plain  beer  to  you  dull-wits.  But 
suppose  we  convinced  people  that  it  was  a  food,  eh?  Adver 
tise  a  chemical  analysis  of  it,  showing  that  it  has  greater  nutri 
ment  than  beef.  Catch  the  clerks  and  poor  stenographers  that 
way.  Don't  call  it  beer;  call  it  Maltdiet,  or  something  like 
that.  Why,  we  couldn't  begin  to  supply  the  demand!" 

"How  would  you  advertise,  Mr.  Ames?" 

"Billboards  in  every  field  and  along  all  railroads  and  high 
ways;  boards  in  every  vacant  lot  in  every  town  and  city  in  the 
country;  electric  signs  everywhere;  handbills;  lectures — never 
thought  of  that,  did  you?  And  samples — why,  I'd  put  samples 
into  every  house  in  the  Union!  I'd  give  away  a  million  barrels 
of  beer — and  sell  a  hundred  million  as  a  result!  But  I'd  work 
particularly  with  the  young  people.  Work  on  them  with  litera- 

93 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ture  and  suggestion;  they're  more  receptive  than  adults.  The 
hypnotism  that  works  through  suggestive  advertising,  Glaus, 
is  simply  omnipotent!  How  about  your  newspaper  contracts?" 

"We  have  all  the  papers,  excepting  the  Express,  Mr.  Ames." 

"The  Express?"  Ames  laughed.  "Well,  that's  a  new  ven 
ture.  You  can  afford  to  pass  it  up.  It's  run  by  a  college  pro 
fessor  and  a  doll-faced  girl." 

"But,  Mr.  Ames,  our  advertising  manager  tells  me  that  the 
publishers  of  the  Express  called  a  meeting  of  the  managers  of 
all  the  other  city  papers,  to  discuss  cutting  out  liquor  adver 
tising,  and  that  since  then  the  rates  have  gone  up,  way  up! 
You  see,  the  example  set  by  the  Express  may — 

"Humph!"  grunted  Ames.  Then  he  began  to  reflect.  An 
example,  backed  by  absolute  fearlessness — and  he  knew  from 
experience  that  the  publishers  of  the  Express  were  without 
fear — well,  it  could  not  be  wholly  ignored,  even  if  the  new 
paper  had  no  circulation  worth  the  name. 

"Mr.  Ames,"  resumed  the  brewer,  "the  Express  is  in  every 
newsstand  in  the  city.  All  the  boys  are  selling  it.  It's  in  every 
hotel,  in  every  saloon,  in  every  store  and  business  house  here. 
It's  in  the  dives.  It  isn't  sold,  it's  given  away!  Where  do  they 
get  their  money" 

Ames  himself  wondered.     And  he  determined  to  find  out. 

"Leave  it  to  me,  Glaus,"  he  said  at  length,  dismissing  the 
brewer.  "I'll  send  for  you  in  a  day  or  so." 

****** 

It  was  well  after  midnight  when  the  little  group  assembled 
in  the  dining  room  of  the  Beaubien  cottage  to  resume  their 
interrupted  discussions.  Hitt  and  Haynerd  were  the  last  to 
arrive.  They  found  Doctor  Morton  eagerly  awaiting  them. 
With  him  had  come,  not  without  some  reluctance,  his  prickly 
disputant,  Reverend  Patterson  Moore,  and  another  friend  and 
colleague,  Doctor  Siler,  whose  interest  in  these  unique  gather 
ings  had  been  aroused  by  Morton. 

"I've  tried  to  give  him  a  resume  of  our  previous  deductions," 
the  latter  explained,  as  Hitt  prepared  to  open  the  discussion. 
"And  he  says  he  has  conscientious  scruples — if  you  know 
what  that  means." 

"He's  a  Philistine,  that's  all,  eh?"  offered  Haynerd. 

Doctor  Siler  nodded  genially.  "I  am  like  my  friend,  Rever 
end  Edward  Hull,  who  says — " 

"There!"  interrupted  Morton.  "Your  friend  has  a  life  job 
molding  the  plastic  minds  of  prospective  preachers,  and  he 
doesn't  want  to  lose  the  sinecure.  I  don't  blame  him.  Got  a 
wife  and  babies  depending  on  him.  He  still  preaches  hell-fire 
and  the  resurrection  of  the  flesh,  doesn't  he?  Well,  in  that  case 

94 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


we  can  dispense  with  his  views,  for  we've  sent  that  sort  of 
doctrine  to  the  ash  heap." 

Reverend  Moore  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  protest;  but  Hitt 
prevented  him  by  taking  the  floor  and  plunging  at  once  into 
his  subject.  "The  hour  is  very  late,"  he  said  in  apology,  "and 
we  have  much  ground  to  cover.  Who  knows  when  we  shall 
meet  again?" 

Carmen  stole  a  hand  beneath  the  table  and  grasped  the 
Beaubien's.  Then  all  waited  expectantly. 

"As  I  sat  in  my  office  this  morning,"  began  Hitt  medita 
tively,  "I  looked  often  and  long  through  the  window  and  out 
over  this  great,  roaring  city.  Everywhere  I  saw  tremendous 
activity,  frantic  hurry,  and  nerve-racking  strife.  In  the  dis 
tance  I  marked  the  smoke  curling  upward  from  huge  factories, 
packing  houses,  and  elevators.  The  incessant  seething,  the 
rush  and  bustle,  the  noise,  the  heat,  and  dust,  all  spelled  busi 
ness,  an  enormous  volume  of  human  business — and  yet,  not  one 
iota  of  it  contributed  even  a  mite  to  the  spiritual  nature  and 
needs  of  mankind! 

"I  pondered  this  long.  And  then  I  looked  down,  far  down, 
into  the  streets  below.  There  I  saw  the  same  diversified  ac 
tivity.  And  I  saw,  too,  men  and  women,  rich  and  comfortable, 
riding  along  happily  in  their  automobiles,  with  not  a  thought 
beyond  their  physical  well-being.  But,  I  asked  myself,  should 
they  not  ride  thus,  if  they  wish?  And  yet,  the  hour  will  soon 
come  when  sickness,  disaster,  and  death  will  knock  at  their 
doors  and  sternly  bid  them  come  out.  And  then?" 

"Just  what  I  have  sought  to  impress  upon  you  whenever 
you  advanced  your  philosophical  theories,  Doctor,"  said  Rever 
end  Moore,  turning  to  Morton.  The  doctor  glowered  back  at 
him  without  reply.  Hitt  smiled  and  went  on. 

"Now  what  should  the  man  in  the  automobile  do?  Is  there 
anything  he  can  do,  after  all?  Yes,  much,  I  think.  Jesus  told 
such  as  he  to  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  harmony — a  demonstra 
ble  understanding  of  truth.  The  automobile  riding  would  fol 
low  after  that,  and  with  safety.  Why,  oh,  why,  will  we  go  on 
wasting  our  precious  time  acquiring  additional  physical  sensa 
tions  in  motor  cars,  amusement  parks,  travel,  anywhere  and 
everywhere,  instead  of  laboring  first  to  acquire  that  real  knowl 
edge  which  alone  will  set  us  free  from  the  bitter  woes  of  human 
existence!" 

"Jesus  set  us  free,  sir,"  interposed  Reverend  Moore  sternly. 
"And  his  vicarious  atonement  opens  the  door  of  immortality  to 
all  who  believe  on  his  name." 

"But  that  freedom,  Mr.  Moore,  you  believe  will  be  acquired 
only  after  death.  I  dispute  that  belief  strenuously.  But  let  us 

95 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


return  to  that  later.  At  present  we  see  mankind  laboring  for 
that  which  even  they  themselves  admit  is  not  meat.  They 
waste  their  substance  for  what  is  not  bread.  And  why?  Be 
cause  of  their  false  beliefs  of  God  and  man,  externalized  in  a 
viciously  cruel  social  system;  because  of  their  dependence  upon 
the  false  supports  of  materia  medica,  orthodox  theology,  man- 
devised  creeds,  and  human  opinions.  Is  it  not  demonstrably 
so? 

"And  yet,  who  hath  believed  our  report?  Who  wants  to? 
Alas!  men  in  our  day  think  and  read  little  that  is  serious;  and 
they  reflect  hardly  at  all  upon  the  vital  things  of  life.  They 
want  to  be  let  alone  in  their  comfortable  materialistic  beliefs, 
even  though  those  beliefs  rend  them,  rive  them,  rack  and  twist 
them  with  vile,  loathsome  disease,  and  then  sink  them  into 
hideous,  worm-infested  graves!  The  human  mind  does  not 
want  its  undemonstrable  beliefs  challenged.  It  does  not  want 
the  light  of  unbiased  investigation  thrown  upon  the  views 
which  it  has  accepted  ready-made  from  doctor  and  theologian. 
Again,  why?  Because,  my  friends,  the  human  mind  is  inert, 
despite  its  seemingly  tremendous  material  activity.  And  its 
inertia  is  the  result  of  its  own  self-mesmerism,  its  own  servile 
submission  to  beliefs  which,  as  Balfour  has  shown,  have  grown 
up  under  every  kind  of  influence  except  that  of  genuine  evi 
dence.  Chief  of  these  are  the  prevalent  religious  beliefs,  which 
we  are  asked  to  receive  as  divinely  inspired." 

Doctor  Morton  glanced  at  Reverend  Moore  and  grinned.  But 
that  gentleman  sat  stolid,  with  arms  folded  and  a  scowl  upon 
his  sharp  features. 

"Religion,"  continued  Hitt,  "is  that  which  binds  us  to  the 
real.  Alas!  what  a  farce  mankind  have  made  of  it.  And  why? 
Because,  in  its  mad  desire  to  make  matter  real  and  to  extract 
all  pleasures  from  it,  the  human  mind  has  tried  to  eliminate  the 
soul." 

"We  have  been  having  a  bad  spell  of  materialism,  that's 
true,"  interposed  Doctor  Morton.  "But  we  are  progressing,  I 
hope." 

"Well,"  Hitt  replied,  "perhaps  so.  Yet  almost  in  our  own 
day  France  put  God  out  of  her  institutions;  set  up  and  crowned 
a  prostitute  as  the  goddess  of  reason;  and  trailed  the  Bible 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  tied  to  the  tail  of  an  ass!  What 
followed?  Spiritual  destitution.  And  in  this  country  we  have 
enthroned  so-called  physical  science,  and,  as  Comte  predicted, 
are  about  to  conduct  God  to  the  frontier  and  bow  Him  out  with 
thanks  for  His  provisional  services.  With  what  result?  As  our 
droll  philosopher,  Hubbard,  has  said,  'Once  man  was  a  spirit, 
now  he  is  matter.  Once  he  was  a  flame,  now  he  is  a  candle- 

96 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


stick.  Once  he  was  a  son  of  God,  now  he  is  a  chemical  formula. 
Once  he  was  an  angel,  now  he  is  plain  mud.' " 

"But,"  exclaimed  Reverend  Moore,  visibly  nettled,  "that  is 
because  of  his  falling  away  from  the  Church — " 

"My  friend,"  said  Hitt  calmly,  "he  fell  away  from  the  Church 
because  he  could  not  stagnate  longer  with  her  and  be  happy. 
Orthodox  theology  has  largely  become  mere  sentimentalism. 
The  average  man  has  a  horror  of  being  considered  a  namby- 
pamby,  religiously  weak,  wishy-washy,  so-called  Christian.  It 
makes  him  ashamed  of  himself  to  stand  up  in  a  congregation 
and  sing  'My  Jesus,  I  love  Thee,'  and  'In  mansions  of  glory  and 
endless  delight.'  What  does  he  know  about  Jesus?  And  he 
is  far  more  concerned  about  his  little  brick  bungalow  and  next 
month's  rent  than  he  is  about  celestial  mansions.  And  I  don't 
blame  him.  No;  he  leaves  religion  to  women,  whom  he  regards 
as  the  weaker  sex.  He  turns  to  the  ephemeral  wisdom  of 
human  science — and,  poor  fool !  remains  no  wiser  than  before. 
And  the  women?  Well,  how  often  nowadays  do  you  hear  the 
name  of  God  on  their  lips?  Is  He  discussed  in  society?  Is  He 
ever  the  topic  of  conversation  at  receptions  and  balls?  No; 
that  person  was  right  who  said  that  religion  'does  not  rise  to 
the  height  of  successful  gossip.'  It  stands  no  show  with  the 
latest  cabaret  dance,  the  slashed  skirt,  and  the  daringly  sala 
cious  drama  as  a  theme  of  discourse.  Oh,  yes,  we  still  maintain 
our  innumerable  churches.  And,  though  religion  is  the  most 
vital  thing  in  the  world  to  us,  we  hire  a  preacher  to  talk  to  us 
once  a  week  about  it !  Would  we  hire  men  to  talk  once  a  week 
to  us  about  business?  Hardly!  But  religion  is  far,  far  less 
important  to  human  thought  than  business — for  the  latter 
means  automobiles  and  increased  opportunities  for  physical 
sensation." 

"Well,  Mr.  Hitt,"  objected  Doctor  Siler,  "I  ^am  sure  this  is 
not  such  a  godless  era  as  you  would  make  out." 

"No,"  returned  Hitt.  "We  have  many  gods,  chief  of  whom 
is  matter.  The  world's  acknowledged  god  is  not  spirit,  despite 
the  inescapable  fact  that  the  motive-power  of  the  universe  is 
spiritual,  and  the  only  action  is  the  expression  of  thought. 

"But  now,"  he  continued,  "we  have  in  our  previous  discus 
sions  made  some  startling  deductions,  and  we  came  to  the  con 
clusion  that  there  is  a  First  Cause,  and  that  it  is  infinite  mind. 
But,  having  agreed  upon  that,  are  we  now  ready  to  admit  the 
logical  corollary,  namely,  that  there  can  be  but  one  real  mind? 
For  that  follows  from  the  premise  that  there  is  but  one  God 
who  is  infinite." 

"Then  we  do  not  have  individual   minds?     queried   Miss 

Wall. 

97 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"We  have  but  the  one  mind,  God,"  he  replied.  "There  are 
not  minds  many.  The  real  man  reflects  God.  Human  men 
reflect  the  communal  mortal  mind,  which  is  the  suppositional 
opposite  of  the  divine  mind  that  is  God.  I  repeat,  the  so-called 
human  mind  knows  not  God.  It  never  sees  even  His  manifes 
tations.  It  sees  only  its  own  interpretations  of  Him  and  His 
manifestations.  And  these  it  sees  as  mental  concepts.  For 
all  things  are  mental.  Could  anything  be  plainer?" 

"Well,  they  might  be,"  suggested  Doctor  Siler. 

Hitt  laughed.  "Well  then,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  not  admit 
that  all  things  are  mental — including  the  entire  universe — you 
certainly  are  forced  to  admit  that  your  comprehension  of  things 
is  mental." 

"Agreed,"  returned  the  doctor. 

"Then  you  will  likewise  have  to  admit  that  you  are  not  con 
cerned  with  things,  but  with  your  comprehension  of  things." 

"H'm,  well— yes." 

"And  so,  after  all,  you  deal  only  with  mental  things — and 
everything  is  mental  to  you." 

"But — whence  the  human  mind?  Did  God  create  it?"  con 
tinued  Doctor  Siler.  "Did  He,  Mr.  Moore?" 

"The  Bible  states  clearly  that  He  created  all  things,"  re 
turned  that  gentleman  a  little  stiffly. 

"My  friends,"  resumed  Hitt  very  earnestly,  "we  are  on  the 
eve  of  a  tremendous  enlightenment,  I  believe.  And  for  that 
we  owe  much  to  the  so-called  'theory  of  suppositional  opposites.' 
We  have  settled  to  our  satisfaction  that,  although  mankind  be 
lieve  themselves  to  be  dependent  upon  air,  food,  and  water  for 
existence,  nevertheless  they  are  really  dependent  upon  some 
thing  vastly  finer,  which  is  back  of  those  things.  That  'some 
thing'  we  call  God,  for  it  is  good.  Matthew  Arnold  said  that  the 
only  thing  that  can  be  verified  about  God  is  that  He  is  'the  eter 
nal  power  that  makes  for  righteousness.'  Very  well,  we  are 
almost  willing  to  accept  that  alone — for  that  carries  infinite 
implications.  It  makes  God  an  eternal,  spiritual  power,  omnipo 
tent  as  an  influence  for  good.  It  makes  Him  the  infinite  patron, 
so  to  speak,  of  right-thinking.  And  we  know  that  thought  is 
creative.  So  it  makes  Him  the  sole  creative  force. 

"But,"  he  continued,  "force,  or  power,  is  not  material.  God 
by  very  necessity  is  mind,  including  all  intelligence.  And  His 
operations  are  conducted  according  to  the  spiritual  law  of 
evolution.  Oh,  yes,  evolution  is  not  a  theory,  it  is  a  fact.  God, 
infinite  mind,  evolves,  uncovers,  reveals,  unfolds,  His  number 
less  eternal  ideas.  These  reflect  and  manifest  Him.  The 
greatest  of  these  is  the  one  that  includes  all  others  and  ex 
presses  and  reflects  Him  perfectly.  That  we  call  man.  That 

98 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


is  the  man  who  was  'made' — revealed,  manifested — in  His 
image  and  likeness.  There  is  no  other  image  and  likeness  of 
God.  Moreover,  God  has  always  existed,  and  always  will.  So 
His  ideas,  including  real  man,  have  had  no  beginning.  They 
were  not  created,  as  we  regard  creation,  but  have  been  unfolded. 

"All  well  and  good,  so  far.  But  now  we  come  to  the  peculiar 
part,  namely,  the  fact  that  reality  seems  always  to  have  its 
shadow  in  unreality.  Every  positive  seems  to  have  a  negative. 
The  magnet  has  its  opposite  poles,  one  positive,  the  other  nega 
tive.  Jesus  had  his  Nero.  Truth  has  its  opposing  falsities.  At 
the  lowest  ebb  of  the  world's  morals  appeared  the  Christ.  The 
Christian  religion  springs  from  the  soil  of  a  Roman  Emperor's 
blood-soaked  gardens.  And  so  it  goes.  Harmony  opposed  by 
discord.  Errors  hampering  the  solving  of  mathematical  prob 
lems.  Spirit  opposed  by  matter.  Which  is  real?  That  which 
stands  the  test  of  demonstration  as  to  permanence,  I  say  with 
Spencer. 

"And  now  we  learn  that  it  is  the  communal  mortal  mind 
that  stands  as  the  opposite  and  negative  of  the  infinite  mind 
that  is  God,  and  that  it  is  but  a  supposition,  without  basis  of 
real  principle  or  fact.  It  has  its  law  of  evolution,  too,  and 
evolves  its  types  in  human  beings  and  animals,  in  mountain, 
tree,  and  stream.  All  material  nature,  in  fact,  is  but  the  mani 
festation,  or  reflection,  of  this  communal  mortal  mind. 

"But,  though  God  had  no  beginning,  and  will  have  no  end 
ing,  this  communal  mortal  mind,  on  the  contrary,  did  have  a 
seeming  beginning,  and  will  end  its  psuedo-existence.  It  seem 
ingly  began  as  a  mental  mist.  It  seemingly  evolved  form  and 
became  active.  It  seemingly  evolved  its  universe,  and  its  earth 
as  its  lower  stratum.  It  made  its  firmament,  and  it  gradually 
filled  its  seas  with  moving  things  that  manifested  its  idea  of  life. 
Slowly,  throughout  inconceivable  eons  of  time,  it  unrolled  and 
evolved,  until  at  last,  through  untold  generations  of  stupid, 
sluggish,  often  revolting  animal  forms,  it  began  to  evolve  a 
type  of  mind,  a  crude  representation  of  the  mind  that  is  God, 
and  manifesting  its  own  concept  of  intelligence.  That  type 
was  primitive  man. 

"Now  what  was  this  communal  mortal  mind  doing?  Coun 
terfeiting  divine  mind,  if  I  may  so  express  it.  Evolving  crude 
imitative  types.  But  types  that  were  without  basis  of  principle, 
and  so  they  passed  away — the  higher  forms  died,  the  lower 
disintegrated.  Aye,  death  came  into  the  world  because  of  sin, 
for  the  definition  of  sin  is  the  Aramaic  word  which  Jesus  used, 
translated  'hamartio,'  which  means  'missing  the  mark.'  The 
mortal  mind  missed  the  mark.  And  so  its  types  died.  And  so 
they  still  die  to-day.  Yes,  sin  came  through  Adam,  for  Adam 
is  the  name  of  the  communal  mortal  mind. 

99 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Well,  ages  and  ages  passed,  reckoned  in  the  human  mind 
concept  of  time.  The  evolution  was  continually  toward  a 
higher  and  ever  higher  type.  Why?  The  influence  of  divine 
mind  was  penetrating  it.  Paleolithic  man  still  died,  because 
he  did  not  have  enough  real  knowledge  in  his  mortal  mind  to 
keep  him  from  missing  the  mark.  He  probably  had  no  belief 
in  a  future  life,  for  he  did  not  bury  his  dead  after  the  manner 
of  those  who  later  manifested  this  belief.  But,  after  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  Neolithic  man  was  found  manifesting  such  a  be 
lief.  What  has  happened?  This:  the  mortal  mind  was  trans 
lating  the  divine  idea  of  immortality  into  its  own  terms  and 
thus  expressing  it. 

"Ages  rolled  on.  The  curtain  began  to  rise  upon  what  we 
call  human  history.  The  idea  of  a  power  not  itself  began  to 
filter  through  the  mist  of  mortal  mind,  and  human  beings  felt 
its  influence,  the  influence  that  makes  for  righteousness.  And 
then,  at  last,  through  the  mortal  mind  there  began  to  filter  the 
idea  of  the  one  God.  The  people  who  best  reflected  this  idea 
were  the  ancient  Israelites.  They  called  themselves  the  'cho 
sen'  people.  Their  so-called  minds  were,  as  Carmen  has  ex 
pressed  it,  like  window-panes  that  were  a  little  cleaner  than 
the  others.  They  let  a  bit  more  of  the  light  through.  God  is 
light,  you  know,  according  to  the  Scriptures.  And  little  by 
little  they  began  to  record  their  thoughts  regarding  their  con 
cept  of  the  one  God.  These  writings  became  sacred  to  them. 
And  soon  they  were  seeing  their  God  manifested  everywhere, 
and  hearing  His  voice  in  every  sound  of  Nature.  And  as  they 
saw,  they  wrote.  And  thus  began  that  strange  and  mighty 
book,  the  Bible,  the  record  of  the  evolution  of  the  concept  of 
God  in  the  human  mind." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  Bible  was  not  given  by  inspira 
tion?"  demanded  Reverend  Moore. 

"No,"  replied  Hitt.  "This  filtering  process  that  I  have  been 
speaking  about  is  inspiration.  Every  bit  of  truth  that  comes  to 
you  or  me  to-day  comes  by  inspiration — the  breathing  in — of 
the  infinite  mind  that  is  truth. 

"And  so,"  he  went  on,  "we  have  those  reflections  of  the 
communal  mortal  mind  which  we  call  the  Israelites  recording 
their  thoughts  and  ideas.  Sometimes  they  recorded  plain  fact; 
sometimes  they  wrapped  their  moral  teachings  in  allegories  and 
fables.  Josephus  says  of  Moses  that  he  wrote  some  things 
enigmatically,  some  allegorically,  and  the  rest  in  plain  words, 
since  in  his  account  of  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  and  the 
first  three  verses  of  the  second  he  gives  no  hint  of  any  mystery 
at  all.  But  \vhen  he  comes  to  the  fourth  verse  of  the  second 
chapter  he  says  Moses,  after  the  seventh  day  was  over,  began 

100 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


to  talk  philosophically,  and  so  he  understood  the  rest  of  the 
second  and  third  chapters  in  some  enigmatical  and  allegorical 
sense.  Quite  so,  it  appears  to  me,  for  the  writer,  whoever  he 
was,  was  then  attempting  the  impossible  task  of  explaining  the 
enigma  of  evil,  the  origin  of  which  is  associated  always  with 
the  dust-man." 

"You  deny  the  truth  of  the  account  of  the  creation  as  given 
in  the  seqond  chapter  of  Genesis,  do  you?"  asked  Reverend 
Moore.  "You  deny  that  man  was  tempted  and  fell?" 

"Well,"  said  Hitt,  smiling,  "of  course  there  is  no  special 
reason  for  denying  that  serpents  may  have  talked,  millions  and 
millions  of  years  ago.  In  fact,  they  still  have  rudimentary 
organs  of  speech — as  do  most  animals.  Perhaps  they  all  talked 
at  one  time.  Snakes  developed  in  the  Silurian  Era,  some  twenty 
million  years  ago.  In  the  vast  intervening  stretch  of  time 
they  may  have  lost  their  power  to  talk.  But,  as  for  the  second 
chapter  of  Genesis,  Moses  may  or  may  not  have  written  it.  In 
deed,  he  may  not  have  written  the  first.  We  do  not  know.  The 
book  of  Genesis  shows  plainly  that  it  is  a  composite  of  several 
books  by  various  authors.  I  incline  to  the  belief  that  some 
more  materialistic  hand  and  mind  than  Moses's  composed  that 
second  chapter.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  a  splendid  example 
of  the  human  mind's  crude  attempt  to  interpret  the  spiritual 
creation  in  its  own  material  terms.  It  in  a  way  represents  the 
dawning  upon  the  human  mind  of  the  idea  of  the  spiritual 
creation.  For  when  finite  sense  approaches  the  infinite  it  must 
inevitably  run  into  difficulties  with  which  it  can  not  cope;  it 
must  meet  problems  which  it  can  not  solve,  owing  to  its  lack 
of  a  knowledge  of  the  infinite  principle  involved.  That's  why 
the  world  rejected  the  first  account  of  the  creation  and  ac 
cepted  the  second,  snake-story,  dust-man,  apple  tree,  and  all." 

"Hitt!"  exclaimed  Haynerd,  his  eyes  wide  agape.  "You're 
like  a  story-book!  Go  on!" 

"Wait!"  interrupted  Miss  Wall.  "We  know  that  man  ap 
peared  on  this  earth  in  comparatively  recent  times.  For  mil 
lions  and  millions  of  years  before  he  was  evolved  animals  and 
vegetables  had  been  dying.  Now  was  their  death  due  to  sin? 
If  so,  whose?" 

"Assuredly,"  returned  Hitt.  "Your  difficulty  arises  from 
the  fact  that  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  sin  with  human 
personality.  But  remember,  the  physical  universe  has  been 
evolved  from  the  communal  mortal  mind.  It  represents  'nega 
tive  truth.'  It  has  been  dying  from  the  very  beginning  of  its 
seeming  existence,  for  its  seeming  existence  alone  is  sin.  The 
vegetables,  the  animals,  and  now  the  men,  that  have  been 
evolved  from  it,  and  that  express  it  and  reflect  and  manifest 

101 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


it,  must  die,  necessarily,  because  the  so-called  mind  from  which 
they  evolve  is  not  based  upon  the  eternal,  immortal  principle, 
God.  And  so  it  and  they  miss  the  mark,  and  always  have  done 
so.  You  must  cease  to  say,  Whose  sin?  Remember  that  the 
sin  is  inherent  in  the  so-called  mind  that  is  expressed  by  things 
material.  The  absence  of  the  principle  which  is  God  is  sin,  ac 
cording  to  the  Aramaic  word,  translated  'hamartio,'  which 
Jesus  used.  The  most  lowly  cell  that  swam  in  the  primeval 
seas  manifested  the  communal  mortal  mind's  sin,  and  died  as  a 
consequence." 

"In  other  words,  it  manifested  a  supposition,  as  opposed  to 
truth?" 

"Its  existence  was  quite  suppositional,"  replied  Hitt.  "It 
did  not  manifest  life,  but  a  material  sense  of  existence.  The 
subjective  always  determines  the  objective.  And  so  the  com 
munal  mortal  mind,  so-called,  determined  these  first  lowly  ma 
terial  and  objective  forms  of  existence.  They  were  its  phe 
nomena,  and  they  manifested  it.  Different  types  now  manifest 
it,  after  long  ages.  But  all  are  equally  without  basis  of  prin 
ciple,  all  are  subject  to  the  mortal  law  that  everything  material 
contains  within  itself  the  elements  for  its  own  destruction,  and 
all  must  pass  away.  In  our  day  wre  are  dealing  with  the  highest 
type  of  mortal  mind  so  far  evolved,  the  human  man.  He,  too, 
knows  but  one  life,  human  life,  the  mortal-mind  sense  of  exist 
ence.  His  human  life  is  demonstrably  only  a  series  of  states  of 
material  consciousness,  states  of  thought-activity.  The  classi 
fication  and  placing  of  these  states  of  consciousness  give  him 
his  sense  of  time.  The  positing  of  his  mental  concepts  give 
him  his  sense  of  space.  His  consciousness  is  a  thought-activity, 
externalizing  human  opinions,  ideas,  and  beliefs,  not  based  on 
truth.  This  consciousness — or  supposititious  human  mind — is 
very  finite  in  nature,  and  so  is  essentially  self-centered.  It 
attributes  its  fleshly  existence  to  material  things.  It  believes 
that  its  life  depends  upon  its  fleshly  body;  and  so  it  thinks 
itself  in  constant  peril  of  losing  it.  It  goes  further,  and  believes 
that  there  are  multitudes  of  other  human  minds,  each  having 
its  own  human,  fleshly  existence,  or  life,  and  each  capable  of 
doing  it  and  one  another  mortal  injury.  It  believes  that  it  can 
be  deprived  by  its  neighboring  mortal  minds  of  all  that  it 
needs  for  its  sustenance,  and  that  it  can  improve  its  own  status 
at  their  expense,  and  vice  versa.  It  is  filled  with  fears — not 
knowing  that  God  is  infinite  good — and  its  fears  become  ex 
ternalized  as  disaster,  loss,  calamity,  disease,  and  death  at 
last.  Perhaps  its  chief  characteristic  is  mutability.  It  has  no 
basis  of  principle  to  rest  upon,  and  so  it  constantly  shifts  and 
changes  to  accord  with  its  own  shifting  thought.  There  is 

102 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nothing  certain  about  it.  It  is  here  to-day,  and  gone  to 
morrow." 

"Pretty  dismal  state  of  affairs!"  Hay  nerd  was  heard  to 
mutter. 

"Well,  Ned,"  said  Hitt,  "there  is  this  hope:  human  con 
sciousness  always  refers  its  states  to  something.  And  that 
'something'  is  real.  It  is  infinite  mind,  God,  and  its  infinite 
manifestation.  The  human  mind  still  translates  or  interprets 
God's  greatest  idea,  Man,  as  'a  suffering,  sinning,  troubled 
creature,'  forgetting  that  this  creature  is  only  a  mental  concept, 
and  that  the  human  mind  is  looking  only  at  its  own  thoughts, 
and  that  these  thoughts  are  counterfeits  of  God's  real  thoughts. 

"Moreover,  though  the  human  mind  is  finite,  and  can  not 
even  begin  to  grasp  the  infinite,  the  divine  mind  has  pene 
trated  the  mist  of  error.  There  is  a  spark  of  real  reflection  in 
every  mortal.  That  spark  can  be  made  to  grow  into  a  flame 
that  will  consume  all  error  and  leave  the  real  man  revealed,  a 
consciousness  that  knows  no  evil.  There  is  now  enough  of  a 
spark  of  intelligence  in  the  human,  so-called  mind  to  enable  it 
to  lay  hold  on  truth  and  grow  out  of  itself.  And  there  is  no 
excuse  for  not  doing  so,  as  Jesus  said.  If  he  had  not  come  we 
wouldn't  have  known  that  we  were  missing  the  mark  so  ter 
ribly." 

"Well,"  observed  Haynerd,  "after  that  classification  I  don't 
see  that  we  mortals  have  much  to  be  puffed  up  about!" 

"All  human  beings,  or  mortals,  Ned,"  said  Hitt,  "are  inter 
pretations  by  the  mortal  mind  of  infinite  mind's  idea  of  itself, 
Man.  These  interpretations  are  made  in  the  human  mind,  and 
they  remain  posited  there.  They  differ  from  one  another  only 
in  degree.  All  are  false,  and  doomed  to  decay.  How,  then, 
can  one  mortal  look  down  with  superciliousness  upon  another, 
when  all  are  in  the  same  identical  class?" 

Carmen's  thoughts  rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  meaning 
less  existence  of  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles,  who  had  anchored  her 
life  in  the  shifting  sands  of  the  flesh  and  its  ephemeral  joys. 

"Now,"  resumed  Hitt,  "we  will  come  back  to  the  question  of 
progress.  What  is  progress  but  the  growing  of  the  human 
mind  out  of  itself  under  the  influence  of  the  divine  stimulus  of 
demonstrable  truth?  And  that  is  made  possible  when  we 
grasp  the  stupendous  fact  that  the  human,  mortal  mind,  in 
cluding  its  man,  is  absolutely  unreal  and  non-existent!  The 
human  man  changes  rapidly  in  mind,  and,  consequently,  in  its 
lower  stratum,  or  expression,  the  body.  For  that  reason  he  need 
not  carry  over  into  to-day  the  old,  false  beliefs  which  were 
manifested  by  him  yesterday.  If  he  leaves  them  in  the  past, 
they  cease  to  be  manifested  in  his  present  or  future.  Thus  he 

103 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


outgrows  himself.  Then,  opening  himself  to  truth,  he  lays  off 
the  'old  man'  and  puts  on  the  'new.'  He  denies  himself — denies 
that  there  is  any  truth  in  the  seeming  reality  of  the  mortal, 
material  self — as  Jesus  bade  us  do." 

"He  must  make  new  thoughts,  then?"  said  Miss  Wall. 

"No,"  replied  Hitt.  "Thought  is  not  manufactured.  God  is 
eternal  mind.  His  ideas  and  the  thoughts  regarding  them  must 
always  have  existed.  His  thoughts  are  infinite  in  number.  He, 
as  mind,  is  an  inexhaustible  reservoir  of  thought.  Now  the 
human,  mortal  mind  interprets  His  thoughts,  and  so  seems  to 
manufacture  new  thought.  It  makes  new  interpretations,  but 
not  new  thoughts.  When  you  hear  people  chatting,  do  you 
think  they  are  manufacturing  new  thought?  Not  a  bit  of  it! 
They  are  but  reflecting,  or  voicing,  the  communal  so-called 
mortal  mind's  interpretations  of  God's  innumerable  and  real 
thoughts." 

"And  so,"  suggested  Father  Waite,  "the  more  nearly  cor 
rect  our  interpretations  of  His  thoughts  are,  the  nearer  we 
approach  to  righteousness." 

"Just  so,"  returned  Hitt.  "There  exist  all  sorts  of  real 
thoughts  about  God's  ideas.  And  these  are  good  and  eternal. 
But  the  human  mind  makes  likewise  all  sorts  of  erroneous 
translations  of  them.  We  shall  solve  our  problem  of  existence 
when  we  correctly  interpret  His  thoughts,  and  use  them  only. 
When  the  human  mentality  becomes  attuned  or  accustomed  to 
certain  thoughts,  that  kind  flow  into  it  readily  from  the  com 
munal  mortal  mind.  Some  people  think  for  years  along  cer 
tain  erroneous  or  criminal  lines.  Their  minds  are  set  in  that 
direction,  and  invite  such  a  flow  of  thought.  But  were  they  to 
reverse  the  'set,'  there  would  be  a  very  different  and  better  re 
sulting  externalization  in  health,  prosperity,  and  morals." 

"I  think  I  see,"  said  Miss  Wall.  "And  I  begin  to  glimpse  the 
true  mission  of  Jesus,  and  why  he  was  ready  to  give  up  every 
thing  for  it." 

"Yes.  And  now  a  word  further  about  the  so-called  mortal 
mind.  For,  when  we  have  collected  and  arranged  all  our 
data  regarding  it,  we  will  find  ourselves  in  a  position  to  begin 
to  work  out  of  it,  and  thereby  truly  work  out  our  salvation,  even 
if  with  fear  and  trembling.  I  have  said  in  a  previous  talk  that, 
judging  by  the  deductions  of  the  physical  scientists,  everything 
seems  about  to  leave  the  material  basis  and  turn  into  vibrations, 
and  'man  changes  with  velocity'  of  these.  They  tell  us  that  all 
life  depends  upon  water;  that  life  began,  eons  ago,  in  the 
primeval  sea.  True,  the  human  sense  of  existence,  as  I  have 
said,  began  in  the  dark,  primeval  sea  of  mist,  the  deep  and 
fluid  mortal  mind,  so-called.  And  that  sense  of  existence  most 

104 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


certainly  is  dependent  upon  the  fluid  of  mortal  mind.  Bichat 
has  said  that  'life  is  the  sum  of  the  forces  that  resist  death.' 
Spencer  has  defined  life  as  the  'continuous  adjustment  of  in 
ternal  to  external  relations.'  Very  good,  as  applied  to  the 
human  sense  of  life.  The  human  mind  makes  multitudes  of 
mental  concepts,  and  then  struggles  incessantly  to  adjust 
itself  to  them,  and  at  length  gives  up  the  struggle,  hopelessly 
beaten.  Scientists  tell  us  that  life  is  due  to  a  continuous  series 
of  bodily  ferments.  The  body  is  in  a  constant  state  of  ferment, 
and  that  gives  rise  to  life.  Good!  We  know  that  the  human 
mind  is  in  a  state  of  incessant  ferment.  The  human  mind  is  a 
self-centered  mass  of  writhing,  seething,  fermenting  material 
thought.  And  that  fermentation  is  outwardly  manifested  in 
its  concept  of  body,  and  its  material  environment.  The  scien 
tists  themselves  are  rapidly  pushing  matter  back  into  the  realm 
of  the  human  mind.  Bodily  states  are  becoming  recognized  as 
manifestations  of  mental  states — not  vice  versa,  as  has  been 
ignorantly  believed  for  ages.  A  prominent  physician  told  me 
the  other  day  that  many  a  condition  of  nervous  prostration 
now  could  be  directly  traced  to  selfishness.  We  know  that 
hatred  and  anger  produce  fatal  poisons.  The  rattlesnake  is  a 
splendid  example  of  that.  I  am  told  that  its  poison  and  the 
white  of  an  egg  are  formed  of  exactly  the  same  amounts  of  the 
same  elements.  The  difference  in  effect  is  the  thought  lying 
back  of  each." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Doctor  Siler.  "You  don't  pretend  that 
the  snake  thinks  and  hates — 

"Doctor,"  said  Hitt,  "for  thousands  upon  thousands  of  years 
the  human  race  has  been  directing  hatred  and  fear  thoughts 
toward  the  snake.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  snake  is  now 
poisonous?  That  it  now  reflects  back  that  poisonous  thought 
to  mankind?" 

"But  some  are  not  poisonous,  you  know." 

"Can  we  say  how  long  they  have  not  been  so,  or  how  soon 
our  hatred  will  make  them  all  poisonous?  Do  you  know, 
moreover,  that  sorrow,  remorse,  all  emotions,  in  fact,  affect 
the  perspiration  that  exudes  from  the  human  body?  Do  you 
know  that  hatred  will  render  human  perspiration  the  deadliest 
poison  known  to  science?  I  am  told  that  in  a  few  minutes  of 
murderous  hatred  enough  of  this  poisonous  perspiration  is 
exuded  from  the  human  body  to  kill  a  man.  And  do  you  know 
that  the  thought  which  manifests  upon  the  body  in  such  deadly 
poison  is  just  as  deadly  when  sent  into  the  mentality  of  a 
human  being?  Think  what  the  Church's  deadly  hatred  of  so- 
called  heretics  has  done  in  the  last  nineteen  hundred  years! 
Why,  millions  have  been  killed  by  it  alone!  And  in  the  name 
of  Christ! 

105 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But  now,"  he  said,  consulting  his  watch,  "I  must  go.  Even 
a  newspaper  man  requires  a  little  sleep.  And  I  must  make  my 
apology  for  occupying  the  floor  to-night  to  the  exclusion  of  you 
all.  I  have  gradually  been  filling  up  with  these  thoughts  for 
some  weeks,  and  I  had  to  let  them  out.  Besides — " 

"Mr.  Hitt,"  interrupted  Father  Waite,  "I  shall  soon  be  ready 
to  report  on  those  questions  of  Bible  research  which  you  as 
signed  to  me." 

"Ah,  yes,"  replied  Hitt.  "Well,  have  you  found  that  Jesus 
really  was  an  historical  character,  or  not?" 

"I  think,"  said  Carmen,  "that  he  has  found  that  it  really 
matters  little  whether  there  ever  wras  such  a  person  as  the 
human  man  Jesus.  The  Christ  has  always  lived;  and  the 
Christ-principle  which  the  man  Jesus  is  reported  to  have  re 
vealed  to  the  world  is  with  us,  here,  now,  and  always.  It  is 
the  principle,  rather  than  the  man  Jesus,  that  concerns  us,  is 
it  not?" 

"Miss  Carmen,"  interposed  Reverend  Moore,  "Jesus  was  the 
incarnate  Son  of  God,  and  your  remarks  concerning  him  are — 

"Slow  up,  Pat!"  interrupted  Doctor  Morton.  "I'll  fight  that 
out  with  you  on  the  way  home.  Come,  the  meeting's  ad 
journed." 

"We  will  take  up  that  question  in  our  next  discussion,"  said 
Hitt.  "But,  wrait;  Carmen  must  give  us  just  a  short  song  before 
we  part." 

The  girl  went  immediately  to  the  piano.  As  she  passed 
Hitt,  she  squeezed  his  hand.  A  few  minutes  later  the  little 
group  dispersed,  with  the  melody  of  the  girl's  voice  trembling 
in  their  souls. 


CHAPTER  8 

FOR  several  days  Ames  reflected,  and  waited.     Judging  by 
the  data  which  he  was  able  to  secure,  the  Express  was 
eating  up  money  at  a  fearful  pace.     To  continue  at  that 
rate  meant  certain  financial  disaster  in  the  near  future.     And 
yet  the  publishers  of  the  rejuvenated  sheet  seemed  never  to 
count  the  cost  of  their  experiment.     Already  they  had  begun 
the  introduction  of  innovations  that  were  startling  and  even 
mirth-provoking  to  staid,  conservative  publishers  in  the  jour 
nalistic  field.     To  survive  the  long  period  necessary  for  the 
education  of  the  public  taste  to  such  things  as  the  Express 
stood  for  demanded  a  source  of  income  no  less  permanent  than 
La  Libertad  itself.    But  at  this  thought  Ames  chuckled  aloud. 
Then  an  idea  occurred  to  him.    The  Beaubien,  of  course,  in 

106 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


her  crippled  financial  condition  was  affording  the  Express  no 
monetary  assistance.  Carmen  had  nothing.  Haynerd's  few 
thousands  were  long  since  dissipated.  Hitt's  income  was  meas 
ured.  But — ah,  Miss  Wall!  And  her  estate  was  handled  by 
Ames  and  Company!  And  handled,  we  may  add,  in  such  a 
manner  that  Miss  Wall  knew  naught  regarding  it,  except  that 
she  might  draw  upon  it  as  one  dips  water  from  a  hillside 
spring. 

Thus  Ames  reflected.  And  as  he  meditated  upon  the  new 
paper  and  its  promoters,  there  gradually  formed  within  him  a 
consuming  desire  to  see  again  the  fair  young  girl  who  had 
drawn  him  so  strongly,  despite  his  mountainous  wrath  and 
his  flaming  desire  to  crush  her  when  she  boldly  faced  him  in 
his  own  house  on  the  night  of  his  grand  reception.  Why  had  he 
let  her  escape  him  then?  He  had  been  a  fool!  True,  women 
had  meant  little  to  him,  at  least  in  the  last  few  years.  But 
this  girl  had  seemed  to  stir  within  him  new  emotions,  or  those 
long  slumbering.  He  knew  not,  coarsely  materialistic  as  was 
his  current  thought,  that  in  him,  as  in  all  who  came  within  the 
radius  of  her  pure  affection,  she  had  swept  chords  wrhose  music 
he  had  never  heard  before. 

Days  passed,  while  Ames  still  mused.  And  then  one  morn 
ing  he  took  down  the  receiver  and  called  up  the  office  of  the 
Express. 

No,  Mr.  Hitt  was  not  there — but  this  was  his  assistant. 
And: 

"You  didn't  want  to  see  Mr.  Hitt,  did  you?  You  wanted  to 
see  me.  Well,  you  may  come  over." 

Ames  nearly  dropped  the  receiver  in  his  astonishment.  In 
the  first  place,  the  girl  had  read  his  thought;  and  in  the  second, 
he  was  not  accustomed  to  being  told  that  he  might  go  to  see 
people — they  came  cringing  to  him. 

"You  may  come  at  twelve-fifteen,"  continued  the  clear,  firm 
voice.  "And  remain  a  half  hour;  I'm  very  busy." 

Ames  put  down  the  instrument  and  looked  about,  thankful 
that  no  one  was  there  to  comment  on  his  embarrassment.  Then 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  went  slowly  over  in  thought 
the  experiences  of  that  eventful  night  in  his  house.  Why,  this 
slip  of  a  girl — a  half-breed  Indian  at  best — this  mere  baby- 
But  he  glanced  up  at  the  great  electric  wall  clock,  and  wished 
it  were  then  twelve-fifteen. 

»»*»** 

At  noon  Ames,  jauntily  swinging  his  light  walking  stick, 
strolled  casually  into  the  office  of  the  Express.  His  air  was  one 
of  supreme  confidence  in  his  own  powers.  He  was  super 
human,  and  he  knew  it.  And  the  knowledge  rendered  him 

107 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


unafraid  of  God,  man,  or  beast.  He  had  met  and  conquered 
everything  mundane,  excepting  this  young  girl.  But  that 
thought  was  now  delightful  to  him.  In  her  he  had  unearthed 
a  real  novelty,  a  ceaseless  interest.  She  reminded  him  of  a 
beautiful  kitten.  She  scratched  and  nettled  him;  but  she  was 
as  nothing  in  his  grasp. 

The  first  thing  that  impressed  him  on  entering  the  office 
was  the  air  of  prosperity  which  hung  over  the  place.  The  en 
vironment,  he  mentally  commented,  was  somewhat  unusual  for 
a  newspaper  plant.  Order,  quiet,  and  cleanliness  were  domi 
nant  notes  in  the  prevailing  harmony.  He  first  walked  back 
into  the  pressroom  to  see  if  the  same  conditions  prevailed  there. 
Then  he  retraced  his  steps,  and  at  length  came  to  a  halt  before 
a  door  bearing  the  inscription,  "Miss  Ariza,"  on  the  glass. 
Turning  the  knob,  he  peered  curiously  in. 

The  room  was  small,  but  light  and  airy.  Its  furnishings 
were  new,  and  its  walls  had  been  freshly  tinted.  A  few  pictures 
of  good  quality  hung  about  them.  A  handsome  rug  lay  upon 
the  floor.  At  the  desk,  bending  over  a  new  typewriter,  sat 
Carmen. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Ames,  hesitating  in  the  doorway. 

The  girl  glanced  up  quickly.  "Oh,  come  in,"  she  said.  "I 
was  expecting  you." 

He  entered  and  took  the  chair  indicated.  "You  don't  mind 
if  I  finish  this  article,  do  you?"  she  said,  bending  again  to  her 
work.  "It's  got  to  go  to  the  compositors  right  away." 

"Certainly — don't  stop,"  replied  Ames  easily.  "When  we 
talk  I  want  your  undivided  attention." 

"Oh,  you're  sure  to  get  it,"  she  returned,  laughing.  And 
Ames  wondered  just  what  she  meant. 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  watched  her  closely.  How 
wondrous  fair  she  was!  Yet,  there  was  just  a  slight  tint  in  her 
skin,  he  thought.  Perhaps  the  report  that  she  was  a  mulatto 
was  not  wholly  unfounded,  although  the  strain  must  have  been 
greatly  mixed.  How  simply  she  was  dressed.  He  remembered 
her  in  her  beautiful  ball  gown.  He  thought  he  preferred  this. 
How  rapidly  her  fingers  sped  over  the  keys.  And  what  fingers! 
What  a  hand !  He  wanted  to  bend  over  and  take  it  in  his  own. 
Then  he  suddenly  remembered  what  the  Beaubien  had  once 
told  him — that  she  always  seemed  to  be  a  better  woman  in  this 
girl's  presence.  But — what  changes  had  come  since  then! 
Could  he  go  on  persecuting  the  harassed  woman?  But  he 
wouldn't,  if — 

"There!"  said  the  girl,  with  wrhat  seemed  to  be  a  little  sigh 
of  relief.  She  pressed  a  button,  and  handed  the  typewritten 
sheets  to  the  boy  who  responded.  Then,  turning  to  Ames: 

108 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"You've  come  to  apologize,  haven't  you?  But  you  needn't. 
I'm  not  a  bit  offended.  I  couldn't  be,  you  know." 

Apologize !  Well,  he  certainly  had  not  had  any  such  inten 
tion  when  he  came  in.  In  fact,  he  knew  not  just  why  he  was 
there. 

"You  see,  Congressman  Wales  didn't  vote  for  the  unaltered 
schedule.  And  so  everything's  all  right,  isn't  it?"  she  went  on 
lightly. 

Ames's  face  darkened.  "No  vote  has  been  taken,"  he  said, 
a  dull  anger  rising  within  him. 

"Oh,  you  are  mistaken,"  replied  the  girl.  "The  bill  was 
voted  out  of  committee  an  hour  ago.  That's  what  I  was  writing 
up.  Here's  the  wire,  showing  the  alterations  made.  Mr.  Wales 
voted  for  them." 

Ames  read  the  message,  and  handed  it  back.  Beyond  the 
clouding  of  his  features  he  gave  no  indication  of  his  feelings. 

"So,  you  see,"  continued  the  girl,  "that  incident  is  closed — 
for  all  time,  isn't  it?" 

He  did  not  reply  for  some  moments.     Then: 

"Rather  odd,  isn't  it?"  he  commented,  turning  quite  away 
from  that  subject,  and  glancing  about,  "that  one  with  the  high 
ideals  you  profess  should  be  doing  newspaper  work." 

"Just  the  contrary,"  she  quickly  returned.  "There  is  noth 
ing  so  practical  as  the  ideal,  for  the  ideal  is  the  only  reality." 

"Well,  just  what,  may  I  ask,  are  you  trying  to  do  here?"  he 
continued. 

"Run  a  newspaper  on  a  basis  of  practical  Christianity,"  she 
answered,  her  eyes  dancing.  "Just  as  all  business  will  have  to 
be  conducted  some  day." 

He  leaned  back  and  laughed. 

"It  is  funny,  isn't  it?"  she  said,  "to  the  carnal  mind." 

The  laughter  abruptly  ceased,  and  he  looked  keenly  at  her. 
But  there  was  no  trace  of  malice  in  her  fair  face  as  she  steadily 
returned  the  look. 

"Has  it  paid  yet?"  he  asked  in  a  bantering  tone. 

"Splendidly!"  she  exclaimed. 

"H'm!  Well,  I'll  wager  you  won't  get  a  dollar  back  on  your 
investment  for  years." 

"A  dollar!  No,  nor  perhaps  a  penny!  We  are  not  meas 
uring  our  profits  in  money!" 

"And  your  investment — let's  see,"  he  mused,  trying  to  draw 
her  out.  "You've  put  into  this  thing  a  couple  of  hundred 
thousand,  eh?" 

She  smiled.  "I'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  "because  money  is  the 
only  measure  you  have  for  estimating  the  worth  of  our  project. 
Mr.  Hitt  has  put  more  than  that  amount  already  into  the  Ex 
press." 

109 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Well!  well!     Quite  a  little  for  you  people  to  lose,  eh?" 

"You  will  have  to  change  your  tone  if  you  remain  here,  Mr. 
Ames,"  she  answered  quietly.  "We  talk  only  prosperity  in  this 
office." 

"Prosperity!  In  the  face  of  overwhelming  debts!  That's 
good!"  he  laughed. 

She  looked  at  him  closely  for  a  moment.  "Debts?"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "You  speak  of  debts?  You  who  owe  your  fel 
low-men  what  you  can  never,  never  repay?  Why,  Mr.  Ames, 
there  is  no  man  in  this  whole  wide  world,  I  think,  who  is  so 
terribly,  hopelessly  in  debt  as  you!" 

"I?    My  dear  girl!    Why,  I  don't  owe  a  dollar  to  any  man!" 

"No?"  she  queried,  bending  a  little  closer  to  him.  "You  do 
not  owe  Madam  Beaubien  the  money  you  are  daily  filching  from 
her?  You  do  not  owe  poor  Mr.  Gannette  the  money  and  free 
dom  of  which  you  robbed  him?  You  do  not  owe  anything  to 
the  thousands  of  miners  and  mill  hands  who  have  given,  and 
still  give,  their  lives  for  you?  You  do  not  owe  for  the  life  which 
you  took  from  Mrs.  Hawley-Crowles?  You  do  not  owe  for  the 
souls  which  you  have  debauched  in  your  black  career?  For 
the  human  wreckage  which  lies  strewn  in  your  wake?  You 
do  not  owe  Mr.  Haynerd  for  the  Social  Era  which  you  stole 
from  him?" 

Ames  remained  rigid  and  quiet  while  the  girl  spoke.  And 
when  she  had  finished,  and  they  sat  looking  squarely  into  each 
other's  eyes,  the  silence  was  like  that  which  comes  between  the 
sharp  click  of  lightning  and  the  crash  of  thunder  which  fol 
lows.  If  it  had  been  a  man  who  thus  addressed  him,  Ames 
would  have  hurled  him  to  the  floor  and  trampled  him.  As  it 
was,  he  rose  slowly,  like  a  black  storm-cloud  mounting  above 
the  horizon,  and  stood  over  the  girl. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  dauntlessly  and  smiled.  "Sit 
down,"  she  quietly  said.  "I've  only  begun.  Don't  threaten, 
please,"  she  continued.  "It  wouldn't  do  any  good,  for  I  am 
not  a  bit  afraid  of  you.  Sit  down." 

A  faint  smile  began  to  play  about  Ames's  mouth.  Then  he 
twitched  his  shoulders  slightly.  "I — I  got  up,"  he  said,  with  an 
assumption  of  nonchalance,  "to — to  read  that — ah,  that  motto 
over  there  on  the  wall."  He  went  slowly  to  it  and,  stooping, 
read  aloud: 

"Lift  up  the  weak,  and   cheer  the   strong, 
Defend  the  truth,  combat  the  wrong! 
You'll  find  no  scepter  like  the  pen 
To  hold  and  sway  the  hearts  of  men." 

"That  was  written  by  your  Eugene  Field,"  offered  the  girl. 
"Now  read  the  one  on  the  opposite  side.  It  is  your  Tekel  Up- 
harsin." 

110 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


He  went  to  the  one  she  indicated,  and  read  the  spiritual  ad 
monition  from  Bryant: 

"Leave  the  vain,  low  strife 

That  makes  men  mad — the  tug  for  wealth  and  power — 
The  passions  and  the  cares  that  wither  life, 
And  waste  its  little  hour." 

"Now,"  continued  the  girl,  "that  is  only  a  suggestion  to 
you  of  the  real  handwriting  on  the  wall.  I  put  it  there  pur 
posely,  knowing  that  some  day  you  would  come  in  here  and 
read  it." 

Ames  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  dumb  wonder,  as  if  she 
were  some  uncanny  creature,  possessed  of  occult  powers.  Then 
the  significance  of  her  words  trickled  through  the  portals  of 
his  thought. 

"You  mean,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  if  I  am  not  persuaded 
by  the  second  motto  I  shall  feel  the  force  of  the  first,  as  it  sways 
you,  eh?" 

"I  mean,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  replied  steadily,  "that  the  world 
is  entering  upon  a  new  era  of  thought,  and  that  your  carnal 
views  and  methods  belong  to  a  day  that  is  past.  This  century 
has  no  place  for  them;  it  wearies  of  the  things  you  represent; 
you  are  the  epitome  of  that  evil  which  must  have  its  little  hour 
of  night  before  the  reality  dawns." 

He  regarded  her  intently  for  some  moments.  "Am  I  to  un 
derstand,"  he  asked,  "that  the  Express,  under  its  new  manage 
ment,  is  about  to  turn  muck-raker,  and  shovel  mud  at  us  men 
of  wealth?" 

"We  are  not  considering  the  Express  now,  Mr.  Ames,"  she 
replied.  "It  is  I  alone  who  am  warning  you." 

"Do  Hitt  and  Haynerd  bring  against  me  the  charges  which 
you  voiced  a  moment  ago?  And  do  you  intend  to  make  the 
columns  of  your  paper  spicy  with  your  comments  on  my  char 
acter  and  methods?  I  verily  believe  you  are  declaring  war!" 

"We  are  in  the  business  of  declaring  truth,  Mr.  Ames,"  she 
said  gently.  "The  Express  serves  all  people.  It  will  not  shield 
you  when  you  are  the  willing  tool  of  evil,  nor  will  it  condone 
your  methods  at  any  price." 

"War,  eh?  Very  well,"  he  replied  with  a  bantering  smile. 
"I  came  over  here  this  noon  to  get  the  policy  of  your  paper.  1 
accept  your  challenge." 

"Our  challenge,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  returned,  "is  the  challenge 
which  evil  always  finds  in  good.  It  is  perpetual." 

"Fine!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  like  a  good  enemy,  and  an  honest 
one.  All  right,  marshal  your  forces.  Who's  your  general, 
Hitt  or  Haynerd?" 

"God,"  she  answered  simply. 

Ill 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


For  an  instant  the  man  was  taken  back.  Then  he  recovered 
himself,  and  laughed. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  bending  close  to  her,  "I  admire 
you  very  much.  You  are  a  splendid  little  fighter.  Now  let's 
see  if  we  can't  get  together  on  terms  of  peace.  The  world 
hasn't  used  you  right,  and  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  at  odds 
with  it.  I've  wanted  to  talk  with  you  about  this  for  some  time. 
The  pin-headed  society  hens  got  jealous  and  tried  to  kill  you. 
But,  if  you'll  just  say  the  word,  I'll  set  you  right  up  on  the 
very  pinnacle  of  social  prestige  here.  I'll  take  you  by  the  hand 
and  lead  you  down  through  the  whole  crowd  of  'em,  and 
knock  'em  over  right  and  left!  I'll  make  you  the  leading  wom 
an  of  the  city;  I'll  back  the  Express;  we'll  make  it  the  biggest 
newspaper  in  the  country;  I'll  make  you  and  your  friends  rich 
and  powerful;  I'll  put  you  in  the  place  that  is  rightfully  yours, 
eh?  Will  you  let  me?" 

He  was  bending  ever  nearer,  and  his  hand  closed  over  hers 
when  he  concluded.  His  eyes  were  looking  eagerly  into  her 
face,  and  a  smile,  winning,  enticing,  full  of  meaning,  played 
about  his  lips.  His  voice  had  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

Carmen  returned  his  smile,  but  withdrew  her  hand.  "I'll 
join  you,"  she  said,  "on  one  condition." 

"Name  it!"  he  eagerly  cried. 

"That  you  obey  me." 

"Well — and  what  does  that  mean?" 

"Go;  sell  that  thou  hast;  and  give  to  the  poor.  Then  come, 
take  up  the  cross,  and  follow — my  leader." 

He  straightened  up,  and  a  sneer  curled  his  lips.  "I  sup 
pose,"  he  coarsely  insinuated,  "that  you  think  you  now  have 
material  for  an  illuminating  essay  on  my  conversation." 

"No,"  she  said  gently.    "It  is  too  dark  to  be  illuminating." 

The  man's  facial  muscles  twitched  slightly  under  the  sting, 
but  he  retained  his  outward  composure.  "My  dear  girl,"  he 
said,  "it  probably  has  not  occurred  to  you  that  the  world  re 
gards  the  Express  as  utterly  without  excuse  for  existence.  It 
says,  and  truly,  that  a  wishy-washy  sheet  such  as  it,  with  its 
devitalized,  strained,  and  bolted  reports  of  the  world's  vivid 
happenings,  deserves  to  go  under  from  sheer  lack  of  interest. 
The  experiment  has  been  tried  before,  and  has  signally  failed. 
Money  alone  can  keep  your  paper  alive.  But,  say  the  word, 
and—" 

"And  your  money,  as  well  as  your  business  ideals,  will  be 
ours?"  she  concluded  for  him. 

He  smiled  and  nodded. 

"Mr.  Ames,"  she  said,  "you  have  no  ideals.  No  man  who 
amasses  millions  by  taking  advantage  of  the  world's  inhuman 

112 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


and  pernicious  social  system  can  have  ideals  worthy  of  the 
name.  To  apply  your  methods,  your  thought,  to  the  Express 
would  result  in  sinking  its  moral  tone  into  the  dust.  As  for 
your  money — " 

"Commit  suicide,  then!"  cried  the  man,  yielding  to  his  ris 
ing  anger.  "Let  the  Express  go  down,  carrying  you  and  your 
spineless  associates  with  it!  But,  remember,  you  will  be  the 
sole  cause  of  its  ruin,  and  theirs!" 

Carmen  rose  quietly  and  opened  the  office  door.  "Your  half 
hour  is  up,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  said,  glancing  at  the  little  clock  on 
her  desk;  "and  I  must  return  to  my  work." 

For  a  moment  the  huge  man  stood  looking  down  darkling 
upon  the  girl.  He  would  have  given  his  soul  if  he  could  have 
clasped  that  slender  form  in  his  arms!  A  sudden  impulse 
assailed  him,  and  bade  him  fall  upon  his  knees  before  her,  and 
ask  her  forgiveness  and  guidance.  She  stood  waiting — perhaps 
just  for  that,  and  always  with  that  same  smile  into  which  no 
one  had  ever  yet  read  aught  but  limitless  love. 

The  telephone  bell  rang  sharply.  Carmen  hastened  to 
answer  the  call. 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Hitt.  Yes — yes — the  cotton  schedule  was  re 
ported  out  quite  changed — yes,  an  hour  ago!" 

When  she  looked  up,  she  was  alone. 

****** 

"Dearie,"  said  the  Beaubien  at  evening,  as  Carmen  seated 
herself  in  that  woman's  lap  and  wound  her  arms  about  her 
neck,  "I  am  afraid  for  you." 

"Well,  mother  dearest,"  replied  the  girl,  giving  her  a  tighter 
squeeze,  "that  is  a  sheer  waste  of  time.  If  you  haven't  anything 
more  to  occupy  you  than  fear,  you'd  better  come  down  to  the 
office,  and  I'll  set  you  to  work." 

"But — you  have  defied  him — as  he  says,  declared  war — 

"No,  dearest,  not  that.  It  is  the  carnal  mind,  using  him  as 
a  channel,  that  has  declared  war  against  good.  But  evil  is 
not  power;  nor  has  it  been  given  power  by  God.  My  one 
thought  is  this:  Am  I  doing  that  which  will  result  in  the  great 
est  good  to  the  greatest  number?  Am  I  loving  my  neighbor 
as  myself?  Serving  as  I  would  be  served?  Not  as  evil  would 
want  to  be  served,  but  as  good.  If  my  mental  attitude  is  right, 
then  God's  law  becomes  operative  in  all  that  I  do,  and  I  am 
protected.  Don't  you  see?" 

"I  know,  dearie,  but — there's  the  telephone!  Oh,  I  do  hope 
they  don't  want  you!" 

Carmen  answered  the  call,  and  returned  with  the  announce 
ment  that  Haynerd  was  in  distress.  "Sidney  Ames  is — not 
there,"  she  said.  "He  was  to  report  a  meeting.  Mr.  Haynerd 
wanted  Lewis.  Now  don't  worry,  dearest;  I — I  won't  go  alone." 

53  113 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  girl  had  taken  her  coat  and  hat.  A  moment  later  she 
gave  the  Beaubien  a  kiss,  and  hurried  out  into  the  night.  In 
half  an  hour  she  stood  at  Haynerd's  desk. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?"  moaned  that  perturbed  indi 
vidual.  "Here  I  am,  tied  down,  depending  on  Sid,  and  he's 
drunk!" 

"Well,  I'm  here.     What's  the  assignment?" 

Haynerd  looked  up  at  her,  and  hesitated.  "Mass  meeting, 
over  on  the  East  Side.  Here's  the  address,"  taking  up  a  slip 
of  paper.  "Open  meeting,  I'm  told;  but  I  suspect  it's  an 
I.  W.  W.  affair.  Hello!"  he  said,  replying  to  a  telephone  call. 
"What's  that?  The  Ames  mills  at  Avon  closed  down  this 
afternoon?  What's  reason?  Oh,  all  right.  Call  me  in  an 
hour." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  to  Carmen.  "That's 
what  this  meeting  is  about,"  he  said  significantly.  "Four  thou 
sand  hands  suddenly  thrown  out  at  the  Avon  mills.  Dead  of 
winter,  too!" 

Sidney  Ames  slouched  into  the  editor's  office  and  sank 
heavily  into  a  chair.  Haynerd  gave  a  despairing  gesture. 
"Look  here,"  he  said,  in  sudden  desperation,  "that  fellow's  got 
to  be  sobered  up,  now!  Or  else — " 

Another  call  came,  this  time  from  the  Beaubien.  Father 
Waite  had  just  come  in.  Could  he  take  the  assignment?  Hay 
nerd  eagerly  gave  the  address  over  the  'phone,  and  bade  him 
start  at  once. 

"Now,"  he  said,  nodding  at  Carmen,  and  jerking  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder  toward  the  intoxicated  reporter,  "it's  up  to 
you." 

Carmen  rose  at  once  and  went  to  the  lad.  "Come,  Sidney," 
she  said,  taking  his  hand. 

The  boy  roused  dully,  and  shuffled  stupidly  after  the  girl 
into  her  own  little  office. 

Carmen  switched  on  the  lights  and  closed  the  door.  Then 
she  went  to  the  limp,  emaciated  form  crumpled  up  in  a  chair, 
and  sat  down  beside  it. 

"Sidney,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand,  "there  is  but  one  habit 
—the  habit  of  righteousness.  That  is  the  habit  that  you  are 
going  to  wear  now." 

Outside,  the  typewriters  clicked,  the  telephones  tinkled, 
and  the  linotypes  snapped.  There  were  quick  orders;  men 
came  and  went  hurriedly;  but  there  was  no  noise,  no  confusion. 
Haynerd  toiled  like  a  beaver;  but  his  w^hole  heart  was  in  his 
work.  He  had  found  his  niche.  Carmen's  little  room  voiced 
the  sole  discordant  note  that  night.  And  as  the  girl  sat  there, 
holding  the  damp  hand  of  the  poor  victim,  she  thanked  her 

114 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


God  that  the  lad's  true  individuality  was  His  pure  thought  of 
him. 

****** 

At  dawn  Sidney  Ames  awoke.  A  rosy-tinted  glow  lay  over 
the  little  room,  and  the  quiet  form  at  his  side  seemed  an 
ethereal  presence.  A  gentle  pressure  from  the  hand  that  still 
clasped  his  brought  a  return  of  his  earthly  sense,  and  he 
roused  up. 

"Miss  Carmen!     You—?" 

"Yes,  Sidney."  The  gentle  voice  sounded  to  him  like  distant 
music. 

"I — you — you  brought  me  in  here  last  night — but — "  His 
hands  closed  about  the  little  one  that  lay  in  his  grasp.  "You — 
haven't  sat  here — with  me — all  night?" 

"Yes,  Sidney,  all  night." 

With  a  low  moan  the  boy  buried  his  face  in  her  arms,  and 
burst  into  a  flood  of  bitter  tears. 

"It  isn't  real,  Sidney,"  she  whispered,  twining  an  arm  about 
his  neck.  "It  isn't  real." 

For  some  moments  the  lad  sobbed  out  his  shame  and 
misery.  Carmen  stroked  his  fair  hair,  and  drew  him  closer  to 
her,  while  tears  of  love  and  pity  coursed  down  her  own  cheeks. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  boy  started  up.  "Don't  touch  me!"  he 
cried,  struggling  to  his  feet,  while  his  eyes  shone  with  a  wild 
light. 

He  started  for  the  door,  but  Carmen  darted  past  him  and 
stood  with  her  back  against  it,  facing  him.  "Stop,  Sidney!" 
she  cried,  holding  her  hands  against  him.  "It  can't  drive  you! 
It  is  powerless!  God  reigns  here!" 

She  turned  the  lock  as  he  hesitated;  then  took  his  arm  and 
led  him,  trembling  and  shivering,  back  to  his  chair. 

"We  are  going  to  meet  this,  Sidney,  you  and  I,"  she  whis 
pered,  bending  over  the  shaking  form. 

The  suffering  lad  shook  his  head  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  "You  can't,"  he  moaned;  "you  can't — I'm  gone!"  His 
voice  died  into  a  tremble  of  hopeless  despair,  of  utter  surrender. 

Carmen  bit  her  lip.  She  had  faced  many  trying  situations 
in  her  brief  life-experience;  but,  though  she  met  it  with  daunt 
less  courage  and  knew  its  source,  the  insidious  suggestion  now 
persisted  that  the  eyes  of  her  people  were  upon  her,  and  that 
by  this  would  stand  or  fall  their  faith.  Aye,  the  world  was 
watching  her  now,  keen-eyed  and  critical.  Would  she  give  it 
cause  to  say  she  could  not  prove  her  faith  by  her  works? 

And  then  came  the  divine  message  that  bade  her  "Know 
that  I  am  God!" — that  bade  her  know  that  responsibility  lay 
not  upon  her  shoulders,  but  upon  the  Christ  for  whom  she  was 

115 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


now  called  to  witness.  To  see,  or  permit  the  world  to  see,  this 
mountainous  error,  this  heaped-up  evil,  as  real  and  having 
power,  meant  a  denial  of  the  Christ  and  utter  defeat.  It  meant 
a  weary  retracing  of  her  own  steps,  and  a  long  night  of  spiritual 
darkness  to  those  whose  eyes  had  been  upon  her. 

"Sidney,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  sunken  boy  at  her  side, 
"you  are  right,  the  old  man  is  gone.  And  now  we  are  going 
to  create  'new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  and  the  former  shall 
not  be  remembered  nor  come  into  mind' — as  thought.  Under 
neath  are  the  everlasting  arms,  and  you  have  sunk  down,  down, 
down,  until  at  last  you  rest  upon  them,  and  you  find  that  you 
haven't  sunk  at  all,  and  that  you  couldn't  possibly  get  away 
from  that  infinite  Love  that  is  always  drawing  you  to  itself!" 

She  put  her  arm  again  about  the  lad,  and  drew  him  toward 
her.  "Listen,  Sidney  dear,  I  am  standing  with  you — and  with 
me  is  omnipotent  God!  His  arm  is  not  shortened,  that  it  can 
not  save  you  from  the  pit  of  spiritual  oblivion  into  which 
human  thought  would  seem  to  make  you  think  you  had  fallen, 
engulfed  by  the  senses." 

The  boy  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  through  his 
bloodshot  eyes.  "You  don't  know!"  he  whispered  hoarsely; 
"you  don't  understand — " 

"It  is  just  because  I  do  understand,  Sidney,  that  I  am  able 
to  help  you,"  she  interrupted  quickly.  "I  understand  it  all." 

"It — it  isn't  only  whiskey — it's —  '  his  head  sank  again — 
"it's — morphine!  And— God!  it's  got  me!" 

"It's  got  the  false  thought  that  seems  to  call  itself  'y°ii,'  ' 
she  said.     "Well,  let  it  have  it!    They  belong  together.     Let 
them  go.     We'll  cling  to  them  no  longer,  but  shake  them  off 
for  good.    For  good,  I  said,  Sidney — and  that  means,  for  God!" 

"God?"  he  echoed.  "I  know  no  God!  If  there  were  a  God, 
I  shouldn't  be  where  I  am  now." 

"Then  I  will  know  it  for  you,"  she  softly  answered.  "And 
you  are  now  right  where  you  belong,  in  Him.  And  His  love 
is  about  you." 

"Love!"  He  laughed  bitterly.  "Love!  I  never  knew  what 
it  meant.  My  parents  didn't  teach  it  to  their  children.  And 
when  I  tried  to  learn,  my  father  kicked  me  into  the  street!" 

"Then,  Sidney,  I'll  teach  you.  For  I  am  in  the  world  just 
to  show  what  love  will  do." 

"My  father — it's  his  fault — all  his  fault!"  cried  the  boy, 
flaring  up  and  struggling  to  rise.  "God!  I  hate  him — hate  him! 
It's  his  fault  that  I'm  a  sot  and  a  drug  fiend!" 

"It  is  hate,  Sidney,  that  manifests  in  slavery,  in  sodden 
brains,  and  shaking  nerves.  You  don't  hate  your  father;  the 
hate  is  against  your  thought  of  him;  and  that  thought  is  all 
wrong.  We're  going  to  correct  it." 

116 


"I  used  to  drink — some,  when  I  lived  at  home,"  the  boy 
went  on,  still  dwelling  on  the  thoughts  that  held  him  chained. 
"But  he  could  have  saved  me.  And  then  I  fell  in  love — I 
thought  it  was  love,  but  it  wasn't.  The  woman  was — she  was 
years  older  than  I.  When  she  left  the  city,  I  followed  her. 
And  when  I  found  out  what  she  was,  and  came  back  home,  my 
father  threw  me  out — cut  me  off — God!" 

"Never  mind,  Sidney,"  the  girl  whispered.  "It  isn't  true 
anyway."  But  she  realized  that  the  boy  must  voice  the  thoughts 
that  were  tearing  his  very  soul,  and  she  suffered  him,  for  it 
uncovered  to  her  the  hidden  sources  of  his  awful  malady. 

"And  then  I  drank,  drank,  drank!"  he  moaned.  "And  I 
lay  in  the  gutters,  and  in  brothels,  and — then,  one  day,  Carlson 
told  me  to  come  and  work  for  him.  He  thought  I  could 
straighten  up.  And  so  I  went  to  a  doctor,  and  he — God  curse 
him! — he  injected  morphine  into  my  arm  to  sober  me.  And 
that  taught  me  that  I  could  drink  all  I  wanted  to,  and  sober  up 
on  morphine.  But  then  I  learned — I  found- 
He  stopped,  and  began  to  fumble  in  his  pockets.  His  eyes 
became  wilder  as  he  searched. 

"Where  is  it?"  he  cried,  turning  fiercely  upon  the  girl.  "Did 
you  take  it  from  me?  Give  it  to  me — quick!"  He  caught  her 
wrist  and  twisted  it  painfully.  His  voice  became  a  scream. 

"God  is  everywhere!"  flashed  through  the  girl's  thought. 
"I  am  not  afraid  to  see  evil  seem  to  have  power!"  Then  aloud: 
"I  know  what  you  are  searching  for,  Sidney.  Yes,  I  have  it. 
Listen,  and  I  will  give  it  to  you.  You  are  searching  for  help. 
No,  it  isn't  in  morphine  tablets.  It  is  in  love — right  here — the 
Christ-principle,  that  is  bigger  far  than  the  demons  that  seem 
to  tear  you !  I  have  all  power  from  God,  and  you,  evil,  can  not 
touch  me!" 

The  boy  started  at  the  ringing  voice,  and  loosened  his  grasp. 
Then  he  sank  back  into  his  chair,  shaking  as  with  palsy. 

"Sidney!"  she  cried,  seizing  his  hand.  "Rise,  and  stand 
with  me!  We  don't  have  to  struggle — we  don't  have  to  fight 
— we  only  have  to  know.  All  that  you  are  wrestling  with  is 
the  world-wide  belief  that  there  is  a  power  apart  from  God! 
There  is  none!  Any  claim  that  there  is  such  a  power  is  a  lie! 
I  have  proved  it!  You  and  I  will  prove  it  again!  There  is  no 
power  or  intelligence  in  whiskey  or  morphine!  I  have  been 
sent  to  help  you!  The  Christ-principle  will  save  you!  There 
is  nothing  beyond  its  reach,  not  even  your  problem! 

"It  is  a  problem,  that's  all,  Sidney,"  she  went  on,  as  he 
became  calmer.  "And  I  have  the  solution.  Will  you  put  your 
self  in  my  charge,  in  my  care,  and  let  me  meet  it  for  you?" 
She  bent  over  him  and  looked  eagerly  into  his  drawn  face. 

117 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"We  are  not  going  to  fight,"  she  continued.  "We  are  not 
going  to  resist  evil  as  the  world  does,  and  so  make  it  real.  I 
know,  dear,  just  how  pressing  your  need  is.  I  know,  and  I 
understand.  I  know  how  awfully  real  it  seems  to  you.  But 
trust  me,  as  I  trust  the  Christ.  For  victory  is  inevitable!" 

For  a  few  moments  they  sat  together,  hand  in  hand.  The 
boy  seemed  to  have  been  stunned.  Then  Carmen  rose.  "Come," 
she  said.  "I  am  going  to  take  you  home  with  me.  I  am  going 
to  keep  you  right  with  me,  right  under  my  thought.  I'm  going 
to  be  the  mirror,  constantly  with  you,  that  reflects  infinite  love 
to  you  every  moment.  Come;  your  problem  is  mine  now.  The 
burden  of  proof  rests  upon  me.  Don't  think  of  anything  else 
now,  excepting  that  God  has  your  hand  and  is  leading  you." 

She  took  his  arm  and  drew  him,  unresisting,  yet  uncompre 
hending,  to  the  door.  As  she  opened  it,  she  looked  up  into  his 
face  and  smiled.  The  boy  choked,  and  turned  back. 

"No!"  she  cried,  shifting  her  grasp  to  his  hand.  "No;  you 
are  mine  now!  And  I  shall  not  turn  you  over  to  yourself  again 
until  the  problem  is  solved!" 

Hitt  met  them  as  they  came  out  of  the  room.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "I've  kept  Madam  Beaubien  informed  as  well  as  I  could. 
But  she's  been  worried.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"Home,"  she  said  simply.  "We'll  be  back  at  three — per 
haps." 

****** 

But  at  three  that  afternoon  the  Beaubien  telephoned  to  Hitt 
that  Carmen  would  not  be  down. 

"She  will  not  leave  the  boy,"  the  woman  said.  "She  holds 
him — I  don't  know  how.  And  I  know  he  is  trying  desperately 
to  help  her.  But — I  never  saw  any  one  stand  as  she  does! 
Lewis  is  here,  but  he  doesn't  interfere.  We're  going  to  put  a 
bed  in  his  room,  and  Sidney  will  sleep  there.  Yes,  I'll  keep 
you  informed.  Tell  Ned,  won't  you?" 

Haynerd  stormed;  but  the  tempest  was  all  on  the  surface. 
"I  know7,  I  know,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  Hitt's  explanation.  "That 
boy's  life  is  more  to  her  than  a  million  newspapers,  or  anything 
else  in  the  universe  just  at  present.  She'll  win!  The  devil 
can't  look  her  in  the  face!  I — I  wish  I  were —  What  are  you 
standing  there  for?  Go  'long  and  get  to  work!" 

In  the  little  Beaubien  cottage  that  afternoon  the  angry 
waves  of  human  fear,  of  human  craving,  of  hatred,  wrath,  and 
utter  misery  mounted  heaven-high,  and  fell  again.  Upon  them 
walked  the  Christ.  As  the  night-shadows  gathered,  Sidney 
Ames,  racked  and  exhausted,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  Then 
Carmen  left  his  bedside  and  went  into  the  little  parlor,  where 
sat  the  Beaubien  and  Father  Waite. 

118 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Here,"  she  said,  handing  a  hypodermic  needle  and  a  vial 
of  tablets  to  the  latter.  "He  didn't  use  them.  And  now,"  she 
continued,  "you  must  work  with  me,  and  stand — firm!  Sid 
ney's  enemies  are  those  of  his  own  mental  household.  It  is 
our  task  to  drive  them  out.  We  have  got  to  uproot  from  his 
consciousness  the  thought  that  alcohol  and  drugs  are  a  power. 
Hatred  and  self-condemnation,  as  well  as  self-love,  voiced  in 
a  sense  of  injury,  are  other  mental  enemies  that  have  got  to  be 
driven  out,  too.  There  is  absolutely  no  human  help!  It  is  all 
mental,  every  bit  of  it !  You  have  got  to  know  that,  and  stand 
with  me.  We  are  going  to  prove  the  Christ-principle  omnipo 
tent  with  respect  to  these  seeming  things. 

"But,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "you  must  not 
watch  this  error  so  closely  that  it  can't  get  away.  Don't  watch 
it  at  all !  For  if  you  do,  you  make  a  reality  of  it — and  then, 
well- 

"The  case  is  in  your  hands,  Carmen,"  said  Father  Waite 
gently.  "We  know  that  Jesus  would  cure  this  boy  instantly, 
if  he  were  here — ' 

"Well — the  Christ  is  here!"  cried  the  girl,  turning  upon 
him.  "Put  away  your  'ifs'  and  'buts.'  Stand,  and  know!" 

The  man  bowed  before  the  rebuke.  "And  these,"  he  said, 
holding  out  the  needle  and  vial,  "shall  we  have  further  use 
for  them?" 

"It  will  be  given  us  what  we  are  to  do  and  say,"  she  re 
turned.  "The  case  rests  now  with  God." 


CHAPTER  9 

FOUR  weeks  from  that  crisp  morning  when  Carmen  led  the 
bewildered,  stupified  lad  to  her  home,  she  and  Sidney  sat 
out  upon  the  little  porch  of  the  cottage,  drinking  in  the 
glories  of  the  winter  sun.    January  was  but  half  spent,  and  the 
lad  and  girl  were  making  the  most  of  the  sudden  thaw  before 
the  colder  weather  which  had  been  predicted  might  be  upon 
them. 

What  these  intervening  weeks  had  been  to  Carmen,  none 
might  have  guessed  as  she  sat  there  with  the  sunlight  filtering 
in  streamlets  of  gold  through  her  brown  hair.  But  their  mean 
ing  to  the  boy  might  have  been  read  with  ease  in  the  thin, 
white  face,  turned  so  constantly  toward  his  fair  companion. 
They  were  deeply,  legibly  written  there,  those  black  nights, 
when  he  would  dash  out  into  the  hall,  determined  to  break 
through  the  windows  of  the  nearest  dram  shop  and  drink, 

119 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


drink,  drink,  until  the  red  liquor  burst  from  his  eyes,  his 
mouth,  his  nostrils!  Those  ghastly  nights,  when  Carmen 
would  stand  before  him,  her  arms  outspread  across  the  door, 
and  beat  back  the  roaring  devils  within  him!  Those  long 
days  of  agonized  desire  for  the  vicious  drug  which  had  sapped 
his  manhood !  Those  fell  hours,  when  low  curses  poured  from 
his  burning  lips  upon  her  and  upon  all  mankind!  Those  cold, 
freezing  sweats,  and  the  dry,  cracking  fever!  Those  hours 
when,  with  Carmen  always  by  his  side,  he  tramped  mile  after 
mile  through  drifts  and  ice,  until  he  dropped  at  length  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  only  to  awake,  hours  later,  to  find  that  the 
girl  had  brought  him  home,  safe,  unharmed!— 

And  then,  oh,  the  "Peace,  be  still!"  which  he  began  to  hear, 
faint  at  first,  but  growing  in  volume,  until,  at  last,  it  became 
a  mighty,  thunderous  command,  before  which  the  demons 
paled  and  slunk  away,  never  to  return!  Oh,  the  tears  of  agony 
that  had  given  way  to  tears  of  joy,  of  thanksgiving!  Oh,  the 
weakness  that  had  been  his  strength!  And,  oh,  the  devotion 
of  this  fair  girl — aye,  and  of  her  associates,  too — but  all  through 
her!  Had  she  proved  her  God  before  the  eyes  of  the  world? 
That  she  had!  Day  after  day,  clad  in  the  impenetrable  armor 
of  her  love,  she  had  stood  at  this  struggling  lad's  side,  meeting 
the  arrows  of  death  with  her  shield  of  truth!  Night  after  night 
she  had  sat  by  his  couch,  her  hand  crushed  in  his  desperate 
grasp,  flouting  the  terror  that  stalked  before  his  delirious 
gaze!  What  work  she  had  done  in  those  long  weeks,  none 
would  ever  know;  but  the  boy  himself  knew  that  he  had 
emerged  from  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  with  a  new 
mind,  and  that  she  had  walked  with  him  all  the  dark,  cloud- 
hung  way. 

As  they  sat  there  in  the  bright  sunlight  that  morning,  their 
thought  was  busy  with  the  boy's  future.  Old  plans,  old  am 
bitions,  had  seemed  to  lift  with  the  lifting  of  the  mortal  curse 
which  had  rested  upon  him,  and  upward  through  the  ashes 
of  the  past  a  tender  flower  of  hope  was  pushing  its  way.  He 
was  now  in  a  new  world.  The  last  tie  which  bound  him  to  his 
family  had  been  severed  by  his  own  father  two  weeks  before, 
when  the  shadow  of  death  fell  athwart  his  mother's  brilliant 
path.  Mrs.  J.  Wilton  Ames,  delicate  in  health  wrhen  recalled 
from  abroad,  and  still  suffering  from  the  fatigue  of  the  deadly 
social  warfare  which  had  preceded  her  sudden  flight  from  her 
husband's  consuming  wrath,  had  failed  to  rally  from  the  indis 
position  which  seized  her  on  the  night  of  the  grand  Ames 
reception.  For  days  she  slowly  faded,  and  then  went  quickly 
down  under  a  sharp,  withering  attack  of  pneumonia.  A  few 
brief  weeks  after  the  formal  opening  of  the  Ames  palace  its 

120 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


mistress  had  sighed  away  her  blasted  hopes,  her  vain  desires, 
her  petty  schemes  of  human  conquest  and  revenge,  and  had 
gone  to  face  anew  her  problems  on  another  plane  of  mortal 
thought.  It  was  rumored  by  the  servants  that,  in  her  last 
hours,  when  she  heard  the  rustle  of  the  death  angel's  wings 
beside  her,  a  great  terror  had  stricken  her,  and  she  had  called 
wildly  for  that  son  whom  she  had  never  cared  to  know.  It  was 
whispered  that  she  had  begged  of  her  husband  to  seek  the  lad 
and  lead  him  home;  that  she  had  pleaded  with  him  to  strive, 
with  the  boy,  to  find  the  better  things  of  life;  that  she  had 
begged  him  to  warn  and  be  warned  of  her  present  sufferings, 
as  she  lay  there,  stripped  of  every  earthly  aid,  impoverished  in 
heart,  in  soul,  in  mind,  with  her  hands  dusty  and  begrimed 
with  the  ashes  of  this  life's  mocking  spoils.  How  true  these 
rumors,  none  might  say.  What  truth  lay  hidden  in  her  mad 
ravings  about  the  parentage  of  Carmen,  and  her  confused,  mut 
tered  references  to  Monsignor  Lafelle,  no  one  knew.  But  of 
those  who  stood  about  her  bedside  there  was  none  who  could 
gainsay  the  awed  whisperings  of  the  servants  that  this  haughty 
leader  of  the  great  city's  aristocracy  had  passed  from  this  life 
into  the  darkness  beyond  in  pitiable  misery  and  terror. 

The  news  of  his  mother's  death  had  come  at  a  time  when 
the  boy  was  wild  with  delirium,  at  an  hour  when  Waite,  and 
Hitt,  and  Carmen  stood  with  him  in  his  room  and  strove  to 
close  their  ears  against  the  shrieking  of  the  demon  that  was 
tearing  him.  Hitt  at  once  called  up  Willett,  and  asked  for 
instructions.  A  few  minutes  later  came  the  message  that  the 
Ames  house  was  forever  barred  against  the  wayward  son. 
And  it  was  not  until  this  bright  winter  morning,  when  the  lad 
again  sat  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  that  Carmen  had 
gently  broken  the  news  to  him. 

"I  never  knew  her,"  the  boy  had  said  at  length,  rousing 
from  his  meditations.  "Few  of  the  rich  people's  children  know 
their  parents.  I  was  brought  up  by  nurses  and  tutors.  I  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  put  my  arms  around  my  mother,  and  kiss 
her.  I  used  to  long  to,  at  times.  And  often  I  would  plan  to 
surprise  her  by  suddenly  running  into  her  arms  and  embrac 
ing  her.  But  then,  when  I  would  see  her,  she  was  always  so 
far  away,  so  cold,  so  beautifully  dressed.  And  she  seldom 
spoke  to  me,  or  to  Kathleen,  until  we  were  grown  up.  And  by 
that  time  I  was  running  wild.  And  then — then — 

"There!"  admonished  Carmen,  reaching  over  and  taking 
his  hand.  "That's  in  our  little  private  cemetery,  you  know. 
The  old  error  is  dead,  and  we  are  not  going  to  dig  it  up  and 
rehearse  it,  are  we?" 

He  smiled  wanly.     "I'm  like  a  little  baby,"  he  said  sadly. 

121 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I'm  just  beginning  to  live.  And  you  are  my  mother,  the  only 
one  I've  ever  known." 

Carmen  laughed  merrily.  "Let  me  be  your  sister,"  she  said. 
"We  are  so  near  of  an  age,  you  know." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "You  are  my  angel,"  he 
murmured.  "My  bright,  beautiful  angel.  What  would  I  have 
been  without  you!" 

"Now,  Sidney!"  she  warned,  holding  up  a  finger.  "What 
have  I  told  you  so  often  that  Jesus  said?  'Of  mine  own  self 
I  can  do  nothing.'  Nor  can  I,  Sidney  dear.  It  was — "  her 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper— "it  was  the  Christ-principle.  It 
worked  through  him  as  a  channel;  and  it  worked  through  me." 

"You're  going  to  teach  me  all  about  that,"  he  said,  again 
pressing  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "You  won't  cast  me  adrift  yet, 
will  you,  little  sister?" 

"Cast  you  adrift!  Never,  Sidney  dear!  Why,  you're  still 
mine,  you  know!  I  haven't  given  you  back  to  yourself  yet, 
have  I?  But  now  let's  talk  about  your  work.  If  you  want  to 
write,  you  are  going  to,  and  you  are  going  to  write  right." 

"And  you,  Carmen?"  he  asked,  wondering. 

"Back  to  the  Express,"  she  said  lightly.  "I  haven't  written 
a  word  for  it  now  for  a  month.  And  how  dear,  funny  old  Ned 
has  scolded!" 

"You— you  dropped  everything — your  work — all — for  a 
poor,  worthless  hulk  like  me,"  he  sighed.  "I — I  can't  under 
stand  it.  You  didn't  know  me,  hardly." 

"Sidney  dear,"  the  girl  replied.  "It  wasn't  for  you.  It  was 
for  God.  Everything  I  do  is  'as  unto  Him.'  I  would  have  done 
the  same  for  anybody,  whether  I  knew  the  person  or  not.  I 
saw,  not  you,  but  the  human  need — oh,  such  a  need!  And 
the  Christ-principle  made  me  a  human  channel  for  meeting  it, 
that  is  all.  Drop  my  work,  and  my  own  interests !  Why,  Sid 
ney,  what  is  anything  compared  with  meeting  human  needs? 
Didn't  Jesus  drop  everything  and  hurry  out  to  meet  the  sick 
and  the  suffering?  Was  money-making,  or  society,  or  per 
sonal  desire,  or  worldly  pleasure  anything  to  him  when  he  saw 
a  need?  You  don't  seem  to  understand  that  this  is  what  I  am 
here  for — to  show  what  love  will  do." 

"No,"  he  murmured.  "I — I  guess  I  know  only  the  world's 
idea  of  love." 

"And  that  is  love's  counterfeit,  self-love,  sentimentalism, 
sex-mesmerism,  and  all  that,"  she  added.  "But  now,  back  to 
your  work  again.  You're  going  to  write,  write,  write!  My, 
but  the  world  is  hungry  for  real  literature!  Your  yearning 
to  meet  that  need  is  a  sign  of  your  ability  to  do  it.  But,  re 
member,  everything  that  comes  to  you  comes  from  within. 

122 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


You  are,  in  fact,  a  miner;  and  your  mine  is  your  mind;  and 
that  is  unlimited,  for  God  is  the  only  mind,  infinite  and  omni 
present.  Now  you  are  going  to  mine  that  mind. 

"Listen,"  she  went  on  hurriedly.  "Don't  be  afraid  to  be 
afraid.  We  never  fear  a  real  thing;  we  fear  only  our  false 
thoughts  of  things.  Always  those  thoughts  are  absolutely 
wrong,  and  we  wake  up  and  find  that  we  were  fearing  only 
fear-thoughts  themselves.  Haven't  you  ever  noticed  it?  Now 
destroy  the  chains  of  fear  which  limit  your  thought,  and  God 
will  issue! 

"Well,"  without  waiting  for  his  reply,  "now  you  have 
reached  that  plane  of  thought  where  you  don't  really  care  for 
what  the  world  has  to  offer  you.  You  have  ceased  to  want  to  be 
rich,  or  famous.  You  are  not  afraid  to  be  obscure  and  poor. 
You  have  learned,  at  least  in  part,  that  the  real  business  of  this 
life  lies  in  seeking  good,  in  manifesting  and  expressing  it  in 
every  walk,  and  in  reflecting  it  constantly  to  your  fellow-men. 
Having  learned  that,  you  are  ready  to  live.  Remember,  there 
is  no  luck,  no  such  thing  as  chance.  The  cause  of  everything 
that  can  possibly  come  to  you  lies  within  yourself.  It  is  a  func 
tion  of  your  thought.  The  thought  that  you  allow  to  enter 
your  mentality  and  become  active  there,  later  becomes  ex 
ternalized.  Be,  oh,  so  careful,  then,  about  your  thought,  and 
the  basis  upon  which  it  rests!  For,  in  your  writing,  you  have 
no  right  to  inflict  false  thought  upon  your  credulous  fellow- 
mortals." 

"But,"  he  replied,  "we  are  told  that  in  literature  we  must 
deal  with  human  realities,  and  with  things  as  they  are.  The 
human  mind  exists,  and  has  to  be  dealt  with." 

"The  human  mind  does  not  exist,  Sidney,  except  as  supposi 
tion.  There  are  no  human  realities.  The  world  still  awaits 
the  one  who  will  show  it  things  as  they  really  are.  Human 
realities,  so-called,  are  the  horrible,  ghastly  unrealities  of  car 
nal  thought,  without  any  basis  of  the  divine  Christ-principle. 
I  know,  we  are  told  that  the  great  books  of  the  world  are  those 
which  preserve  and  interpret  its  life.  Alas!  is  it  true  greatness 
to  detail,  over  and  over  again  in  endless  recital,  the  carnal 
motives  of  the  human  mind,  its  passions  and  errors,  its  awful 
mesmerism,  its  final  doom?  Yes,  perhaps,  on  one  condition: 
that,  like  a  true  critic,  you  picture  human  concepts  only  to 
show  their  unreality,  their  nothingness,  and  to  show  how  they 
may  be  overcome." 

"But  most  books— 

"Ah,  yes,  most  books  are  written  only  to  amuse  the  dis 
pirited  human  mind  for  a  brief  hour,  to  make  it  forget  for  a 
moment  its  troubles.  They  are  literary  narcotics;  they  are 

123 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


sops  to  jaded  appetites,  that's  all.  A  book,  for  example,  that 
pictures  an  injured  man  discovering  a  great  treasure,  and 
then  using  it  to  carry  out  his  schemes  of  revenge — well,  what 
influence  for  good  has  such  a  work?  It  is  only  a  stimulus  to 
evil,  Sidney.  But  had  it  shown  him  using  that  great  wealth 
to  bless  his  persecutors  and  turn  them  from  their  mesmerism 
to  real  life  and  good — 

"Such  things  don't  happen  in  this  world,  Carmen." 

"But  they  could,  and  should,  Sidney  dear.  And  they  will, 
some  day.  Then  will  come  the  new  literature,  the  literature  of 
good!  And  it  will  make  people  think,  rather  than  relieve  them 
from  the  ennui  of  solid  thought,  as  our  present  novels  do.  The 
intellectual  palate  then  will  find  only  insipidity  in  such  books 
as  pour  from  our  presses  now.  The  ability  to  converse  glibly 
about  authors  who  wallow  in  human  unrealities  will  then  no 
longer  be  considered  the  hall-mark  of  culture.  Culture  in  that 
day  will  be  conformity  to  truth." 

The  lad  smiled  at  the  enthusiastic  girl.  "Little  sister,"  he 
said,  "you  are  a  beautiful  idealist." 

"But,"  came  her  quick  reply,  "are  you  not  a  living  illustra 
tion  of  the  practicability  of  my  idealism,  Sidney?" 

The  boy  choked,  and  tears  filled  his  eyes.  Carmen  stole  an 
arm  about  him.  "The  most  practical  man  who  ever  lived, 
Sidney  dear,  was  Jesus.  And  he  was  the  greatest  idealist.  He 
had  ideas  that  differed  very  radically  from  other  people's,  but 
he  did  not  hide  them  for  fear  of  giving  offense.  He  was  not 
afraid  to  shock  people  with  the  truth  about  themselves.  He 
tore  down,  yes;  but  he  then  reconstructed,  and  on  a  founda 
tion  of  demonstrable  truth.  He  wras  not  afraid  to  defy  the 
Rabbis,  the  learned,  and  the  puffed-up.  He  did  not  bow  ab 
jectly  before  the  mandarins  and  pedagogues.  Had  he  done 
so,  and  given  the  people  what  they  wanted  and  were  accus 
tomed  to,  they  would  have  made  him  a  king — and  his  mission 
would  have  been  a  dead  failure!" 

"And  for  that  they  slew  him,"  returned  the  boy. 

"It  is  the  cowardly  fear  of  slaughter,  Sidney,  that  keeps 
people  from  coming  out  and  standing  for  what  they  know  to 
be  right  to-day.  You  are  not  one  of  those  cravens." 

"But  the  people  who  do  that,  Carmen,  are  called  dema 
gogues  and  muck-rakers!" 

She  laughed.  "And  the  muck-rakers,  Sidney,  have  made  a 
sorry  mess,  haven't  they?  They  destroy  without  ruth,  but 
seldom,  if  ever,  put  forth  a  sane  suggestion  for  the  betterment 
of  conditions.  They  traffic  in  sensationalism,  carping  criticism, 
and  abuse.  'To  find  fault,'  said  Demosthenes,  'is  easy,  and  in 
every  man's  power;  but  to  point  out  the  proper  remedy  is  the 

124 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


proof  of  a  wise  counselor.'  The  remedy  which  I  point  out, 
Sidney,  is  the  Christ-principle;  and  all  I  ask  is  that  mankind 
seek  to  demonstrate  it,  even  as  Jesus  bade  us  do.  He  was  a 
success,  Sidney,  the  greatest  success  the  world  has  ever  known. 
And  why?  Because  he  followed  ideals  with  utter  loyalty— 
because  he  voiced  truth  without  fear — because  he  made  his 
business  the  service  of  humanity.  He  took  his  work  seriously, 
not  for  money,  not  for  human  preferment,  but  for  mankind. 
And  his  work  bears  the  stamp  of  eternity." 

"I'm  afraid—  "  he  began. 

"You're  not  afraid,  Sidney!"  the  girl  quickly  interrupted. 
"Oh,  why  does  the  human  mind  always  look  for  and  expect 
that  which  it  does  not  want  to  see  come  or  happen!" 

The  boy  laughed  heartily  at  the  quick  sally  of  her  delight 
fully  quotidian  thought.  "You  didn't  let  me  finish,"  he  said. 
"I  was  going  to  say  that  I'm  afraid  if  I  write  and  speak  only 
of  spiritual  things  I  shall  not  be  understood  by  the  world,  nor 
even  given  a  hearing." 

"Well,  don't  use  that  word  'afraid.'  My!  how  the  human 
mind  clings  to  everything,  even  words,  that  express  its  chief 
bogy,  fear." 

"All  right;  I  accept  the  rebuke.    But,  my  question?" 

"That  was  the  case  with  Jesus.  And  yet,  has  anything, 
written  or  spoken,  ever  endured  as  his  spiritual  teachings? 
The  present-day  novel  or  work  of  fiction  is  as  fleeting  as  the 
human  thought  it  attempts  to  crystallize.  Of  the  millions  of 
books  published,  a  handful  endure.  Those  are  they  which 
illustrate  the  triumph  of  good  over  evil  in  human  thought.  And 
the  greatest  of  such  books  is  the  Bible." 

"Well,  I'm  hunting  for  a  subject  now." 

"Don't  hunt.  Wait — and  know!  The  subject  will  then 
choose  you.  It  will  pelt  you.  It  will  drive  you  to  the  task  of 
transcribing  it.  Just  as  one  is  now  driving  me.  Sidney — 
perhaps  I  can  give  you  the  subject!  Perhaps  I  am  the  channel 
for  this,  too!" 

He  looked  at  her  inquisitively.  "Well,"  bending  over  closer 
to  her,  "what  is  it,  little  sister?" 

The  girl  looked  out  over  the  dripping  shrubs  and  the  soft 
snow.  But  her  thought  was  not  there.  She  saw  a  man,  a 
priest,  she  knew  not  where,  but  delving,  plodding,  digging  for 
the  truth  which  the  human  mind  has  buried  under  centuries 
and  centuries  of  material  debris.  She  saw  him,  patiently  bear 
ing  his  man-made  burden,  striving  to  shield  a  tender,  aban 
doned  girl,  and  to  transfer  to  her  his  own  great  worldly  knowl 
edge,  but  without  its  dross.  She  saw  the  mighty  sacrifice, 
when  the  man  tore  her  from  himself,  and  thrust  her  out  be- 

125 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


yond  the  awful  danger  in  which  he  dwelt.  She  understood 
now.  The  years  had  taught  her  much.  It  was  love — aye,  the 
love  that  alone  makes  men  great,  the  love  that  lays  down  human 
life  in  self-immolating  service. 

She  turned  to  the  waiting  lad.  "You  will  write  it,  Sidney? 
I  will  tell  you  the  whole  beautiful  story.  It  is  an  illustration 
of  the  way  love  works  through  human  channels.  And  per 
haps — perhaps,  some  day,  the  book  may  reach  him — yes,  some 
day.  And  it  will  tell  him — oh,  Sidney,  it  will  tell  him  that  I 
know,  and  that  I  love  him,  love  him,  love  him!" 

****** 

In  the  office  of  the  manager  of  the  Express  three  heads 
were  close  together  that  morning,  and  three  faces  bore  out 
ward  evidence  of  the  serious  thought  within. 

"Miss  Wall  tells  me,  Ned,"  Hitt  was  saying,  "that  her  father 
used  to  be  associated  with  Ames,  and  that,  at  his  demise,  he 
left  his  estate,  badly  entangled,  for  Ames  to  settle.  Now  it 
transpires  that  Ames  has  been  cunning  enough  to  permit  Miss 
Wall  to  draw  upon  his  bank  almost  without  limit,  he  making 
up  any  deficit  with  his  own  personal  notes." 

"Ah!"  commented  Haynerd.  "I  think  I  see  the  shadow  of 
his  fine  hand!" 

"And  now,"  resumed  Hitt,  "she  is  given  to  understand  that 
Ames  has  been  obliged  by  the  bank  examiner  to  withdraw  his 
personal  notes  as  security  for  her  deficits,  and  that  the  revenue 
from  her  estate  must  be  allowed  to  accrue  to  the  benefit  of  the 
Ames  bank  until  such  time  as  all  obligations  are  met." 

"Beautiful!"  ejaculated  Haynerd.  "In  other  words,  Eliza 
beth  is  simply  cut  off!" 

"Just  so.  And  now,  another  thing:  Madam  Beaubien's 
lawyer  called  on  her  to-day,  and  informed  her  that  Hood  had 
gone  into  court  and  secured  an  injunction,  tying  up  all  revenue 
from  her  estate  until  it  can  be  unraveled.  That  cuts  off  her 
income,  likewise." 

Haynerd  whistled.  "The  hound!"  he  ejaculated.  "Ames 
is  out  to  do  up  the  Express,  eh?" 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it,  Ned,"  returned  Hitt  seriously. 
"And  to  utterly  ruin  all  connected  with  it." 

"Then,  by  God,  we'll  fight  him  to  the  last  ditch!"  cried  the 
excited  Haynerd. 

"I  think  you  forget,  Ned,  that  we  have  a  lady  with  us," 
nodding  toward  Miss  Wall,  "and  that  you  are  seriously  trying 
to  reform,  for  Carmen's  sake." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Elizabeth,"  said  Haynerd  meekly.  "I 
really  am  trying  to  be  decent,  you  know.  But  when  I  think  of 
Ames  it's  like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull!" 

126 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Miss  Wall  laughed.  "Never  mind,  Ned.  I  admire  your 
fighting  spirit." 

"Of  course,"  Hitt  continued,  "oil  still  flows  from  our  pater 
nal  wells.  But  in  order  to  raise  money  at  once  I  shall  be  obliged 
either  to  sell  my  oil  holdings  or  mortgage  them.  They  have 
got  to  take  care  of  us  all  now,  including  Madam  Beaubien." 

"Where's  Carmen?"  asked  Haynerd  suddenly. 

"Home,  with  Sidney.  There's  another  anomaly:  while  Ames 
is  trying  to  ruin  us,  that  girl  is  saving  his  son.  Great  world, 
isn't  it?" 

"It's  a  hell  of  a  world!"  cried  Haynerd.  "I — I  beg  your 
pardon,  Elizabeth.  The  fact  is,  either  you  or  I  will  have  to 
retire  from  this  meeting,  for  I'm  getting  mad.  I — I  may  say 
things  yet!" 

"Say  anything  you  want  to,  Ned.  I  like  to  hear  your  sul 
phurous  language  to-day.  It  helps  to  express  my  own  feel 
ings,"  replied  the  woman. 

"The  circulation  of  the  Express,"  Hitt  went  on,  "is  entirely 
artificial.  Our  expense  is  tremendous,  and  our  revenue  slight. 
And  still  Carmen  insists  on  branching  out  and  putting  into 
practical  form  her  big  ideas.  Limitation  is  a  word  that  is  not 
in  her  vocabulary!" 

"Hitt,  can't  we  fight  Ames  with  his  own  fire?  What  about 
that  Wales  affair?" 

"Ames  is  very  cunning,"  answered  Hitt.  "When  he  learned 
that  the  cotton  schedule  had  been  altered  in  the  Ways  and 
Means  Committee,  he  promptly  closed  down  his  Avon  mills. 
That  was  to  scare  Congress.  Then  he  resumed,  but  on  half 
time.  That  was  a  plea  of  distress.  I  presume  he  will  later 
return  to  full  time,  but  with  a  reduced  scale  of  wages.  He's 
trying  to  coerce  Congress.  Now  how  does  he  intend  to  do  it? 
This  way:  he  will  force  a  strike  at  Avon — a  February  strike — 
four  thousand  hands  out  in  the  cold.  Meantime,  he'll  influence 
every  other  spinner  in  the  country  to  do  likewise.  They'll  all 
follow  his  lead.  Now,  can  Congress  stand  up  against  that  sort 
of  argument?  And,  besides,  he  will  grease  the  palms  of  a  large 
number  of  our  dignified  statesmen,  you  may  be  sure!" 

"Mr.  Hitt,"  said  Miss  Wall,  "I  suggest  that  you  send  Carmen 
to  Avon  at  once.  I  know  of  no  one  who  can  get  to  the  bottom 
of  things  as  she  can.  Let  her  collect  the  facts  regarding  the 
situation  down  there,  and  then — 

"Send  her  first  to  Washington!"  interrupted  Haynerd. 
"Have  her  hang  around  the  lobbies  of  the  Capitol  for  a  while, 
and  meet  a  lot  of  those  old  sap-heads.  What  information 
she  won't  succeed  in  worming  out  of  them  isn't  in  'em,  that's 
all!" 

127 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,"  objected  Hilt,  "if  she  knew  that  we  would  use  her 
information  for  a  personal  attack  upon  Ames,  she'd  leave  us." 

"There's  no  objection  to  her  getting  the  facts,  anyway,  is 
there?"  demanded  Haynerd,  waxing  hot  again. 

"N — no,  I  suppose  not.  But  that  will  take  additional 
money.  Very  well,  I'll  do  it.  I'll  put  a  mortgage  on  my  Ohio 
holdings  at  once." 

"I  don't  think  I  would  be  afraid,"  suggested  Miss  Wall. 
"We  might  not  use  the  information  Carmen  may  collect  in 
Avon  or  Washington,  but  something,  I  am  sure,  is  bound  to 
come  out  of  it.  Something  always  comes  out  of  what  she  does. 
She's  the  greatest  asset  the  Express  has.  We  must  use  her." 

"All  well  and  good,"  put  in  Haynerd.  "And  yet,  if  she 
finds  anybody  down  there  who  needs  help,  even  the  President 
himself,  she'll  throw  the  Express  to  the  winds,  just  as  she  did 
in  Sidney's  case.  You  can't  bank  on  her!" 

"No,  that's  true,  Ned,  for  while  we  preach  she's  off  some 
where  practicing.  We  evolve  great  truths,  and  she  applies  and 
demonstrates  them.  But  she  has  saved  Sidney — her  Christ 
did  it  through  her.  And  she  has  given  the  lad  to  us,  a  future 
valuable  man." 

"Sure — if  we  are  to  have  any  future,"  growled  Ned. 

"See  here,"  retorted  Hitt,  brindling,  "have  we  in  our  nu 
merous  gatherings  at  Madam  Beaubien's  spoken  truth  or  non 
sense?  If  you  believe  our  report,  then  accept  and  apply  it. 
Now  who's  to  go  to  Avon  with  Carmen?" 

"Sidney,"  suggested  Miss  Wall. 

"Sid?"  exclaimed  Haynerd.  "Huh!  Why,  if  those  Magyars 
down  there  discovered  he  was  Ames's  son,  they'd  eat  him 
alive!" 

The  telephone  rang.  Hitt  answered  the  call.  Then,  turn 
ing  to  his  companions: 

"Waite  says  he  wants  a  meeting  to-night.  He^d  like  to  re 
port  on  his  research  work.  Guess  we'd  better  call  it.  I'll  in 
form  Morton.  No  telling  when  we  may  get  together  again,  if 
the  girl—  He  became  suddenly  silent,  and  sat  some  time 
looking  vacantly  out  through  the  window. 

"She  goes  to  Avon  to-morrow,"  he  abruptly  announced, 
"alone."  His  thought  had  been  dwelling  on  that  'something 
not  ourselves'  which  he  knew  was  shielding  and  sustaining 
the  girl. 


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CHAPTER  10 

"TTTE  have  now  arrived  at  a  subject  whose  interest  and 
Yy  significance  for  us  are  incalculable,"  said  Father 
Waite,  standing  before  the  little  group  which  had 
assembled  in  their  usual  meeting  place  in  the  first  hours  of 
the  morning,  for  only  at  that  time  could  Hitt  and  Haynerd 
leave  the  Express.  "We  have  met  to  discuss  briefly  the  mean 
ing  of  that  marvelous  record  of  a  whole  nation's  search  for 
God,  the  Bible.  As  have  been  men's  changing  concepts  of  that 
'something  not  ourselves  that  makes  for  righteousness,'  so 
have  been  individuals,  tribes,  and  nations.  The  Bible  records 
the  development  of  these  concepts  in  Israel's  thought;  it  re 
cords  the  unquenchable  longings  of  that  people  for  truth;  it 
records  their  prophetic  vision,  their  sacred  songs,  their  phi 
losophy,  their  dreams,  and  their  aspirations.  To  most  of  us 
the  Bible  has  long  been  a  work  of  profound  mystery,  cryptical, 
undecipherable.  And  largely,  I  now  believe,  because  we  were 
wont  to  approach  it  with  the  bias  of  preconceived  theories  of 
literal,  even  verbal,  inspiration,  and  because  we  could  not  read 
into  it  the  record  of  Israel's  changing  idea  of  God,  from  a 
wrathful,  consuming  Lord  of  human  caprice  and  passions,  to 
the  infinite  Father  of  love,  whom  Jesus  revealed  as  the  Christ- 
principle,  which  worked  through  him  and  through  all  who  are 
gaining  the  true  spiritual  concept,  as  is  this  girl  who  sits  here 
on  my  right  with  the  lad  whom  you  have  seen  rescued  by  the 
Christ  from  the  pit  of  hell." 

His  voice  choked  when  he  referred  to  Carmen  and  Sidney. 
But  he  quickly  stifled  his  emotion,  and  went  on: 

"In  our  last  meeting  Mr.  Hitt  clearly  showed  us  how  the 
so-called  human  mind  has  seemed  to  develop  as  the  supposi 
tional  opposite  of  the  mind  that  is  God;  and  how  through 
countless  ages  of  human  reckoning  that  pseudo-mind  has  been 
revealing  its  various  types,  until  at  length,  rising  ever  higher 
in  the  scale  of  being,  it  revealed  its  human  man  as  a  mentality 
whose  consciousness  is  the  suppositional  activity  of  false 
thought,  and  which  builds,  incessantly,  mental  concepts  out  of 
this  kind  of  thought  and  posits  them  within  itself  as  material 
objects,  as  its  own  body,  its  universe,  its  all.  And  he  showed 
us  how,  little  by  little,  that  human  mind's  interpretations  of 
the  infinite  mind's  true  ideas  became  better,  under  the  divine 
infiltration  of  truth,  until  at  last  there  developed  a  type,  now 
known  to  us  as  the  Jewish  nation,  which  caught  a  clearer 
glimpse  of  truth,  and  became  conscious  of  that  'something 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


not  ourselves'  which  makes  for  right-thinking,  and  consequent 
correct  mental  concepts  and  externalizations.  This,  then,  was 
the  starting  point  of  our  religion.  These  first  glimpses  of 
truth,  and  their  interpretations,  as  set  forth  in  the  writings  of 
the  early  Jewish  nation,  constitute  the  nucleus  of  our  Bible. 

"But  were  these  records  exact  statements  of  truth?  Not 
always.  The  primitive  human  mind  could  only  lisp  its  won 
derful  glimpses  of  truth  in  legend  and  myth.  And  so  in  fable 
and  allegory  the  early  Israelites  sought  to  show  the  power  of 
good  over  evil,  and  thereby  stimulate  a  desire  for  right  conduct, 
based,  of  course,  on  right-thinking.  And  thus  it  is  that  the 
most  significant  thing  in  their  sacred  records  is  their  many, 
many  stories  of  the  triumph  of  the  spiritual  over  the  material. 

"Time  passed.  The  Hebrew  nation  wraxed  prosperous. 
Their  right-thinking  became  externalized  outwardly  in  mate 
rial  abundance  and  physical  comfort.  But  the  people's  under 
standing  was  not  sufficiently  great  to  shield  them  from  the 
temptation  which  material  wealth  and  power  always  constitute. 
Their  vision  gradually  became  obscured.  The  mist  of  mate 
rialism  spread  over  it.  Those  wonderful  flashes  of  truth  ceased 
to  dart  across  their  mental  horizon.  Their  god  became  a  mag 
nified  concept  of  the  human  man,  who  dickered  with  them  over 
the  construction  of  his  temples,  and  who,  by  covenants,  bribes, 
and  promises,  induced  them  to  behave  themselves.  Prophecy 
died.  And  at  length  the  beautiful  vision  faded  quite  away. 

"Then  followed  four  hundred  human  years,  during  which 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  Hebrew  nation  were  many  and  dark. 
But  during  those  long  centuries  there  developed  that  world 
wonder,  a  whole  nation's  united  longing  for  a  deliverer!  The 
prophets  promised  a  great  change  in  their  fallen  fortunes. 
Expectation  grew  keen.  Desire  expanded  into  yearning.  Their 
God  would  not  forsake  them.  Was  not  His  grace  sufficient? 
Though  their  concept  of  Him  had  grossly  degenerated,  yet  the 
deliverer  \vould  come,  he  must! 

"And  he  did.  In  the  depths  of  their  night — in  the  midst  of 
the  heaviest  darkness  that  ever  lay  over  the  world — there  arose 
a  great  light.  Through  the  densest  ignorance  of  the  human 
mind  filtered  the  Christ-principle,  and  was  set  forth  by  the 
channel  through  which  it  came,  the  man  Jesus. 

"What  had  happened?  Had  there  been  a  conference  among 
God,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  debate  the  sending  of 
salvation  to  mankind,  as  recorded  by  the  poet  Milton?  Alas! 
what  a  crude,  materialistic  conception.  Had  God  so  loved  the 
world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son?  But  God  is  Love, 
infinite,  unchanging.  And  His  unique  Son,  the  Christ-principle, 
available  to  all  mankind,  was  'before  Abraham.'  Had  a  great, 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


dimly  perceived  principle  been  demonstrated,  namely,  that,  if 
we  yearn  long  and  earnestly  for  the  right,  it  comes?  Had  the 
Jewish  nation  'demonstrated'  the  Christ?  Had  their  centuries 
of  looking  and  expecting  resulted  in  a  saviour  being  manifested 
to  them?  It  was  a  period  in  the  unfolding  of  human  thought 
when  civilization  had  reached  its  lowest  depths.  Morality  had 
evaporated  to  the  dregs.  Rome  was  become  the  world's  harlot. 
A  few  years  more,  and  Nero  would  drag  his  vulpine  immorality 
across  the  stage.  Paganism  was  virtue  in  comparison  with  the 
lust  of  men  in  that  dark  hour.  And  yet,  in  the  very  midst  of 
it,  appeared  the  most  venerated,  the  most  beloved  man  in  all 
history,  bearing  the  Christ-message  like  a  flaming  torch! 

"  'Always  our  being  is  descending  into  us,'  said  Emerson. 
But  our  true  being  can  be  none  other  than  infinite  mind's  idea 
of  itself.  Our  true  individuality  must  be  the  way  that  mind 
regards  us.  And  thus  it  was  that  Israel's  true  being  descended, 
filtering  in  through  the  thick  mists  of  error.  That  true  being 
was  the  deliverer,  par  excellence,  for  it  was  the  message  of 
truth  that  bade  men  deny  themselves,  their  carnal  selves,  and 
know  but  the  one  God,  infinite  mind.  That  was  the  grace 
sufficient  for  them,  that  would  have  solved  their  problems,  that 
would  have  enabled  them  to  lay  off  the  'old  man'  and  his  woes 
and  afflictions,  and  put  on  the  'new  man,'  divine  mind's  image. 
But  the  carnal  mind  sought  a  material  kingdom.  It  wanted, 
not  spirit,  but  matter.  It  cruelly  rejected  the  message  bearer, 
and  sought  to  kill  his  message  by  slaying  him  on  the  cross. 
And  thereby  the  Jewish  nation  rent  itself  asunder,  and  sank 
into  carnal  oblivion.  Ah,  how  they  have  been  cursed  by  the 
crucifixion  of  Jesus! 

"Men  ask  to-day:  Did  Jesus  really  live?  Or  is  he  a  myth 
ical  character,  like  the  gods  of  pagan  Rome?  Let  us  ask,  in 
making  our  reply,  how  truth  comes  to  mankind?  Is  it  not 
always  through  some  human  channel?  Then  the  great  say 
ings  attributed  to  Jesus  at  least  came  from  a  human  being. 
Let  us  go  further:  it  is  the  common  history  of  mankind  that 
truth  comes  to  the  human  mind  only  after  a  period  of  prepara 
tion.  Not  conscious  preparation,  necessarily,  but,  rather,  a 
preparation  forced  by  events.  The  truth  of  a  mathematical 
principle  can  not  come  to  me  unless  I  am  prepared  to  receive 
it.  And  the  greatest  good  comes  to  men  only  after  they  have 
learned  the  nothingness  of  the  material  ambitions  and  aims 
which  they  have  been  pursuing.  By  its  own  rottenness  the 
world  had  been  made  fallow  for  truth.  The  awfulness  of  its 
own  exposure  in  its  rampant,  unlicensed  revels,  had  shown  as 
never  before  the  human  mind's  absolute  nothingness — its  noth 
ingness  as  regards  real  value,  permanence,  and  genuine  good 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


— in  that  first  century  of  our  so-called  Christian  era.  And 
when  the  nothingness  of  the  carnal  mind  was  made  plain,  men 
saw  the  reality  of  the  truth,  as  revealed  in  the  Christ,  back  of 
it  all.  The  divine  message  was  whispered  to  a  human  men 
tality.  And  that  mentality  expanded  under  the  God-influence, 
until  at  last  it  gave  to  the  sin-weary  world  the  Christ-principle 
of  salvation.  Let  us  call  that  human  mentality,  for  conven 
ience,  the  man  Jesus. 

"And  now,  was  he  born  of  a  virgin?  Impossible!  And  yet 
—let  us  see.  It  was  common  enough  in  his  day  for  virgins  to 
pretend  to  be  writh  child  by  the  Holy  Ghost;  and  so  we  do  not 
criticise  those  who  refuse  to  accept  the  dogma  of  the  virgin 
birth.  But  a  little  reflection  in  the  light  of  what  we  have  been 
discussing  throws  a  wonderful  illumination  upon  the  question. 
If  matter  and  material  modes  are  real,  then  we  must  at  once 
relegate  the  stories  of  the  virgin  birth,  the  miracles,, the  resur 
rection,  and  the  ascension  to  the  realm  of  myth.  If  the  so- 
called  laws  of  matter  are  real,  irrefragable  laws,  then  we  in 
dulgently  pass  by  these  stories  as  figments  of  heated  imagina 
tions.  But,  regarding  matter  as  a  human,  mortal  concept, 
entirely  mental,  and  wholly  subject  to  the  impress  and  influ 
ence  of  mind,  and  knowing,  as  we  do  now,  that  mental  concepts 
change  with  changed  thought,  we  are  forced  to  look  with  more 
favor  upon  these  questions  which  for  centuries  caused  men  to 
shed  their  fellows'  blood. 

"Mr.  Hitt  pointed  out  in  our  last  meeting  that  mortal  beings 
are  interpretations  in  mortal  or  human  mind  of  the  infinite 
mind,  God,  and  its  ideas.  The  most  perfect  human  interpreta 
tion  of  God's  greatest  idea,  Man,  was  Christ  Jesus.  The  real 
selfhood  of  every  one  of  us  is  God's  idea  of  us.  It  is  spiritual, 
mental.  The  world  calls  it  the  'soul,'  the  'divine  essence,'  and 
the  'immortal  spark.'  The  Christ  was  the  real,  spiritual  self 
hood  of  the  man  Jesus.  So  the  Christ  is  the  real  selfhood  of 
each  of  us.  It  is  not  born  of  the  flesh.  It  is  not  conceived  and 
brought  forth  in  conformity  with  human  modes.  Now  was 
this  great  fact  externalized  in  the  immaculate  conception  and 
birth?  It  does  not  grow  and  decay  and  pass  away  in  death. 
It  is  the  'unique'  Son  of  God  which  is  back  of  each  one  of  us. 
But  the  wrorld  has  seen  it  only  once  in  its  fullness,  and  then 
through  the  man  Jesus. 

"Something  happened  in  that  first  century  of  the  so-called 
Christian  era — something  of  tremendous  significance.  What 
wras  it?  It  was  the  birth  of  the  Christ-idea  into  the  human 
consciousness.  Was  the  Christ-idea  virgin-born?  Aye,  that 
it  was,  for  God,  infinite  Mind,  alone  wras  its  origin  and  parent. 
The  speculation  which  has  turned  about  that  wonderful  first 

132 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


century  event  has  dealt  with  the  human  channel  through  which 
the  Christ-idea  flowed  to  mankind.  But  let  us  see  what  light 
our  deductions  throw  even  upon  that. 

"Referring  all  things  to  the  realm  of  the  mental,  where  we 
now  know  they  belong,  we  see  that  man  never  fell,  but  that 
Israel's  idea  of  God  and  man  did  fall,  woefully.  We  see  that 
the  Christ-principle  appeared  among  men;  we  see  that  to-day 
it  works  marvels;  we  must  admit  that  throughout  the  ages 
before  Jesus  it  had  done  so;  we  know  now  that  the  great  things 
which  Israel  is  recorded  to  have  done  were  accomplished  by 
the  Christ-principle  working  through  men,  and  that  when  their 
vision  became  obscured  they  lost  the  knowledge  of  that  prin 
ciple  and  how  to  use  it.  History  records  the  working  of  great 
deeds  by  that  same  Christ-principle  when  it  was  re-born  in  our 
first  century;  and  we  also  can  see  how  the  obscuring  of  the 
spiritual  by  the  material  in  the  Emperor  Constantine's  time 
caused  the  loss  of  the  Church's  power  to  do  great  works.  We 
are  forced  to  admit  the  omnipotence,  immanence,  and  eternality 
of  the  Christ-principle,  for  it  is  divine  mind,  God  himself. 
Moses,  Elisha,  Elijah,  the  ancient  prophets,  all  had  primitive 
perceptions  of  truth,  and  all  became  channels  for  the  passing 
of  the  Christ-principle  to  mankind  in  some  degree.  But  none 
of  these  men  ever  illustrated  that  principle  as  did  the  man 
Jesus.  He  is  the  most  marvelous  manifestation  of  God  that 
has  ever  appeared  among  mankind;  so  true  and  exact  was  the 
manifestation  that  he  could  tell  the  world  that  in  seeing  him 
they  were  actually  seeing  the  Father.  It  is  quite  true  that 
many  of  his  great  sayings  were  not  original  with  him.  Great 
truths  have  been  voiced,  even  by  so-called  pagans,  from  earliest 
times.  But  he  demonstrated  and  made  practical  the  truth  in 
these  sayings.  And  he  exposed  the  nothingness  of  the  human 
mental  concept  of  matter  by  healing  disease,  walking  the  waves, 
and  in  other  wonderful  ways.  It  is  true  that  long  before  his 
time  Greek  philosophers  had  hit  upon  the  theory  of  the  noth 
ingness  of  matter.  Plato  had  said  that  only  ideas  were  real. 
But  Jesus — or  the  one  who  brought  the  Christ-message — was 
the  clearest  mentality,  the  cleanest  human  window-pane,  to 
quote  Carmen,  that  ever  existed.  Through  him  the  divine 
mind  showed  with  almost  unobscured  fullness.  God's  existence 
had  been  discerned  and  His  goodness  proved  from  time  to  time 
by  prophets  and  patriarchs,  but  by  no  means  to  the  extent  that 
Jesus  proved  it.  There  were  those  before  him  who  had  as 
serted  that  there  was  but  one  reality,  and  that  human  con 
sciousness  was  not  the  real  self.  There  were  even  those  who 
believed  matter  to  be  created  by  the  force  of  thought,  even  as 
in  our  own  day.  But  it  remained  for  Jesus  to  make  those  ideas 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


intensely  practical,  even  to  the  overcoming  and  dissolution  of 
his  whole  material  concept  of  the  universe  and  man.  And  it 
remained  for  him  to  show  that  the  origin  of  evil  is  in  the  lie 
about  God.  It  was  his  mission  to  show  that  the  devil  was  'a 
man-killer  from  the  beginning/  because  it  is  the  supposition 
that  there  is  power  apart  from  God.  It  was  his  life  purpose  to 
show  mankind  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  lie  to  cause  fear, 
and  that  it  can  be  overcome  by  overcoming  the  false  thought 
which  produces  it.  By  overcoming  that  thought  he  showed 
men  the  evanescent  nature  of  sickness  and  death.  And  sin 
he  showed  to  be  a  missing  of  the  mark  through  lack  of  under 
standing  of  what  constitutes  real  good. 

"Turn  now  again  to  the  Bible,  that  fascinating  record  of  a 
whole  people's  search  for  God  and  their  changing  concept  of 
Him.  Note  that,  wherever  in  its  records  evil  seems  to  be  made 
real,  it  is  for  the  purpose  of  uncovering  and  destroying  it  by 
the  vigorous  statements  of  truth  which  you  will  almost  invari 
ably  find  standing  near  the  exposition  of  error.  So  evil  seemed 
very  real  in  the  first  century  of  our  era;  but  it  was  uncovered 
by  the  coming  of  Jesus.  The  exposure  of  evil  revealed  the 
Christ,  right  at  hand." 

"But,"  protested  Haynerd,  "let's  get  back  to  the  question  of 
the  virgin  birth." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Father  Waite.  "But  let  us  first  con 
sider  what  human  birth  is." 

"Now  there!"  exclaimed  Haynerd.  "Now  you  are  touching 
my  lifelong  question.  If  I  am  immortal,  where  was  I  before  I 
was  born?" 

"Of  which  T  are  you  speaking,  Ned?"  asked  Father  Waite. 
"The  real  T  is  God's  image  and  likeness,  His  reflection.  It  was 
never  born,  and  never  dies.  The  human  T  had  a  beginning. 
And  therefore  it  will  cease  to  be.  The  human  mind  makes  its 
own  laws,  and  calls  them  laws  of  nature,  or  even  God's  laws. 
And  it  obeys  them  like  a  slave.  Because  God  is  both  Father  and 
Mother  to  His  children,  His  ideas,  the  human  mind  has  decreed 
in  its  counterfeiting  process  that  it  is  itself  both  male  and 
female,  and  that  the  union  of  these  two  is  necessary  in  order 
to  give  rise  to  another  human  mind.  Do  you  see  how  it  imi 
tates  the  divine  in  an  apish  sort  of  way?  And  so  elements  of 
each  sex-type  of  the  human  mind  are  employed  in  the  forma 
tion  of  another,  their  offspring.  The  process  is  wholly  mental, 
and  is  one  of  human  belief,  quite  apart  from  the  usage  of  the 
divine  Mind,  who  'spake  and  it  was  done,'  mentally  unfolding 
a  spiritual  creation.  The  real  'you,'  Ned,  has  always  existed 
as  God's  idea  of  Himself.  It  is  spiritual,  not  material.  It  will 
come  to  light  as  the  material  'y°u'  is  put  off.  The  material 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


'you'  did  not  exist  before  it  was  humanly  born.  It  was  pro 
duced  in  supposition  by  the  union  of  the  parent  human  minds, 
which  themselves  were  reflections  of  the  male  and  female 
characteristics  of  the  communal  mortal  mind.  It  thus  had  a 
definite,  supposititious  beginning.  It  will  therefore  have  a 
definite  end." 

"And  so  I'm  doomed  to  annihilation,  eh?  That's  a  com 
forting  thought!" 

"Your  mortal  sense  of  existence,  Ned,  certainly  is  doomed 
to  extinction.  That  which  is  supposition  must  go  out.  Oh, 
it  doubtless  will  not  all  be  destroyed  when  you  pass  through 
that  change  which  we  call  death.  It  may  linger  until  you  have 
passed  through  many  such  experiences.  And  so  it  behooves 
you  to  set  about  getting  rid  of  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  thus 
avoid  the  unpleasant  experience  of  countless  death-throes. 
You  see,  Ned,  an  error  in  the  premise  will  appear  in  the  con 
clusion.  Now  you  are  starting  with  the  premise  that  the 
human  *y°u'  is  real.  That  premise  is  not  based  upon  fact. 
Its  basis  is  rank  error.  All  that  you  reflect  of  divine  mind  will 
endure  permanently,  but  whatever  you  reflect  of  the  lie  regard 
ing  that  mind  will  pass  away.  Human  beings  know  nothing 
of  their  origin,  nor  of  their  existence.  Why?  Because  there 
is  nothing  to  know  about  them;  they  are  entirely  suppositi 
tious!  Paul  says,  in  his  letter  to  the  Romans:  'They  which 
are  the  children  of  the  flesh,  these  are  not  the  children  of  God.' 
The  birth  of  the  children  of  the  flesh  is  wholly  a  human-mind 
process.  The  infant  mentality  thus  produced  knows  nothing 
whatsoever  of  itself.  It  has  no  knowledge;  is  not  founded  on 
truth.  It  will  later  manifest  hereditary  beliefs,  showing  the 
results  of  prenatal  mesmerism.  Then  it  will  receive  the  gen 
eral  assortment  of  human  thought  and  opinion — very  little  of 
it  based  on  actual  truth— which  the  world  calls  education. 
Then  it  learns  to  regard  itself  as  an  individual,  a  separate  be 
ing.  And  soon  it  attributes  its  origin  to  God.  But  the  pre 
natal  error  wall  appear  in  the  result.  The  being  manifests 
every  gradation  of  human  thought;  it  grows;  it  suffers  and 
enjoys  materially;  it  bases  its  very  existence  upon  matter;  it 
manifests  the  false  activity  of  human  thought  in  material  con 
sciousness;  and  then  it  externalizes  its  beliefs,  the  consentane 
ous  human  beliefs,  upon  its  body  and  in  its  environment;  and 
finally,  the  activity  of  the  false  thought  which  constitutes  its 
consciousness  ceases — and  the  being  dies.  Yes,  its  death  will 
be  due  to  sin,  to  'hamartio,'  missing  the  mark.  It  never  knew 
God.  And  that,  Ned,  is  human  life,  so-called. 

"Death  is  not  in  any  sense  a  cessation  of  life.  The  being 
who  dies  never  knew  what  it  was  to  live.  Death  is  the  exter- 

135 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


nalization  of  human,  mortal  beliefs,  which  are  not  based  upon 
real  knowledge,  truth.  And  so,  human  birth  is  itself  death. 
Paul  said:  'They  that  are  after  the  flesh  do  mind  the  things 
of  the  flesh;  but  they  that  are  after  the  spirit  the  things  of  the 
spirit.'  In  other  words,  mankind  are  striving  terribly,  desper 
ately,  to  keep  alive  a  sense  of  material,  fleshly  existence.  But 
they  can't  do  it.  They  are  foredoomed  to  failure,  despite  the 
discovery  of  antitoxins.  In  the  book  of  Job  we  read:  The 
spirit  of  God  hath  made  me,  and  the  breath  of  the  Almighty 
hath  given  me  life.'  Where,  then,  is  the  reality  in  prenatal 
mesmerism  and  the  drag  of  heredity?  It  is  all  supposition, 
all  a  part  of  the  one  lie,  the  'man-killer.' 

"The  change  called  death  comes  to  all  mortals.  It  is  the 
culmination  of  the  human  mind's  sense  of  limitation.  It  does 
not  usher  them  into  immortal,  illimitable  bliss.  It  but  leaves 
them  upon  another  seeming  plane  of  mortal  thought,  there  to 
drag  out  another  sense  of  existence,  unless  they  have  so  learned 
the  lesson  which  Jesus  taught  as  to  enable  them  to  overcome 
death.  It  will  not  be  overcome  for  us.  That  is  our  work.  We 
have  been  shown  how  to  do  it.  Why,  then,  do  we  waste  our 
time  in  trivial  things;  in  the  heaping  up  of  useless  money;  in 
the  vain  strife  for  sensual  pleasures?  The  mortal  will  live  and 
die,  and  live  and  die,  until  at  last  he  is  beaten  into  line  and 
forced  to  demonstrate  the  Christ-principle.  Hadn't  we  better 
begin  that  right  here  and  now?  Wishing  to  die  doesn't  solve 
our  problems.  Suicide  only  makes  us  start  again,  worse  off 
than  before.  We  shall  overcome  death  when  we  have  over 
come  sin,  for  the  physical  manifestation  called  death  is  but  the 
externalization  in  conscious  experience  of  spiritual  death — 
lack  of  a  demonstrable  understanding  of  Life,  Truth,  Spirit, 
which  is  God,  unlimited  good." 

"And  the  Church,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  with  their  cere 
monies,  their  Masses,  and— -" 

"They  have  woefully  missed  the  mark,  Ned.  They  are  all 
but  spiritually  dead.  But  I  see  protest  rising  in  our  good 
friends,  Doctor  Siler  and  Reverend  Moore,  so  I  will  hasten  on, 
for  we  have  much  ground  still  to  cover. 

"Now,  knowing  that  birth  is  a  humanly  mental  process,  is 
it  possible  that  the  man  Jesus  was  'born  of  a  virgin'?  Quite 
so;  but,  more,  no  man  ever  conceived  and  born  in  the  way 
human  beings  are  generated  has  ever  begun  to  approach  Jesus 
in  degree  of  spirituality.  If  he  had  been  born  in  human  ways, 
is  it  likely  that  he  would  ever  have  developed  such  intense 
spirituality?  Well,  not  in  a  brief  thirty-three  years  or  so! 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  had  come  into  the  world  in  some 
way  other  than  by  being  born  of  a  woman,  would  he  have  been 

136 


understandable  at  all  to  the  human  mind?  I  think  not.  He 
would  have  been  wholly  in  the  realm  of  the  mental,  far  above 
human  perception.  If  he  had  been  conceived  by  the  union  of 
the  two  sexes,  as  is  the  mortal-mind  mode  of  generation,  would 
he  not  have  been  too  material  to  have  so  quickly  developed 
that  spirituality  which  made  him  the  light  of  the  world  at  the 
age  of  thirty-three?  I  think  it  is  a  fair  question.  The  theory 
of  the  virgin  birth  at  least  seems  to  meet  the  need  of  a  sort 
of  middle  course,  whereby  the  man  should  not  be  too  human 
to  be  the  channel  for  the  great  measure  of  spirituality  with 
which  he  was  endowed,  and  yet  should  be  human  enough  to  be 
appreciable  to  other  human  minds. 

"Remember,  the  Jesus  who  has  been  reported  to  us  must 
have  regarded  matter  as  unreal,  as  nothingness.  His  works 
plainly  show  that.  And  they  as  plainly  show  that  he  came 
from  the  Father.  His  whole  life  was  such  as  to  render  the 
virgin  birth  almost  a  necessity,  as  I  see  it.  How  otherwise  can 
we  explain  him?  And  from  a  study  of  the  Gospels  I  simply 
can  not  avoid  the  conclusion  that  his  knowledge  of  the  allness 
of  God  rendered  matter  such  a  nonentity  to  him  that  he  over 
came  all  material  laws,  overcame  the  world  of  matter,  and 
even  at  the  last  dematerialized  his  material  body.  It's  an 
astonishing  thought — and  yet,  who  can  show  that  it  is  not  true? 
There  are  some  things  that  reason  insists  on  our  accepting, 
despite  the  paucity  of  human  records." 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Waite,"  said  Doctor  Morton,  "that  the  Gos 
pels  according  to  Mark  and  John  make  no  mention  of  the 
virgin  birth.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Quite  true,"  replied  Father  Waite.  "And  I  will  go  further: 
Biblical  research  during  the  past  few  years  seems  to  have  estab 
lished  the  conclusion  that  Mark's  Gospel  antedates  the  others, 
but  that  prior  to  it  there  existed  a  collection  of  sayings  by 
Jesus,  called  the  Logia.  This  collection  of  sayings  seems  to 
have  been  originally  written  in  Aramaic,  the  language  Jesus 
spoke.  Now  Matthew  Arnold  tells  us  that  the  Gospel  narra 
tives  passed  through  at  least  fifty  years  of  oral  tradition  before 
they  became  fixed  in  the  form  in  which  we  now  have  them. 
Of  course  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  story  of  the  virgin  birth 
arose  during  those  fifty  years,  for  we  can  imagine  how  the  life 
of  Jesus  was  then  discussed!  Matthew  and  Luke  alone  speak 
of  the  virgin  birth.  Mark's  Gospel  we  believe  to  have  been 
written  by  Mark  himself.  And  we  believe  that  Papias,  who 
wrote  about  the  middle  of  the  second  century,  spoke  truly 
when  he  said:  'Mark  having  become  (or  having  been)  Peter's 
interpreter,  wrote  all  that  he  remembered  (or  all  that  Peter 
related)  though  he  did  not  (record)  in  order  that  which  was 

137 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


said  or  done  by  Christ.'  In  other  words,  even  as  Renan  admits, 
the  Gospel  of  Mark  must  be  taken  as  authentically  his.  Now 
Matthew's  Gospel  depends  for  most  of  its  data  upon  Mark  and 
the  Collection  of  sayings.  Mark's  Gospel  does  not  mention  the 
virgin  birth;  the  Collection  probably  did.  Also,  Matthew  prob 
ably  did  not  write  the  Gospel  attributed  to  him;  but  he  almost 
certainly  did  write  the  Collection  of  sayings,  from  which  in 
part  the  present  Gospel  according  to  Matthew  was  compiled. 
Luke's  Gospel  was  undoubtedly  written  by  the  physician  Luke, 
Paul's  companion,  and  depended  largely  for  its  data  upon 
Mark's  Gospel  and  the  Collection  of  Matthew.  Yet  we  can  not 
say  that  the  omission  of  mention  in  the  Gospels  according  to 
Mark  and  John  of  the  virgin  birth  renders  the  story  a  legend, 
in  view  of  our  own  present  great  knowledge  of  the  constitu 
tion  of  matter,  of  material  laws,  and  of  the  fact  that  the  virgin 
birth  is  at  least  rendered  credible  by  the  subsequent  very 
extraordinary  career  of  Jesus.  Moreover,  remember  that  our 
New  Testament  is  a  small  book,  and  that  it  is  quite  probable 
that  a  great  mass  of  literature  existed  on  the  subject  of  Jesus 
and  his  work,  and  that  it  is  possible  that  other  of  the  disciples 
wrote  treatises,  perhaps  many  of  them.  How  many  of  these 
touched  on  the  subject  of  the  virgin  birth  we  may  never  know. 
Perhaps  none;  perhaps  all.  But  this  conclusion  at  least  we 
must  accept:  the  validity  of  the  story  of  the  virgin  birth  does 
not  rest  with  the  four  Gospels  which  have  come  down  to  us 
out  of  the  great  mass  of  literature  which  probably  once  ex 
isted.  Rather  is  the  probability  of  the  immaculate  conception 
a  function  of  our  present  knowledge  of  matter,  its  pseudo- 
laws,  and  the  great  fact  that  the  entire  life  of  Jesus  as  reported 
in  all  the  Gospels  lends  weight  to  the  belief  that  his  birth  was 
not  in  the  ordinary  mortal-mind  manner." 

"I  accept  that,"  said  Hitt.  "I  believe  you  are  right." 
"And  I,"  said  Carmen,  "can  not  see  that  the  origin  of  the 
human  channel  through  which  the  Christ-principle  flowed  to 
mankind  is  of  any  consequence.  The  principle  has  always 
existed.  Jesus  said  that  it  existed  before  Abraham.  It  alone 
is  the  important  thing." 

"Very  true,"  replied  Father  Waite.  "It  has  been  said  that 
the  immaculate  conception  was  the  result  of  Mary's  realization 
that  real  man  is  the  son  of  God.  This  is  a  beautiful  thought. 
Certainly  Jesus  did  seem  to  manifest  some  such  metaphysical 
idea.  Perhaps  Mary  was  a  woman  of  tremendous  force  of 
character.  Perhaps  it  did  come  to  her  that  her  son  should  be 
the  Messiah  of  his  race.  Jesus  certainly  did  acquire  the  mes 
sianic  consciousness — and  thereby  upheaved  the  world.  But, 
whatever  the  human  mode  of  birth,  certainly  the  Christ-prin- 

138 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ciple  was  brought  into  the  world  because  of  the  world's  tre 
mendous  need.  It  came  as  a  response.  It  is  only  the  confusing 
of  the  Christ  with  the  man  Jesus  that  is  so  largely  responsible 
for  the  weakness  of  orthodox  theology. 

"But  now,  referring  again  to  the  Bible,  let  me  say  that  the 
Pentateuch  is  composed  of  a  variety  of  documents  written  by 
various  authors.  We  have  no  positive  proof  that  Moses  had 
aught  to  do  with  its  authorship,  although  parts  of  it  may  be 
based  on  data  which  either  he  originated  or  sanctioned.  The 
books  of  Samuel  exhibit  a  plurality  of  sources.  The  book  of 
Isaiah  was  written  to  record  the  sayings  of  at  least  two  persons, 
both  men  of  marvelous  spiritual  vision.  The  Song  of  Solomon 
was  originally  probably  a  Persian  love-poem.  The  book  of  Job 
illustrates  the  human-mind  problem  of  suffering,  and  the  utter 
inadequacy  of  philosophy  to  heal  it.  It  is  a  ringing  protest 
against  conventional  theology. 

"But  it  is  with  the  New  Testament  that  we  are  particularly 
concerned,  for  we  believe  it  to  contain  the  method  of  salvation 
from  human  ills.  None  of  the  original  documents  are  extant, 
of  course.  And  yet,  the  most  searching  textual  criticism  goes 
to  show  that  the  New  Testament  books  as  we  have  them  to-day 
are  genuine  reproductions  of  the  original  documents,  with  but 
very  little  adulteration  of  erroneous  addition  by  later  hands. 
This  means  much  to  us.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  first 
three  Gospels.  The  book  of  Acts  certainly  was  written  by  the 
author  of  the  third  Gospel,  Luke.  First  Peter  was  composed  by 
the  disciple  Peter,  or  was  written  under  his  sanction.  The 
Gospel  of  John  and  the  book  of  First  John  were  written  by  one 
and  the  same  author — but  whether  by  the  disciple  John  or 
not,  I  can  not  say.  If  this  great  disciple  did  not  write  the 
Fourth  Gospel,  at  least  his  influence  seems  to  be  felt  all  through 
it.  The  probability  is  that  he  knew  what  was  in  it,  and  ap 
proved  of  it,  although  the  actual  composition  may  have  been  by 
another,  possibly  a  very  learned  Greek.  To  me,  the  Fourth 
Gospel  is  the  most  masterly  work  ever  composed  by  man.  It 
stands  absolutely  alone.  The  criticism  that  John,  being  a 
Jew,  could  not  have  composed  it,  falls  before  the  greater  truth 
that,  having  become  a  Christian,  he  was  no  longer  a  Jew.  He 
was  a  new  creature.  For  how  could  he  have  been  other,  seeing 
that  he  had  lived  with  Jesus? 

"And  now  as  to  Paul,  who  contributes  about  one-third  of 
the  New  Testament.  I  have  mentioned  the  letters  to  the  Thes- 
salonians,  Corinthians,  Galatians,  and  Romans  as  indisputably 
his.  To  these  we  can  add,  with  scarcely  less  weight  of  authen 
ticity,  Colossians,  Philemon,  Ephesians,  and  Philippians.  As 
to  the  Epistles  to  Timothy  and  Titus,  there  is  still  doubt.  These 

139 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


letters  were  written  to  the  various  Churches  chronologically, 
as  I  have  mentioned  them.  It  has  been  said  that  Jesus  was 
way  over  the  heads  of  his  reporters.  That  was  inevitable. 
Even  Paul  misunderstood  him  at  times.  But — and  here  is  the 
important  fact  for  us — Paul's  letters  exhibit  a  marvelous  spirit 
ual  growth  in  the  man,  and  show  him  at  last  to  be  the  grand 
master-metaphysician  of  the  Christian  era.  Has  it  ever  oc 
curred  to  you  that  what  the  Gospels  tell  about  is  almost  wholly 
spiritual?  The  material  is  all  but  neglected  by  their  com 
posers.  Indeed,  with  the  questions  of  time  and  place,  the  Gos 
pel  narrators  seemed  to  have  been  but  slightly  concerned.  But 
with  the  delineation  of  the  Christ — ah!  that  was  their  theme. 
They  were  not  writing  a  biography.  They  were  painting  a 
spiritual  portrait.  In  the  light  of  this  great  truth  the  apparent 
lack  of  harmony  in  the  Gospel  narratives  loses  significance. 
And  how  little  there  is  in  the  Gospels  of  theology,  of  institution, 
of  organization!  How  trifling  are  creed  and  doctrine,  how  little 
are  Catholicism  and  Protestantism,  compared  with  the  stupend 
ous  fact  that  God  is,  and  that  His  truth,  the  Christ-principle, 
is  still  here  to-day  and  available! 

"And  so  with  Paul,  he  was  expounding  the  'method  and 
secret'  of  the  Christ.  And  he  first  had  to  work  up  to  it  him 
self.  He  may  have  thought,  when  he  wrote  his  first  letter  to 
the  Thessalonians,  that  the  man  Jesus  would  come  again  in  the 
skies,  with  great  pomp  and  surrounded  by  the  Saints.  But  in 
his  second  letter  he  states  plainly  that  the  Christ  wilt  come 
when  the  'old  man'  is  laid  off.  Not  much  occasion  for  mis 
understanding  there,  I  think.  Indeed,  after  Jesus  so  clearly 
stated  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  within  men,  the  marvel 
is  that  there  could  have  arisen  any  confusion  whatsoever  on 
the  subject  of  the  second  coming  of  the  Christ." 

"I  believe,"  interposed  Reverend  Moore,  "that  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrew's  contains  statements  of  belief  in  a  judgment 
after  death,  in  a  heaven,  a  hell,  and  everlasting  life,  not  wholly 
consistent  with  your  remarks." 

"The  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,"  returned  Father  Waite,  "was 
not  written  by  Paul,  nor  is  it  quite  consistent  with  his  letters. 
But,  read  Paul's  wonderful  eighth  chapter  of  Romans.  Read 
his  third  chapter  of  First  Corinthians.  Read  all  his  letters  in 
the  order  in  which  I  have  mentioned  them,  which  was  as  they 
were  written,  and  you  can  not  fail  to  grasp  his  marvelous  ex 
panding  perception  of  the  Christ-principle;  the  nothingness  of 
the  material  concept;  the  impotence  of  the  lie  that  opposes 
God,  and  constitutes  all  evil;  and  the  necessity  of  right-thinking 
if  one  would  work  out  his  salvation  from  the  errors  that  assail 
mankind.  Paul  shows  that  he  passed  through  a  'belief  period,' 

140 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


and  that  he  emerged  into  the  light  of  demonstrable  under 
standing  at  last.  If  men  had  followed  him  they  never  could 
have  fallen  into  the  absurd  theological  beliefs  of  foreordina- 
tion,  infant  damnation,  the  resurrection  of  the  flesh,  and  all 
the  other  theological  horrors  and  atrocities  of  the  centuries. 

"Yes,  the  Bible  is,  as  Arnold  said,  based  on  propositions 
which  all  can  verify.  The  trouble  is,  mankind  have  not  tried 
to  verify  them!  They  have  relegated  all  that  to  the  life  beyond 
the  grave.  I  fear  a  sorry  disappointment  awaits  them,  for, 
even  as  Paul  says,  they  will  be  after  the  change  called  death 
only  what  they  were  before.  It  is  like  recovering  from  a  case 
of  sickness,  for  sickness  and  death  are  alike  manifestations  of 
mortal  thought.  We  awake  from  each  still  human,  still  with 
our  problems  before  us.  We  must  break  the  mesmerism  of 
the  belief  that  the  practical  application  of  Jesus'  teachings 
must  be  relegated  to  the  realm  of  death,  or  to  the  unattain 
able.  We  must  apply  the  Christ-principle,  and  learn  to  hit 
the  mark,  for  sin  is  always  weakness,  never  strength. 

"And  remember  this:  having  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the 
Christ,  we  are  bidden  to  acknowledge  him — that  is,  to  act-our- 
knowledge.  Many  of  the  world's  philosophers  have  worked 
out  great  truths.  But  they  have  rested  content  with  that.  Many 
scientists,  knowing  that  matter  is  unreal,  nevertheless  conduct 
themselves  as  if  it  constituted  the  one  and  only  real  fact  of 
existence!  Is  error  like  truth?  Decidedly  no!  It  is  truth's 
exact  opposite.  Is  truth  real?  Certainly  it  is!  Then  its  oppo 
site  can  not  be  real.  The  human  mentality  holds  the  belief 
that  there  is  something  apart  from  God,  spirit.  That  belief 
becomes  objectified  in  the  human  mentality  as  matter.  And 
within  matter  is  contained  all  evil  of  every  sort  and  name. 
Evil  is  not,  as  the  philosophers  would  have  us  believe,  a  lower 
form  of  good.  It  is  not  'good  in  the  making.'  It  is  always 
error,  the  direct  opposite  of  truth.  And  if  truth  is  real  and 
eternal,  error  can  not  be.  See  the  grave  mistake  in  which 
Emerson  became  enmeshed.  He  said:  'There  seems  to  be  a 
necessity  in  spirit  to  manifest  itself  in  material  forms.'  Now 
follow  that  out  to  its  logical  conclusion.  If  spirit  is  synony 
mous  with  God,  then  God  manifests  Himself  in  both  good  and 
evil,  fair  and  foul,  life  and  death — and  which  is  good,  and 
which  bad?  All  is  alike  the  reflection  of  God.  No,  my  friends, 
rather  accept  Jesus'  statement  that  evil  is  the  lie,  of  which  no 
man  need  be  afraid,  and  which  all  must  and  shall  overcome. 
And  the  'old  man,5  with  all  his  material  concepts  of  nature  and 
the  universe,  must  and  will  be  laid  off,  thus  revealing  the  spirit 
ual  man,  the  image  and  likeness  of  the  one  divine  Mind. 

"Now,  just  a  few  words  about  miracles,  the  great  stumbling 

141 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


block  to  the  acceptance  of  the  Gospels.  Are  they,  together 
with  the  entire  Gospel  narrative,  legendary?  If  so,  they  must 
have  arisen  during  those  fifty  years  between  Jesus  and  the 
recording  of  the  narratives.  But  this  very  period  is  covered 
by  Paul's  letters,  which  record  his  thought.  And  even  the 
most  relentless  of  Bible  critics  admit  the  genuineness  of  Paul's 
authorship  of  the  Epistles  to  the  Romans,  the  Corinthians,  the 
Thessalonians,  and  the  Galatians.  If  the  Gospel  narratives  are 
legends,  they  grew  up  and  found  acceptance  in  fifty  years.  A 
pretty  fair  miracle  in  itself,  when  we  take  into  consideration 
the  inherent  incredulity  of  the  human  mind!  As  Dean  Farrar 
says:  'Who  would  have  invented,  who  would  have  merely 
imagined,  things  so  unlike  the  thoughts  of  man  as  these?' 

"Now  Paul  must  have  been  acquainted  with  men  who  had 
seen  and  known  Jesus.  And  we  are  forced  to  admit  that  Paul 
was  a  very  strong,  sane  man.  These  legends  could  not  have 
grown  up  in  his  day  and  been  accepted  by  him.  And  as  long 
as  there  were  men  living  who  had  known  Jesus — and  that  must 
have  been  as  late  as  the  last  quarter  of  the  first  century — the 
true  events  of  Jesus'  life  could  hardly  have  given  way  to  a  set 
of  childish  legends.  As  a  matter  of  recorded  fact,  the  various 
Christian  Churches  had  accepted  Jesus  within  thirty  years  of 
the  crucifixion.  And,  too,  the  words  of  Paul  and  the  Synoptists 
were  written  at  a  time  when  the  sick  were  still  being  healed 
and  even  the  dead  raised  by  the  practical  application  of  Jesus' 
teachings.  Hence,  miracles  did  not  astonish  them. 

"Our  own  inability  to  perform  the  works  attributed  to 
Jesus  is  hardly  sufficient  ground  for  denying  the  belief  that 
he  really  did  them.  For  what  is  a  miracle?  Certainly  that  the 
greater  portion  of  the  New  Testament  was  written  by  a  few 
fishermen,  a  publican,  and  a  tentmaker  is  one  of  the  most 
stupendous  miracles  on  record!  And  the  miracle  of  miracles 
is  Jesus  Christ  himself!  Because  Jesus  is  reported  to  have 
healed  the  sick,  raised  the  dead,  and  walked  the  waves,  all  in 
opposition  to  material  laws — the  so-called  laws  of  nature — the 
world  says  the  reports  are  fantastic,  that  they  are  fables,  and 
that  his  reporters  were  hypnotized,  deluded!  And  yet  I  tell 
you  that  he  did  not  break  a  single  law!  He  did  act  in  defiance 
of  the  so-called  testimony  of  the  physical  senses,  which  has 
always  been  accepted  by  mankind  as  law.  We  now  know 
what  that  sense-testimony  is — human,  mortal  thought.  He 
did  rise  above  human  consciousness  of  evil.  And  because  he 
did  so,  he  instantaneously  healed  the  sick.  A  miracle  ex 
presses,  not  the  beliefs  of  the  human  mind,  but  the  law  of 
God,  infinite  mind,  and  makes  that  law  conceivable  to  the  hu 
man  mentality.  God's  laws  are  never  set  aside,  for  by  very 

142 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


definition  a  law  is  immutable,  else  it  ceases  to  be  law.  But 
when  the  human  mind  grows  out  of  itself  sufficiently  to  per 
ceive  those  laws  and  to  express  them  to  its  fellow-minds,  the 
result  is  called  a  miracle.  Moreover,  the  ability  to  perform 
miracles  is  but  a  function  of  spirituality.  A  miracle  is  a  sign 
of  one's  having  advanced  to  such  a  degree  of  spirituality  as  to 
enable  him  to  rise  above  material  consciousness  and  its  limita 
tions,  which  are  called  laws.  The  consciousness  that  knows 
no  evil  will  perform  miracles.  The  early  Christians  did  great 
works.  These  works  were  the  'signs  following,'  and  attested 
their  knowledge  of  the  allness  of  God.  A  miracle  is  simply  a 
proof  of  God.  Carmen — 

"Lewis!"  protested  the  girl. 

"Let  me  say  it,  please.  Carmen  knew  that  no  power  op 
posed  to  God  could  hold  Sidney.  And  the  'sign'  followed.  Yes, 
she  performed  a  miracle.  She  broke  a  human-mind,  so-called 
law,  a  limitation.  She  proved  God's  law  of  harmony  and  holi 
ness — wholeness— to  be  omnipresent  and  omnipotent.  And, 
mark  me,  friends,  every  one  of  us  must  learn  to  do  likewise! 
Not  only  must  the  Church  obey  Jesus  and  do  the  works  which 
he  did,  but  every  individual  will  have  to  do  them  himself." 

"His  works  were  done  for  a  special  reason,  Mr.  Waite," 
interposed  Reverend  Moore.  "They  were  to  testify  to  his 
messiahship.  They  are  not  required  of  us." 

Father  Waite  silently  regarded  the  minister  for  some  mo 
ments.  Then  he  went  on  gently: 

"It  seems  incredible  that  the  plain  teachings  of  Jesus  could 
have  been  so  warped  and  twisted  as  they  have  been  by  ortho 
dox  theology.  Christianity  is  so  simple!  Why  should  even 
the  preachers  themselves  condemn  the  one  who  seeks  to  obey 
Christ?  Mr.  Moore,  the  real  man  is  God's  highest  idea  of 
Himself.  The  human  mind  makes  mental  concepts  of  God's 
man.  And  Jesus  was  the  grandest  concept  of  God's  idea  of 
Himself  that  the  human  mind  has  ever  constructed  by  means 
of  its  interpretations.  He  was  the  image  of  truth.  One  of 
his  grandest  characteristics  was  his  implicit  obedience  to  his 
vision  of  the  Father.  And  he  demanded  just  as  implicit  obe 
dience  from  us.  But  he  bade  us,  again  and  again,  heal  the  sick 
and  raise  the  dead!" 

"We  heal  the  sick!     We  have  our  physicians!" 

"Yes?  And  Asa  had  his  physicians  to  whom  he  turned — 
with  the  result  that  he  'slept  with  his  fathers.'  There  is  no 
more  ironical  statement  in  the  whole  Bible  than  that.  We  turn 
to  our  physicians  because  we  have  no  faith  in  God.  Materia 
medica  physicians  do  not  heal  the  sick.  They  sometimes  suc 
ceed  in  causing  the  human  mind  temporarily  to  substitute  a 

143 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


belief  of  health  for  a  belief  of  disease,  that  is  all.  But  Jesus 
and  the  early  Christians  healed  by  true  prayer— the  prayer  of 
affirmation,  the  prayer  that  denied  reality  to  evil,  and  affirmed 
the  omnipotence  of  God.  And  that  was  done  through  an  un 
derstanding  of  God  as  immutable  law,  or  principle." 

"Would  you  pray  to  a  principle?"  demanded  Reverend 
Moore,  with  a  note  of  contempt  in  his  voice.  "I  prefer  my  own 
concept  of  God,  as  one  who  hears  our  petitions,  and  pities  us, 
and  not  as  a  lifeless  principle!" 

"God  is  principle,  Mr.  Moore,"  replied  Father  Waite,  "in  that 
He  is  'that  by  which  all  is.'  And  in  order  to  be  such  He  must 
be,  as  the  Bible  says,  'the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.' 
He  must  be  immovable,  regardless  of  human  pleading  and 
petition.  And  so  true  prayer,  the  prayer  that  draws  an  an 
swer,  is  not  an  objective  appeal  to  Him,  but  is  an  intelligent 
application  of  the  Christ-principle  to  all  our  problems  and 
needs.  Such  prayer  will  remove  mountains  in  proportion  to 
the  understanding  and  motive  back  of  it.  And  such  prayer 
does  not  seek  to  inform  the  Almighty  of  the  state  of  affairs 
here  among  men,  informing  Him  that  evil  is  real  and  rampant, 
and  begging  that  He  will  stoop  down  and  remove  it.  It  is  the 
prayer  that  manifests  man's  oneness  \vith  the  infinite  mind 
as  its  image,  reflecting  a  knowledge  of  the  allness  of  good  and 
the  consequent  unreality  and  powerlessness  of  evil,  the  lie 
about  it.  It  was  healing  by  such  prayer,  Mr.  Moore,  that  the 
Episcopal  Synod  rejected  only  recently.  Instead  of  doing  the 
healing  themselves  by  means  of  the  principle  given  them,  they 
still  plead  with  God,  the  immovable  and  immutable,  to  do  it 
for  them,  provided  the  very  uncertain  science  of  materia  med- 
ica  fails. 

"The  true  method  of  prayer  was  employed  by  the  early 
Christians,  until  the  splendid  vision  of  the  Christ  became  ob 
scured  and  finally  lost  to  the  Church  by  its  bargaining  with 
Constantine  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  namely,  temporal  power. 
Then  began  to  rise  that  great  worldly  institution,  the  so-called 
Holy  Church.  In  the  first  half  of  the  sixth  century  Justinian 
closed  the  schools  of  philosophy  at  Athens.  For  a  while 
Judaizing  Christianity  continued  its  conflict  with  Gnosticism. 
And  then  both  merged  themselves  into  the  Catholic  form  of 
faith,  which  issued  forth  from  Rome,  with  Christian  tradition 
grafted  upon  paganism.  Theology  and  ritualism  divided  the 
gospel  of  healing  the  sick  and  saving  the  sinner  into  two 
radically  different  systems,  neither  of  which  is  Christian,  and 
neither  of  which  can  either  heal  or  save.  Since  then,  lip-service 
and  ceremonial  have  taken  the  place  of  healing  the  sick  and 
raising  the  dead.  The  world  again  slipped  back  steadily  from 

144 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


the  spiritual  to  the  material,  and  to-day  ethics  constitutes  our 
religion,  and  stupid  drugs  hold  sway  where  once  sat  enthroned 
the  healing  Christ-principle." 

"I  would  remind  you,  Mr.  Waite,  that  I  have  Catholic  lean 
ings  myself,"  said  Doctor  Siler.  "I  don't  like  to  hear  either  my 
religion  or  my  profession  abused." 

"My  criticism,  Doctor,"  replied  Father  Waite,  "is  but  an 
exposure  of  the  entrenched  beliefs  and  modes  of  the  human 
mind." 

"But,  sir,  the  Church  is  a  great  social  force,  and  a  present 
necessity." 

"The  worth  of  a  belief  as  a  social  force,  Doctor,  must  be 
ascertained  from  its  fruits.  The  Roman  Church  has  been  an 
age-long  instigator  of  wars,  disorders,  and  atrocious  persecu 
tions  throughout  the  world.  Its  assumption  that  its  creed  is 
the  only  religious  truth  is  an  insult  to  the  world's  expanding 
intelligence.  Its  arrogant  claim  to  speak  with  the  authority 
of  God  is  one  of  the  anomalies  of  this  century  of  enlightenment. 
Its  mesmeric  influence  upon  the  poor  and  ignorant  is  a  con 
tinuous  tragedy." 

"The  poor  and  ignorant!  Are  you  unmindful  of  the 
Church's  schools  and  hospitals?" 

"No,  Doctor.  Nor  am  I  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  the  suc 
cess  of  Christianity  is  not  measured  by  hospitals.  Rather, 
their  continuance  attests  the  lamentable  failure  of  its  orthodox 
misinterpretation.  I  have  been  a  priest,  Doctor.  I  do  not  want 
to  see  this  splendid  country  forced  into  the  iron  shackles  of 
priestcraft." 

"It  can  not  happen  here!"  cried  Haynerd,  pounding  the 
table  with  his  fist.  "The  time  has  passed  when  a  man  can  say, 
'My  church,  be  she  right  or  wrong,  but  my  church!'  and  insist 
that  it  shall  be  forced  upon  us,  whether  we  like  it  or  not!" 

"Doctor,"  continued  Father  Waite,  "the  Romanist  has  al 
ways  missed  the  mark.  He  prayed  to  a  God  of  love  to  give  him 
power  to  exterminate  heretics — those  who  differed  with  him  in 
belief.  But  he  prayed  with  iniquity,  hatred,  murder  in  his 
heart;  and  God,  who  is  too  pure  to  know  evil,  heard  him  not. 
Prayer  is  the  affirmation  of  omnipotent  good.  Is  it  good  to 
murder  one's  fellow-men?  The  Psalmist  wrote:  'If  I  regard 
iniquity  in  my  heart  the  Lord  will  not  hear  me.'  That  is  why 
the  Church's  prayers  and  curses  have  failed,  and  why  she  her 
self  is  a  failing  institution  to-day.  I  say  this  in  pity,  not  in 
malice." 

"I,  sir,  believe  in  a  religion  that  can  hate,"  returned  the 
doctor.  "Christianity  is  as  much  a  religion  of  hate  as  of  love 
— hatred  of  all  that  is  evil  and  opposed  to  the  revealed  Word 
of  God." 

55  145 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"And  thereby  your  religion  will  fail,  and  has  failed,  for  God 
is  love.  You,  by  your  hatred  of  what  you  consider  evil,  make 
evil  real.  Indeed,  the  Church  has  always  emphasized  evil  as  a 
great  and  living  reality.  How  could  it  ever  hope  to  overcome 
it  then?  Your  Church,  Doctor,  has  little  of  the  meekness  of 
the  Christ,  and  so,  little  of  his  strength.  It  has  little  of  his 
spirituality.  Its  numbers  and  great  material  wealth  do  not 
constitute  power.  Its  assumptions  remind  me  of  the  ancient 
Jews,  who  declared  that  God  spent  much  of  His  time  reading 
their  Talmud.  You  will  have  to  lay  aside,  Doctor,  all  of  it, 
and  turn  to  the  simple,  demonstrable  teachings  of  Jesus. 
When  you  have  learned  to  do  the  works  he  did,  then  will  you 
have  justified  yourself  and  your  faith." 

While  Father  Waite  was  speaking,  Carmen  had  quietly  risen 
and  taken  her  place  at  the  piano.  When  he  concluded,  she 
began  to  play  and  sing  softly.  As  the  sweet  melody  flowed  out 
through  the  room  the  little  group  became  silent  and  thought 
ful.  Again  it  was  that  same  weird  lament  which  the  girl  had 
sung  long  before  in  the  Elwin  school  to  voice  the  emotions 
which  surged  up  in  her  during  her  loneliness  in  the  great  city. 
In  it  her  auditors  heard  again  that  night  the  echoing  sighs  of 
the  passive  Indians,  enslaved  by  the  Christian  Spaniards. 
Hitt's  head  sank  upon  his  breast  as  he  listened.  Haynerd  tried 
to  speak,  but  choked.  The  Beaubien  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  wept  softly.  The  lines  about  Doctor  Siler's  mouth 
relaxed,  and  his  lips  trembled.  He  rose  quietly  and  went 
around  to  where  Father  Waite  sat. 

"My  friend—  He  bent  and  took  Father  Waite's  hand. 
"We  are — friends?" 

Father  Waite  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  an  arm  about 
the  doctor.  "We  are  more  than  that,  Doctor,"  he  whispered. 
"We  are  brothers.  And  in  reality  we  are  both,  here  and  now, 
beloved  children  of  God." 

Doctor  Siler  bowed.  Then  he  nodded  to  the  others,  and  took 
his  departure.  As  he  passed  the  piano  Carmen  rose  and  seized 
his  hand. 

"You  know,  Doctor,  that  we  love  you,  don't  you?" 

"Your  love,"  he  murmured,  as  he  bent  over  her  hand,  "is 
from  the  Christ.  Nay,  it  is  the  Christ  himself  among  us!" 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  his  voice  broke.  Then  he 
went  out. 

When  Hitt,  Reverend  Moore,  and  Doctor  Morton  had  left, 
Haynerd,  \vho  had  remained  for  a  moment  to  speak  to  Father 
Waite,  turned  to  the  Beaubien. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Hitt  is  a  remarkable  man.  He  is 
conducting  a  remarkable  newspaper.  But — "  He  stopped  and 

146 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


looked  at  Carmen.  "Well,  if  I  mistake  not,  his  quietness  this 
evening  indicated  his  belief  that  this  might  be  our  last  meet 
ing  for  some  time." 

"Why,  Ned?" 

Haynerd  shook  his  head  dubiously.     Then,  abruptly: 

"Telephone  me,  Carmen,  if  anything  of  interest  comes  up 
to-morrow  in  Avon." 

The  Beaubien  turned  quickly  to  the  girl.  "You  are  going  to 
Avon  to-morrow?  Don't!  Please  don't!"  There  was  a  look 
of  fear  in  her  eyes. 

Carmen  drew  the  woman  to  her,  then  stooped  and  kissed  her 
cheek.  "Mother  dearest,  I  go  to  Avon  with  my  God." 

The  Beaubien  bowed  her  head.     She  knew  it  was  so. 

And  the  girl  went  early  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  11 

THE  town  of  Avon,  two  hours  from  New  York,  lay  along 
Avon  creek,  from  which  its  first  manufacturing  industries 
derived  their  motive  power.  Years  before,  when  it  was 
little  more  than  a  barren  stretch  of  sand,  some  enterprising 
soul  had  built  a  cotton  mill  there,  with  only  a  few  primitive 
looms.  As  the  years  passed,  and  kindly  Congresses  reared 
about  the  industry  a  high  protective  wall,  the  business  pros 
pered  marvelously.  But  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  senior 
Ames  the  company  became  involved,  through  mismanagement, 
with  the  result  that,  to  protect  itself,  the  house  of  Ames  and 
Company,  the  largest  creditor,  was  obliged  to  take  over  its 
mills. 

At  first,  J.  Wilton  Ames  was  disposed  to  sell  the  assets  of 
the  defunct  company,  despite  the  loss  to  his  bank.  But  then, 
after  a  visit  of  inspection,  and  hours  of  meditation  on  certain 
ideas  which  had  occurred  to  him,  he  decided  to  keep  the  prop 
erty.  The  banging  of  the  looms,  the  whirr  of  the  pickers,  the 
sharp  little  shrieks  of  the  spinning  machines,  fascinated  him, 
as  he  stood  before  them.  They  seemed  to  typify  the  ceaseless 
throbbing  of  his  own  great  brain.  They  seemed,  too,  to  afford 
another  outlet  for  that  mighty  flood  of  materialistic  thought 
and  energy  which  flowed  incessantly  through  it. 

And  so  he  set  about  reorganizing  the  business.  He  studied 
the  process  of  cloth  manufacture.  He  studied  the  growth  and 
handling  of  cotton.  He  familiarized  himself  with  every  detail 
of  the  cotton  market.  He  was  already  well  versed  in  the  in 
tricacies  of  the  tariff.  And  soon  the  idle  machinery  was  roar- 

147 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ing  again.  Soon  the  capacity  of  the  mills  was  doubled.  And 
soon,  very  soon,  the  great  Ames  mills  at  Avon  had  become  a 
corporate  part  of  our  stupendous  mechanical  development  of 
the  century  just  closed. 

When  Carmen  stepped  from  the  train  that  morning  she 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  uncertainly  about  her.  Every 
where  on  one  side  as  far  as  she  could  see  were  low,  ramshackle 
frame  houses;  a  few  brick  store  buildings  stood  far  up  the  main 
street;  and  over  at  her  right  the  enormous  brick  mills  loomed 
high  above  the  frozen  stream.  The  dull  roar  of  the  machinery 
drifted  through  the  cold  air  to  her  ears.  Up  the  track,  along 
which  she  had  just  come,  some  ragged,  illy  clad  children  were 
picking  up  bits  of  coal.  The  sight  seemed  to  fix  her  decision. 
She  went  directly  to  them,  and  asked  their  names. 

"Anton  Spivak,"  answered  one  of  the  children  dully,  when 
she  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"And  where  do  you  live?" 

"Over  dere,"  pointing  off  to  the  jungle  of  decrepit  sheds. 
"Me  an'  him,  we  worked  in  de  mills;  but  dere  ain't  no  work 
fer  us  now.  Dey's  on  half  time." 

"Take  me  to  your  home,"  she  said  firmly. 

The  boy  looked  his  astonishment.  "Dere  ain't  nobody  to 
home,"  he  replied.  "De  ol'  man  an'  woman  works  in  de  mills 
daytimes." 

"Come-a  home  wi'  me,"  spoke  up  the  boy's  companion,  a 
bright-faced  little  urchin  of  some  ten  years  who  had  given  his 
name  as  Tony  Tolesi.  "We  lives  in  de  tenements." 

Carmen  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.    "Come,"  she  said. 

Up  the  main  street  of  the  town  they  went  for  a  short  dis 
tance,  then  turned  and  wended  their  course,  through  narrow 
streets  and  byways,  down  toward  the  mills.  In  a  few  minutes 
they  were  in  the  district  where  stood  the  great  frame  structures 
built  by  the  Ames  company  to  house  its  hands.  Block  after 
block  of  these  they  passed,  massive,  horrible,  decrepit  things, 
and  at  last  stopped  at  a  grease-stained,  broken  door,  which 
the  little  fellow  pushed  open.  The  hall  beyond  was  dark  and 
cold.  Carmen  followed  shivering,  close  after  the  boy,  while  he 
trotted  along,  proud  of  the  responsibility  of  conducting  a  visitor 
to  his  home.  At  the  far  end  of  the  hall  the  lad  plunged  into 
a  narrow  staircase,  so  narrow  that  a  stout  man  could  not  have 
mounted  it.  Up  four  of  these  broken  flights  Carmen  toiled 
after  him,  and  then  down  a  long,  desolate  corridor,  which  sent 
a  chill  into  the  very  marrow  of  her  bones. 

"Dis  is  where  we  lives,  Missy,"  announced  the  little  fellow. 
"Miss-a  Marcus,  she  live  in  dere,"  pointing  to  the  door  directly 
opposite.  "She  ain't  got  only  one  arm." 

148 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


He  pushed  open  the  door  before  which  they  had  halted.  A 
rush  of  foul  air  and  odors  of  cooking  swept  out.  They  en 
veloped  the  girl  and  seemed  to  hurl  her  back.  A  black-haired 
woman,  holding  a  crying  baby  in  her  arms,  rose  hastily  from 
an  unmade  bed  at  one  side  of  the  room.  Two  little  girls,  six 
or  eight  years  of  age,  and  a  boy  still  younger,  ranged  about 
their  mother  and  stared  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

"Dis-a  lady,  she  come  to  visit,"  announced  Carmen's  guide 
abruptly,  pointing  a  dirty  finger  at  her. 

The  woman's  face  darkened,  and  she  spoke  harshly  in  a 
foreign  tongue  to  the  little  fellow. 

"She  say,"  the  boy  interpreted,  as  a  crestfallen  look  spread 
over  his  face,  "she  say  she  don't  spik  Inglese." 

"But  I  speak  your  language,"  said  the  girl,  going  quickly  to 
her  and  extending  a  hand.  Then,  in  that  soft  tongue  which  is 
music  celestial  to  these  Neapolitan  strangers  upon  our  inhospi 
table  shores,  she  added,  "I  want  to  know  you;  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

She  glanced  quickly  about  the  room.  A  littered,  greasy 
cook  stove  stood  in  one  corner.  Close  to  it  at  either  end  were 
wooden  couches,  upon  which  were  strewn  a  few  tattered  spreads 
and  blankets,  stained  and  grimy.  A  broken  table,  a  decrepit 
chest  of  drawers,  and  a  few  rickety  chairs  completed  the  com 
plement  of  furniture.  The  walls  were  unadorned,  except  for 
a  stained  chromo  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  plaster  had  fallen  away 
in  many  places.  There  was  only  one  window  in  the  room.  Sev 
eral  of  its  panes  were  broken  and  stuffed  with  rags  and  papers. 

At  the  sound  of  her  own  language  the  woman's  expression 
changed.  A  light  came  into  her  dull  eyes,  and  she  awkwardly 
took  the  proffered  hand. 

"You  are — from  Italy?"  she  said  in  her  native  tongue. 
Then,  sweeping  the  girl's  warm  attire  with  a  quick  glance,  "You 
are  rich!  Why  do  you  come  here?" 

"Your  little  boy  brought  me.  And  I  am  glad  he  did.  No,  I 
am  not  from  Italy.  I  am  rich,  yes,  but  not  in  money." 

The  woman  turned  to  her  children  and  sent  the  little  brood 
scattering.  At  another  sharp  command  little  Tony  set  out  a 
soiled,  broken  chair  for  Carmen.  But  before  the  girl  could  take 
it  the  woman's  voice  again  rose  sharply. 

"Wait!"  she  commanded,  turning  fiercely  upon  Carmen. 
"You  are — what  do  you  say?  slumming.  You  come  with  your 
gay  party  to  look  us  over  and  go  away  laughing!  No!  You 
can  not  stay!" 

Carmen  did  not  smile.  But  reaching  out,  she  gently  lifted 
the  heavy  baby  from  the  woman's  arms  and  sat  down  with  it. 
For  a  moment  she  patted  its  cheeks  and  bent  tenderly  over  it. 
Then  she  looked  up  at  the  bewildered  mother. 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  have  come  here,"  she  said  softly,  "because  I  love  you." 
,  The  woman's  lips  parted  in  astonishment.  She  turned 
dully  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  begrimed  beds.  Her  little 
ones  gathered  about  her,  their  soiled  fingers  in  their  mouths,  or 
clutching  their  tattered  gowns,  as  they  gazed  at  the  beautiful 
creature  who  had  suddenly  come  into  their  midst. 

Then  the  woman  found  her  voice  again.  "Eh!  You  are 
from  the  mission?  You  come  to  talk  of  heaven?  But  I  am 
busy." 

"I  am  not  from  the  mission,"  replied  the  girl  gently.  "I 
have  come  to  talk,  not  of  heaven,  but  of  earth,  and  of  you,  and 
of  Tony,"  smiling  down  into  the  eager  face  of  the  little  boy  as 
he  stood  before  her. 

"You  can't  have  Tony!"  cried  the  mother,  starting  up.  "You 
can't  take  any  of  my  children!  The  judge  took  Pietro  Cor- 
rello's  boy  last  week — but  you  can't  have  mine !  Go  away  from 
here!" 

"I  don't  want  your  children,"  said  Carmen,  smiling  up  at  the 
frightened,  suspicious  mother.  "I  want  you.  I  want  you  to 
help  me  to  help  all  of  these  people  here  who  need  us.  The 
mills  are  running  only  half  time,  aren't  they?  The  people  do 
not  have  enough  to  eat.  But  we,  you  and  I,  are  going  to  make 
things  better  for  them,  for  everybody  here,  aren't  we? 

"But  first,"  she  went  on  hastily,  to  further  allay  the  poor 
woman's  fears  and  to  check  additional  protest,  "suppose  we 
plan  our  dinner.  Let's  see,  Tony,  what  would  you  like?" 

The  boy's  lips  instantly  parted.  His  eyes  began  to  glisten. 
He  glanced  inquiringly  at  his  mother;  but  no  sign  came  from 
her.  Then  he  could  no  longer  contain  himself: 

"Spaghetti!"  he  blurted.     "Soup!     Buns!" 

Carmen  drew  out  her  purse  and  turned  to  the  woman. 
"Come  with  me,"  she  said.  "While  we  are  gone,  Tony  and  the 
children  \vill  wash  the  dishes  and  set  the  table.  Come." 

For  a  moment  the  woman  looked  uncomprehendingly  at  the 
girl,  then  at  her  children,  and  then  about  the  miserable  room 
in  which  they  were  huddled.  Amazement  and  confusion  sat 
upon  her  heavy  features.  Then  these  gave  way  to  another 
dark  look  of  suspicion.  She  opened  her  mouth — 

But  before  she  could  voice  her  resentment,  Carmen  rose  and 
threw  an  arm  about  her.  Then  the  girl  quickly  drew  the 
startled  woman  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  "Come," 
she  whispered,  "get  your  shawl.  We'll  be  back  soon." 

God's  universal  language  is  the  language  of  love.  All  na 
tions,  all  tribes  understand  it.  The  flood-gates,  long  barred, 
swiftly  opened,  and  the  tired,  miserable  woman  sank  sobbing 
upon  the  bed.  She  could  not  comprehend  what  it  was  that 

150 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


had  come  so  unannounced  into  her  dreary  existence  that  cold 
winter  morning.  People  were  not  wont  to  treat  her  so.  Her 
life  had  been  an  endless,  meaningless  struggle  against  misery, 
want,  grinding  oppression.  People  did  not  put  their  arms 
around  her  and  kiss  her  thus.  They  scoffed  at  her,  they 
abused  her,  they  fought  with  her!  She  hated  them,  and  the 
world  in  which  she  lived! 

"I  know,  I  know,"  whispered  Carmen,  as  she  drew  the  sob 
bing  woman's  head  upon  her  shoulder.  "But  things  will  be 
better  now.  Love  has  found  you." 

The  woman  suddenly  raised  up.  "You — you  are — from 
heaven?  An  angel?"  She  drew  back,  and  a  frightened,  super 
stitious  look  came  into  her  face. 

"Yes,"  said  Carmen  softly,  taking  the  cue,  "I  am  an  angel, 
right  from  heaven.  Now  you  are  no  longer  afraid  of  me,  are 
you?  Come." 

The  woman  rose  mechanically  and  took  up  her  thin  shawl. 
Carmen  gave  a  few  directions  to  the  gaping  children.  And  as 
she  went  out  into  the  bleak  hall  with  the  woman  she  heard  one 
of  them  whisper  in  tones  of  awe: 

"Tony,  she  said  she — she  was — an  angel!  Quick!  Get 
down  on  your  knees  and  cross  yourself!" 

****** 

Upward  to  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  like  the  streaming  mists 
that  rise  through  the  tropic  moonlight  from  the  hot  llanos, 
goes  the  ceaseless  cry  of  humanity.  Oh,  if  the  god  of  the 
preachers  were  real,  his  heart  must  have  long  since  broken! 
Upward  it  streams,  this  soul-piercing  cry;  up  from  the  sodden, 
dull-brained  toiler  at  the  crashing  loom;  up  from  the  wretched 
outcast  woman,  selling  herself  to  low  passions  to  escape  the 
slavery  of  human  exploitation;  up  from  the  muttering,  ill-fed 
wreck,  whose  life  has  been  cashed  into  dividends,  whose  dry, 
worthless  hulk  now  totters  to  the  scrap  heap;  up  from  the 
white-haired,  flat-chested  mother,  whose  stunted  babes  lie  under 
little  mounds  with  rude,  wooden  crosses  in  the  dreary  textile 
burial  grounds;  up  from  the  weak,  the  wicked,  the  ignorant, 
the  hopeless  martyrs  of  the  satanic  social  system  that  makes 
possible  the  activities  of  such  human  vultures  as  the  colossus 
whose  great  mills  now  hurled  their  defiant  roar  at  this  girl,  this 
girl  whose  life-motif  was  love. 

Close  about  her,  at  the  wretched  little  table,  sat  the  wonder 
ing  group  of  children,  greedily  gorging  themselves  on  the  only 
full  meal  that  they  could  remember.  And  with  them  sat  the 
still  bewildered  mother,  straining  her  dark  eyes  at  the  girl,  and 
striving  to  see  in  her  a  human  being,  a  woman  like  herself.  At 
her  right  sat  the  widow  Marcus,  who  lived  just  across  the  hall. 

151 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Her  husband  had  been  crushed  to  death  in  one  of  the  pickers 
two  years  before.  The  company  had  paid  her  a  hundred  dol 
lars,  but  had  kept  back  five  for  alleged  legal  fees.  She  herself 
had  lost  an  arm  in  one  of  these  same  pickers,  long  ago,  because 
the  great  owner  of  the  mills  would  not  equip  his  plant  with 
safety  devices. 

"Come,  Tony!"  said  the  mother  at  length,  as  a  sense  of  the 
reality  of  life  suddenly  returned  to  her.  "The  lunch  for  your 
father!" 

Tony  hurriedly  swept  the  contents  of  his  plate  into  his 
mouth,  and  went  for  the  battered  dinner  pail. 

"My  man  goes  to  work  at  six-thirty  in  the  morning,"  she 
explained  to  Carmen,  when  the  little  fellow  had  started  to  the 
mills  with  the  pail  unwontedly  full.  "And  he  does  not  leave 
until  five-thirty.  He  was  a  weaver,  and  he  earned  sometimes 
ten  dollars  a  week.  But  he  didn't  last.  He  wore  out.  And  so 
he  had  to  take  a  job  as  carder.  He  earns  about  eight  dollars  a 
week  now.  But  sometimes  only  six  or  seven." 

"But  you  can't  live  on  that,  with  your  children!"  exclaimed 
Carmen. 

"Yes,  we  could,"  replied  the  woman,  "if  the  work  was  steady. 
But  it  isn't.  You  see,  if  I  could  work  steady,  and  the  children 
too,  we  could  live.  I  am  a  good  spinner.  And  I  am  not  nearly 
so  worn  out  as  he  is.  I  have  several  years  left  in  me  yet." 

The  widow  Marcus,  who  spoke  the  language  from  an  as 
sociation  with  Italian  immigrants  since  childhood,  added  her 
comments  from  time  to  time.  She  was  a  gray-haired,  kindly 
soul,  bearing  no  enmity  toward  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
yielded  her  husband's  life  and  her  own. 

"A  man's  no  good  in  the  mills  after  he's  fifty,"  she  said. 
"You  see,  Miss,  it's  all  piece-work,  and  a  man  has  to  be  most 
terribly  spry  and  active.  The  strain  is  something  awful,  day 
after  day,  in  the  noise  and  bad  air,  and  having  to  keep  your 
eyes  fixed  on  your  work  for  ten  hours  at  a  stretch;  and  he  wears 
out  fast.  Then  he  has  to  take  a  job  where  he  can't  make  so 
much.  And  when  he's  about  fifty  he's  no  good  for  the  mills 
any  more." 

"And  then  what?"  asked  Carmen. 

"Well,  if  he  hasn't  any  children,  he  goes  to  the  poor-house. 
But,  if  he  has,  then  they  take  care  of  him." 

"Then  mill  workers  must  have  large  families?" 

"Yes,  they've  got  to,  Miss.  The  little  ones  must  work  in  the 
mills,  too.  These  mills  here  take  them  on  when  they  are  only 
twelve,  or  even  younger.  Tony  has  worked  there,  and  he  is 
only  ten.  It's  against  the  law;  but  Mr.  Ames  gets  around  the 
law  some  way." 

152 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Tell  me,  Mrs.  Marcus,  how  do  you  live?"  the  girl  asked. 

"I?  Oh,  I  manage.  The  company  paid  me  some  money 
two  years  ago,  and  I  haven't  spent  all  of  it  yet.  Besides,  I  work 
round  a  bit.  I'm  pretty  spry  with  one  arm." 

"But — you  do  not  pay  rent  for  your  home?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  have  only  one  room.  It's  small.  There's  no 
window  in  it.  It's  an  inside  room." 

"And  you  pay  rent — to  Mr.  Ames— the  man  whose  machines 
killed  your  husband  and  took  off  your  arm — you  still  pay  rent 
to  him,  for  one  little  room?" 

"Yes,  Miss.  He  owns  these  tenements.  Why,  his  company 
gave  me  almost  a  hundred  dollars,  you  know!  I  was  lucky, 
for  when  Lizzie  Sidel's  man  lost  his  hand  in  the  cog  wheels  he 
went  to  law  to  sue  the  company,  and  three  years  afterward  the 
case  was  thrown  out  of  court  and  he  had  to  pay  the  costs  him 
self.  But  he  was  a  picker-boss,  and  got  nine  dollars  a  week." 

A  little  hand  stole  up  along  Carmen's  arm.  She  looked  down 
into  the  wondering  face  of  the  child.  "I — I  just  wanted  to  see, 
Signorina,  if  you  were  real." 

"I  have  been  wondering  that  myself,  dear,"  replied  the  girl, 
as  her  thought  dwelt  upon  what  she  had  been  hearing. 

"I  must  go  now,  Miss,"  said  the  widow  Marcus,  rising.  "I 
promised  to  drop  in  and  look  after  Katie  Hoolan's  children  this 
afternoon.  She's  up  at  the  mills." 

"Then  I  will  go  with  you,"  Carmen  announced.  "But  I  will 
come  back  here,"  she  added,  as  some  little  hands  seized  hers. 
"If  not  to-day,  then  soon — perhaps  to-morrow." 

She  crossed  the  cold  hall  with  Mrs.  Marcus,  and  entered  the 
doorway  which  led  to  the  little  inner  room  where  dwelt  the 
widow.  There  were  a  dozen  such  rooms  in  the  building,  the 
latter  informed  her.  This  one  in  particular  had  been  shunned 
for  many  years,  for  it  had  a  bad  reputation  as  a  breeder  of 
tuberculosis.  But  the  rent  was  low,  and  so  the  widow  had 
taken  it  after  her  man  was  killed.  It  contained  a  broken  stove, 
a  dirty  bed,  and  a  couple  of  unsteady  chairs.  The  odor  was 
fetid.  The  walls  were  damp,  and  the  paper  which  had  once 
covered  them  was  molding  and  rotting  off. 

"It  won't  stay  on,"  the  widow  explained,  as  she  saw  the 
girl  looking  at  it.  "The  walls  are  wet  all  the  time.  Comes  up 
from  the  cellar.  The  creek  overflows  and  runs  into  the  base 
ment.  They  call  this  the  'death-room.'  " 

Death!  Carmen  shuddered  when  she  looked  about  this 
fearful  human  habitation.  Yet,  "The  only  death  to  be  feared," 
said  Paracelsus,  "is  unconsciousness  of  God."  Was  this  im 
poverished  woman,  then,  any  less  truly  alive  than  the  rich 
owner  of  the  mills  which  had  robbed  her  of  the  means  of  ex- 

153 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


istence?    And  can  a  civilization  be  alive  to  the  Christ  when  it 
breeds  these  antipodal  types? 

"And  yet,  who  permits  them?"  Haynerd  had  once  exclaimed. 
"Ames's  methods  are  the  epitome  of  hell!  But  he  is  ours,  and 
the  worthy  offspring  of  our  ghastly,  inhuman  social  system. 
We  alone  are  to  blame  that  he  debauches  courts,  that  he  blinds 
executives,  and  that  he  buys  legislatures!  We  let  him  make 
the  laws,  and  fatten  upon  the  prey  he  takes  within  their  limits. 
Aye,  he  is  the  crafty,  vicious,  gold-imbruted  manifestation  of 
a  whole  nation's  greed!"  Nay,  more,  he  is  the  externalization 
of  a  people's  ignorance  of  God. 

Carmen's  throat  filled  as  she  watched  the  old  woman  bust 
ling  about  the  wretched  room  and  making  a  feeble  attempt  at 
order. 

"You  see,"  the  widow  went  on,  happy  in  the  possession  of 
an  auditor,  "there  is  no  use  making  apologies  for  the  looks  of 
my  room;  I  couldn't  make  it  look  much  better  if  I  tried.  There's 
no  running  water.  We  have  to  get  water  from  the  hydrant 
down  back  of  the  house.  It  is  pumped  there  from  the  creek, 
and  it's  a  long  climb  up  these  stairs  wrhen  you've  got  only  one 
arm  to  hold  the  bucket.  And  I  have  to  bring  my  coal  up,  too. 
The  coal  dealer  charges  extra  for  bringing  it  up  so  far." 

Carmen  sat  down  on  an  empty  box  and  watched  her.  The 
woman's  lot  seemed  to  have  touched  the  depths  of  human 
wretchedness,  and  yet  there  burned  within  her  soul  a  some 
thing  that  the  oppression  of  human  avarice  could  not  extin 
guish. 

^"It's  the  children,  Miss,  that  I  think  about,"  she  continued. 
"It's  not  so  bad  as  when  I  was  a  little  one  and  worked  in  the 
cloth  mills  in  England.  I  was  only  six  when  I  went  into  the  mills 
there.  I  worked  from  seven  in  the  morning  until  after  six  at 
night.  And  the  air  was  so  bad  and  we  got  so  tired  that  we 
children  used  to  fall  asleep,  and  the  boss  used  to  carry  a  stick 
to  whip  us  to  keep  us  awake.  My  parents  died  when  I  was 
only  eight.  They  worked  in  the  Hollow-ware  works,  and  died 
of  lead  poisoning.  People  only  last  four  or  five  years  at  that 
work." 

Carmen  rose.  "How  many  children  are  employed  in  these 
mills  here?"  she  asked. 

'I  can't  say,  Miss.     But  hundreds  of  them." 

"I  want  to  see  them,"  said  the  girl,  and  there  was  a  hitch  in 
her  voice  as  she  spoke. 

"You  can  go  down  and  watch  them  come  out  about  six  this 
evening  It's  a  sight  to  a  stranger.  But  now  I  must  hurry  to 
look  after  the  Hoolan  babes." 

When  she  again  reached  the  street  Carmen  turned  and 

154 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


looked  up  at  the  hideous  structure  from  which  she  had 
emerged;  then  she  drew  a  long  breath.  The  foul  air  of  the 
"death-room"  seemed  to  fill  her  lungs  as  with  leaden  weights. 
The  dim  light  that  lay  over  the  wretched  hovel  hung  like  a 
veil  before  her  eyes. 

"Katie  lives  a  block  down  the  street,"  said  the  widow,  point 
ing  in  the  direction.  "She  was  burned  out  last  winter.  These 
tenements  don't  have  fire-escapes,  and  the  one  she  lived  in 
burned  to  the  ground  in  an  hour.  She  lived  on  the  second  floor, 
and  got  out.  But — six  were  burned  to  death." 

It  seemed  to  Carmen  as  she  listened  to  the  woman  that  the 
carnal  mind's  chamber  of  horrors  was  externalized  there  in  the 
little  town  of  Avon,  existing  with  the  dull  consent  of  a  people 
too  ignorant,  too  imbruted,  too  mesmerized  by  the  false  values 
of  life  to  rise  and  destroy  it. 

All  that  cold  winter  afternoon  the  girl  went  from  door  to 
door.  There  was  no  thought  of  fear  when  she  met  dull  wel 
comes,  scowls,  and  menacing  glances.  In  humble  homes  and 
wretched  hovels;  to  Magyar,  Pole,  Italian  alike;  to  French  Ca 
nadian,  Irish  and  Portuguese;  and  to  the  angry,  the  defiant,  the 
sodden,  the  crushed,  she  unfolded  her  simple  banner  of  love, 
the  boundless  love  that  discriminates  not,  the  love  that  sees  not 
things,  but  the  thoughts  and  intents  of  the  heart  that  lie  behind 
them.  And  dark  looks  faded,  and  tears  came;  withered  hearts 
opened,  and  lifeless  souls  stirred  anew.  She  knew  their  lan 
guages;  and  that  knowledge  unlocked  their  mental  portals  to 
her.  She  knew  their  thoughts,  and  the  blight  under  which  they 
molded;  and  that  knowledge  fell  like  the  sun's  bright  rays 
upon  them.  She  knew  God,  their  God  and  hers;  and  that 
knowledge  began,  even  on  that  dull,  gray  afternoon,  to  cut  into 
the  chains  of  human  rapacity  which  enslaved  them. 

At  six  that  evening  she  stood  at  the  tall  iron  gate  of  the  mill 
yard.  Little  Tony  was  at  her  side,  clutching  her  hand.  A 
single  electric  lamp  across  the  street  threw  a  flickering,  yellow 
light  upon  the  snow.  The  great,  roaring  mills  were  ablaze  with 
thousands  of  glittering  eyes.  Suddenly  their  monster  sirens 
shrieked,  a  blood-curdling  yell.  Then  their  huge  mouths 
opened,  and  a  human  flood  belched  forth. 

Carmen  gazed  with  riveted  sight.  They  were  not  the  image 
and  likeness  of  God,  these  creatures,  despite  the  doctrinal  plati 
tudes  of  the  Reverend  Darius  Borwell  and  the  placid  Doctor 
Jurges.  They  were  not  alive,  these  stooping,  shuffling  things, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  religiously  contented  Patterson  Moore 
would  argue  that  God  had  breathed  the  spirit  of  life  into  the 
thing  of  dust  which  He  created.  And  these  children,  drifting 
past  in  a  great,  surging  throng!  Fathers  and  mothers  of  a 

155 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


generation  lo  come!  Carmen  knew  that  many  of  them,  despite 
their  worn  looks,  were  scarcely  more  than  ten  years  old.  These 
were  the  flesh  and  blood  upon  which  Ames,  the  jungle-beast, 
waxed  gross!  Upon  their  thin  life-currents  floated  the  mag 
nificent  Cossack! 

She  turned  away  in  silence.  Yes,  she  was  right,  evil  can 
not  be  really  known.  There  is  no  principle  by  which  to  explain 
the  hideous  things  of  the  human  mind.  And  then  she  wondered 
what  the  Reverend  Darius  Borwell  did  to  earn  that  comfortable 
salary  of  ten  thousand  a  year  in  his  rich  New  York  church. 

"It's  quite  a  sight,  ain't  it,  Miss?"  said  a  voice  close  by. 

Carmen  turned  and  confronted  a  priest.  He  was  a  man  of 
medium  height,  young,  and  of  Irish  descent. 

"It's  a  great  sight,"  he  continued,  with  a  touch  of  brogue  in 
his  tones.  "Hey,  Fagin!"  he  cried,  catching  a  passing  work 
man's  arm.  "Where's  Ross?" 

"He  ain't  worked  to-day,  Father,"  replied  the  man,  stopping 
and  touching  his  cap. 

The  young  priest  uttered  an  exclamation  of  displeasure. 
Then,  as  the  workman  started  away: 

"You'll  be  at  the  Hall  to-night,  Fagin?  And  bring  everybody 
you  can." 

The  man  addressed  nodded  and  gave  an  affirmative  grunt, 
then  passed  on  into  the  darkness. 

"It's  trying  to  reach  a  few  of  'em  I  am,"  remarked  the 
priest.  "But  it's  slow  work.  When  a  man's  stomach's  empty 
he  hasn't  much  respect  for  morality.  And  I  can't  feed  the  lot 
of  'em!" 

Carmen  gazed  into  the  kindly  blue  eyes  of  the  priest  and 
wondered.  "How  are  you  reaching  them?"  she  asked.  "I  am 
very  much  interested." 

The  priest  returned  the  girl's  searching  look.  "In  settle 
ment  work?"  he  queried. 

"No  —  but  I  am  interested  in  my  fellow-beings." 

"Ah,  then  you'll  understand.  I've  sonic  rooms,  some  on 
Main  street,  which  I  call  the  Hall,  and  some  down  in  the—  well, 
the  bad  district,  which  I  call  the  Mission.  They're  reading 
rooms,  places  for  men  to  meet,  and  get  acquainted,  and  rest, 
and  talk.  The  Hall's  for  the  fellows  who  work,  like  this  Fagin. 
rh  '  " 


^  Mission's  for  the  down-and-outs. 
"But  —  are  your  rooms  only  for  —  for  men  of  your  faith?" 
Nary  a  bit  !"  exclaimed  the  priest  with  a  little  laugh.    "Race 

needs  it™  ^^  flgUI>e'     It>S  l°  giVG  hdp  tO  6Very  man  that 
"And  you  are  giving  your  life  to  help  these  people?"  the  girl 
went  on      "I  want  to  see  your  Hall  and  Mission.     Take  me  to 
them,     she  abruptly  demanded. 


156 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  priest  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  He  looked  down  at 
little  Tony,  and  then  up  at  Carmen  again. 

"Come,"  she  said.  "We  will  leave  the  boy  at  his  door,  and 
then  go  to  your  Mission  and  Hall.  Now  tell  me,  you  are  a 
Roman  Catholic  priest?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  mechanically,  following  her  as  she  started 
away. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  get  into  this  sort  of  work?"  she 
pursued. 

"Oh,  I've  been  at  it  these  ten  years!"  he  returned,  now  re 
covered  from  his  surprise,  and  pleased  to  talk  about  his  work. 
"I'd  had  some  experience  in  New  York  in  the  Bowery  district. 
I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  were  mighty  few  down-and- 
outs  who  couldn't  be  set  upon  their  pins  again,  given  half  a 
chance  by  any  one  sufficiently  interested.  There's  the  point. 
You  see,  Miss,  I  believe  in  my  fellow-men.  The  results  have 
justified  my  labors.  Oh,  it's  only  temporary,  I  know.  It  ain't 
going  to  change  the  whole  social  system.  It's  a  makeshift. 
But  it  helps  a  bit — and  I  like  it. 

"But,"  he  continued  more  seriously,  "there's  going  to  be 
trouble  here.  A  strike  is  coming.  And  it's  going  to  be  a  bad 
one.  I  wish  I  could  convince  Mr.  Ames." 

"Have  you  tried?"  she  asked. 

"I've  written  him  several  times  of  late.  It  doesn't  do  any 
good.  His  secretary  writes  back  that  Mr.  Ames  is  doing  all  he 
can.  But  it's  not  much  I  see  he's  doing,  except  to  go  on  sucking 
the  blood  from  these  poor  devils  down  here!" 

They  soon  reached  the  tenement  where  Tony  lived,  and  Car 
men  asked  the  priest  to  go  up  with  her.  He  raised  a  hand  and 
smiled. 

"No,"  he  said,  "the  good  woman  doesn't  like  priests.  And 
my  labors  don't  reach  the  women  anyway,  except  through  the 
men.  They  constitute  my  field.  Some  one  else  must  work 
among  the  women.  I'll  wait  for  you  here." 

It  was  only  by  making  many  promises  that  Carmen  could 
at  last  get  away  from  the  little  group  on  the  fourth  floor.  But 
she  slipped  a  bill  into  Tony's  hands  as  she  went  out,  and  then 
hurriedly  crossed  the  hall  and  opened  the  unlocked  door  of 
the  widow  Marcus's  room.  The  place  was  empty.  Carmen 
pinned  a  five-dollar  bill  upon  the  pillow  and  hastened  out. 

"Now,"  said  the  priest,  when  the  girl  had  joined  him  in  the 
street  below,  "it  ain't  right  to  take  you  to  the  Mission — " 

"We'll  go  there  first,"  the  girl  calmly  announced.  "And 
then  to  the  Hall.  By  the  way,  there's  a  telephone  in  your  place? 
I  want  to  call  up  the  health  officer.  I  want  to  report  the  con 
dition  of  these  tenements." 

157 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


The  priest  laughed.  "It  won't  do  any  good,  Miss.  I've 
camped  on  his  heels  for  months.  And  he  can't  do  anything, 
anyway.  I  see  that.  If  he  gets  too  troublesome  to  those  higher 
up,  why,  he  gets  fired.  They  don't  want  his  reports.  He  isn't 
here  to  report  on  conditions,  but  to  overlook  'em.  It's  politics." 

"You  mean  to  say  that  nothing  can  be  done  in  regard  to 
those  awful  buildings  which  Mr.  Ames  owns  and  rents  to  his 
mill  hands?"  she  said. 

"That's  it,"  he  replied.  "It's  criminal  to  let  such  buildings 
stand.  But  Ames  owns  'em.  That's  enough." 

They  went  on  in  silence  for  so-me  minutes.  Meanwhile,  the 
priest  was  studying  his  fair  companion,  and  wondering  wrho 
she  might  be.  At  length  he  inquired  if  she  had  ever  been  in 
Avon  before. 

"No,"  replied  the  girl.    "I  wish  I  had!" 

"Haven't  seen  Pillette's  house  then?  He's  resident  manager 
of  the  Ames  mills.  We  can  go  a  little  out  of  our  way  and 
have  a  look  at  it." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  stood  at  the  iron  gate  of  the  man 
ager's  residence,  a  massive,  brown  stone  dwelling,  set  in  among 
ancient  trees  in  an  estate  of  several  acres,  and  surrounded  by 
shrubs  and  bushes. 

"Fine  place,  eh?"  remarked  the  priest. 

"Beautiful,"  replied  Carmen.  "Does  he  know  all  about 
those  tenements  down  there?" 

"Ah,  that  he  does;  and  cares  less.  And  he  knows  all  about 
the  terrible  hot  air  in  his  mills,  and  the  flying  lint  that  clogs 
the  lungs  of  the  babies  working  there.  He  sees  them  leave  the 
place,  dripping  with  perspiration,  and  go  out  into  the  zero  tem 
perature  half  naked.  And  when  they  go  off  with  pneumonia, 
well  he  knows  why;  and  cares  less.  He  knows  that  the  poor, 
tired  workers  in  that  great  prison  lose  their  senses  in  the  awful 
noise  and  roar,  and  sometimes  get  bewildered  and  fall  afoul 
of  belts  and  cogs,  and  lose  their  limbs  or  lives.  He  knows;  and 
doesn't  care.  So  does  Mr.  Ames.  And  he  wouldn't  put  safety 
devices  over  his  machines,  because  he  doesn't  care.  I've  written 
to  him  a  dozen  times  about  it.  But — 

"And  then  Pillette,"  he  continued;  "I've  asked  him  to  fur 
nish  his  hands  with  decent  drinking  water.  They  work  ten 
and  twelve  hours  in  that  inferno,  and  when  they  want  to  drink, 
^yhy,  all  they  have  is  a  barrel  of  warm  water,  so  covered  with 
lint  that  it  has  to  be  pushed  aside  in  order  to  get  at  the  water. 
Why,  Pillette  don't  even  give  'em  change  rooms !  He  won't  give 
'em  decent  toilet  rooms!  Says  Mr.  Ames  can't  afford  it.  Seems 
to  me  that  when  a  man  can  give  a  ball  and  send  out  invitations 
on  cards  of  solid  gold,  he  can  afford  to  give  a  thought  to  the 

158 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


thousands  who  have  toiled  and  suffered  in  order  to  enable  him 
to  give  such  a  ball,  don't  you?" 

Carmen  did.  She  had  attended  that  reception.  The  memory 
came  back  now  in  hot,  searing  thoughts. 

"Oh,  he  catches  'em  coming  and  going!"  the  priest  went  on. 
"You  see,  he  manipulates  Congress  so  that  a  high  tariff  law  is 
passed,  protecting  him  from  imported  goods.  Then  he  runs  up 
the  prices  of  his  output.  That  hits  his  mill  hands,  for  they 
have  to  pay  the  higher  prices  that  the  tariff  causes.  Oh,  no, 
it  doesn't  result  in  increased  wages  to  them.  Ha!  ha!  Not  a 
bit!  They're  squeezed  both  ways.  He  is  the  only  one  who 
profits  by  high  tariff  on  cotton  goods.  See  how  it  works?" 

Yes,  Carmen  saw.  She  might  not  know  that  Ames  periodi 
cally  appeared  before  Congress  and  begged  its  protection — nay, 
threatened,  and  then  demanded.  She  might  not  know  that 
Senator  Gossitch  ate  meekly  from  the  great  man's  hand,  and 
speciously  represented  to  his  dignified  colleagues  that  the 
benefits  of  high  protective  duties  were  for  "the  people"  of  the 
United  States.  She  might  not  know  how  Hood,  employed  to 
evade  the  laws  enacted  to  hedge  and  restrain  his  master,  bribed 
and  bought,  schemed  and  contrived,  lobbied,  traded,  and  ma 
nipulated,  that  his  owner  might  batten  on  his  blood-stained 
profits,  while  he  kept  his  face  turned  away  from  the  scenes  of 
carnage,  and  his  ears  stopped  against  the  piteous  cries  of  his 
driven  slaves.  But  she  did  know  how  needless  it  all  was,  and 
how  easy,  oh!  how  pitiably  easy,  it  would  be  to  remedy  every 
such  condition,  would  the  master  but  yield  but  a  modicum  of 
his  colossal,  mesmeric  selfishness.  She  did  not  know,  she 
could  not,  that  the  master,  Ames,  made  a  yearly  profit  from  his 
mills  of  more  than  two  hundred  per  cent.  But  she  did  know 
that,  were  he  less  stupidly  greedy,  even  to  the  extent  of  taking 
but  a  hundred  per  cent  profit,  he  would  turn  a  flood  of  sun 
shine  into  hundreds  of  sick,  despairing,  dying  souls. 

"This  is  the  place,"  she  heard  the  priest  say,  his  voice 
seeming  to  come  from  a  long  distance.  "This  is  the  Mission." 

She  stopped  and  looked  about  her.  They  were  in  front  of 
an  old,  two-story  building,  decrepit  and  forbidding,  but  well 
lighted.  While  she  gazed,  the  priest  opened  the  door  and  bade 
her  enter. 

"This  down  here  is  the  reading  room,"  he  explained.  "The 
door  is  never  locked.  Upstairs  is  my  office,  and  sleeping  rooms 
for  men.  Also  a  stock  of  old  clothes  I  keep  on  hand  for  'em 
when  I  send  'em  out  to  look  for  work.  I've  clothed  an  average 
of  four  men  a  day  during  the  past  year,  and  sent  'em  out  to 
look  for  jobs.  I  board  'em,  and  keep  'em  going  until  they  land 
something.  Sometimes  I  have  to  lend  'em  money.  I  just  help 

159 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


'em  to  help  themselves.    No,  I  never  bother  about  a  man's  re 
ligion.    Come  up  to  my  office." 

Carmen  climbed  the  rough  steps  to  the  floor  above  and  en 
tered  the  small  but  well-kept  office  of  the  priest. 

"Now  here,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  pride,  "is  my  card- 
index.  I  keep  tab  on  all  who  come  here.  When  they  get 
straightened  up  and  go  out  to  hunt  work,  I  give  'em  identifica 
tion  cards.  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  funds  I'm  going  to  put  a 
billiard  table  back  there  and  fit  up  a  little  chapel,  so's  the  Catho 
lic  men  who  drift  in  here  can  attend  service.  You  know,  a  lot 
of  'em  don't  have  the  nerve  to  go  to  a  church.  Too  proud.  But 
they'd  attend  Mass  here." 

Carmen  looked  at  the  man  in  admiration.  Then  a  thought 
came  to  her.  "We  haven't  either  of  us  asked  the  other's  name," 
she  said. 

The  priest's  eyes  twinkled.  "I've  been  dying  to  know 
yours,"  he  replied.  "I'm  Father  Magee,  Daniel  Magee.  But 
the  boys  generally  call  me  Danny.  What  shall  I  call  you?  Oh, 
give  any  name;  it  doesn't  matter,  just  so's  I'll  know  how  to 
address  you." 

"I  am  Carmen  Ariza.  And  I  am  from  South  America,"  said 
the  girl  simply.  "Now  sit  down  here.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I 
have  a  lot  to  ask." 

*»»<** 

An  hour  later  the  girl  rose  from  her  chair.  "I  shall  have  to 
wait  and  visit  the  Hall  another  time,"  she  said.  "I  must  catch 
the  eight-thirty  back  to  the  city.  But — 

"I'll  never  see  you  go  down  this  tough  street  to  the  depot 
alone!"  averred  the  priest,  reaching  for  his  hat. 

Carmen  laughed.  But  she  gratefully  accepted  the  prof 
fered  escort.  Two  of  Father  Magee's  assistants  had  come  in 
meanwhile,  and  were  caring  for  the  few  applicants  below. 

"You're  right,  Miss  Carmen,"  the  priest  said,  as  they  started 
for  the  train.  "Mr.  Ames  must  be  reached.  Perhaps  you  can 
do  it.  I  can't.  But  I'll  give  you  every  assistance  possible.  It 
eats  my  heart  out  to  see  the  suffering  of  these  poor  people!" 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  Carmen  entered  the  office  of  the 
city  editor  of  the  Express.  "Ned,"  she  said,  "I've  been  with 
Dante — no,  Danny — in  Inferno.  Now  I'm  going  to  Washington. 
I  want  expense  money — a  good  lot — so  that  I  can  leave  to-mor 
row  night." 

Haynerd's  eyes  dilated  as  he  stared  at  the  girl.  "Washing 
ton!"  he  ejaculated.  "Well—!  But  what  did  vou  find  down  in 
Avon?" 

"I'll  write  you  a  detailed  report  of  my  trip  to-morrow.  I'm 
going  home  now,"  she  replied. 

160 


CHAPTER  12 

IT  is  sometimes  said  of  the  man  who  toils  at  forge  or  loom 
in  this  great  commonwealth  that  he  is  fast  forgetting  that 
Washington  is  something  more  significant  to  him  than  what 
is  embraced  in  the  definition  of  the  gazetteers.  Not  so,  how 
ever,  of  that  class  of  the  genus  homo  individualized  in  J.  Wilton 
Ames.  He  leaned  not  upon  such  frail  dependence  as  the  Con 
gressional  Record  for  tempered  reports  of  what  goes  on  behind 
closed  legislative  doors;  he  went  behind  those  doors  himself. 
He  needed  not  to  yield  his  meekly  couched  desires  to  the  law- 
builders  whom  his  ballot  helped  select;  he  himself  launched 
those  legislators,  and  gave  them  their  steering  charts.  But, 
since  the  interpretation  of  laws  was  to  him  vastly  more  im 
portant  than  their  framing,  he  first  applied  himself  to  the 
selection  of  judges,  and  especially  those  of  the  federal  courts. 
With  these  safely  seated  and  instructed  at  home,  he  gave  him 
self  comfortably  to  the  task  of  holding  his  legislators  in  Wash* 
ington  to  the  course  he  chose. 

Carmen  had  not  spent  a  day  at  the  Capital  before  the  sig 
nificance  of  this  fact  to  the  common  citizen  swept  over  her  like 
a  tidal  wave.  If  the  people,  those  upon  whom  the  stability  of 
the  nation  rests,  looked  as  carefully  after  appointments  and 
elections  as  did  Ames,  would  their  present  wrongs  continue 
long  to  endure?  She  thought  not.  And  after  she  had  spent 
the  day  with  the  Washington  correspondent  of  the  Express,  a 
Mr.  Sands,  who,  with  his  young  wife,  had  just  removed  to  the 
Capital,  she  knew  more  with  respect  to  the  mesmerism  of 
human  inertia  and  its  baneful  effects  upon  mankind  than  she 
had  known  before. 

And  yet,  after  that  first  day  of  wandering  through  the  hal 
lowed  precincts  of  a  nation's  legislative  halls,  she  sat  down 
upon  a  bench  in  the  shadow  of  the  Capitol's  great  dome  and 
asked  herself  the  questions:  "What  am  I  here  for,  anyway? 
What  can  7  do?  Why  have  I  come?"  She  had  acted  upon — 
impulse?  No;  rather,  upon  instinct.  And  instinct  with  her, 
as  we  have  said,  was  unrestrained  dependence  upon  her  own 
thought,  the  thought  which  entered  her  mentality  only  after 
she  had  first  prepared  the  way  by  the  removal  of  every  ob 
struction,  including  self. 

At  the  breakfast  table  the  second  morning  after  her  arrival 
in  the  city,  Mr.  Sands  handed  her  a  copy  of  the  Express.  Among 
the  editorials  was  her  full  report  upon  conditions  as  she  had 
found  them  in  Avon,  published  without  her  signature.  Follow- 

56  161 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


ing  it  was  the  editor's  comment,  merciless  in  its  exposition  of 
fact,  and  ruthless  in  its  exposure  of  the  cruel  greed  externalized 
in  the  great  cotton  industry  in  that  little  town. 

Carmen  rose  from  the  table  indignant  and  protesting.  Hitt 
had  said  he  would  be  wise  in  whatever  use  he  made  of  her 
findings.  But,  though  quite  devoid  of  malignity,  this  account 
and  its  added  comment  were  nothing  less  than  a  personal  at 
tack  upon  the  master  spinner,  Ames.  And  she  had  sent  an 
other  report  from  Washington  last  night,  one  comprising  all 
she  had  learned  from  Mr.  Sands.  What  would  Hitt  do  with 
that?  She  must  get  in  touch  with  him  at  once.  So  she  set 
out  to  find  a  telegraph  office,  that  she  might  check  the  impul 
sive  publisher  who  was  openly  hurling  his  challenge  at  the 
giant  Philistine. 

When  the  message  had  gone,  the  girl  dismissed  the  subject 
from  her  thought,  and  gave  herself  up  completely  to  the  charm 
of  the  glorious  morning  and  her  beautiful  environment.  For 
some  time  she  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  city;  then  bent 
her  steps  again  toward  the  Capitol. 

At  the  window  of  a  florist  she  stopped  and  looked  long  and 
lovingly  at  the  gorgeous  display  within.  In  the  midst  of  the 
beautiful  profusion  a  single  flower  held  her  attention.  It  was 
a  great,  brilliant  red  rose,  a  kind  that  she  had  never  seen  be 
fore.  She  went  in  and  asked  for  it. 

"We  call  it  the  'President'  rose,  Miss,"  said  the  salesman  in 
response  to  her  query.  "It  is  quite  new." 

"I  want  it,"  she  said  simply. 

And  when  she  went  out  with  the  splendid  flower  burning 
on  her  bosom  like  living  fire,  she  was  glad  that  Hitt  had  not 
been  there  to  see  her  pay  two  dollars  for  it. 

The  great  Capitol  seemed  to  fascinate  her,  as  she  stood  be 
fore  it  a  few  moments  later.  The  spell  of  tradition  enwrapped 
her.  The  mighty  sentiments  and  motives  which  had  actuated 
the  framers  of  the  Constitution  seemed  to  loom  before  her  like 
monuments  of  eternal  stone.  Had  statesmanship  degenerated 
from  that  day  of  pure  patriotism  into  mere  corruption?  Mr. 
Sands  would  have  her  so  believe. 

"The  people!"  he  had  exclaimed  in  scoffing  tones.  "Why, 
my  dear  girl,  the  people  of  your  great  State  are  represented  in 
the  national  Senate  by — whom?  By  nobody,  I  say.  By  the 
flies  on  the  panes;  by  the  mice  in  the  corners;  by  the  god, 
perhaps,  to  whom  the  chaplain  offers  his  ineffectual  prayers; 
but  not  by  men.  No;  one  of  your  Senators  represents  a  great 
railroad;  the  other  an  express  company!  The  people?  Those 
Senators  know  no  such  ridiculous  creature  as  'the  people'!" 

She  turned  from  the   Capitol,   and  for  an  hour   or   more 

162 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


strolled  in  the  brilliant  sunlight.  "An  economic  disease,"  she 
murmured  at  length.  "That's  what  it  is.  And,  like  all  dis 
ease,  it  is  mental.  It  is  a  disease  of  the  human  conscience.  It 
conies  from  the  fear  of  separation  from  good.  It  all  reduces  to 
the  belief  of  separation  from  God — the  belief  that  upon  men's 
own  human  efforts  depend  all  the  happiness  and  satisfaction 
they  can  have.  Why,  I  have  never  known  anything  but  happi 
ness  and  abundance!  And  yet,  I  have  never  made  a  single  ef 
fort  to  acquire  them!"  For  the  girl  saw  not  the  past  vicissi 
tudes  of  her  life  except  as  shadowy  mists,  which  dimmed  not 
the  sun  of  her  joy. 

"Take  care!"  cried  a  loud  voice  close  to  her. 

There  was  a  tramping  of  horses'  feet.  A  great,  dark  body 
swept  past.  It  struck  her,  and  brushed  her  to  one  side.  She 
strove  to  hold  herself,  but  fell. 

The  man  and  his  companion  were  off  their  horses  instantly, 
and  assisted  the  girl  to  her  feet. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  asked  the  one  who  had  been  riding  ahead. 
"I  called  to  you,  you  but  didn't  seem  to  hear." 

"Not  a  bit!"  laughed  the  girl,  recovering  her  breath,  and 
stooping  to  brush  the  dust  from  her  dress.  "I  was  dreaming, 
as  usual." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that!  It  was  a  close  shave!  I'm 
mighty  sorry!  Are  you  sure  you're  all  right?  Perhaps  you 
had  better  come  in  with  us." 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a 
bright  smile.  The  man's  anxious  expression  slowly  changed 
into  one  of  wonder,  and  then  of  something  quite  different.  The 
girl's  long,  thick  hair  had  been  loosened  by  the  fall,  and  was 
hanging  about  her  shoulders.  Framed  in  the  deep  brown  pro 
fusion  was  the  fairest  face  he  had  ever  looked  upon;  the  most 
winning  smile;  the  most  loving,  compassionate  glance. 

"You'll  have  to  come  in  now,  and  let  the  maid  help  you,"  he 
said  firmly.  "And  I'll  send  you  home  in  an  auto.  May  I  ask 
where  you  live?" 

"New  York,"  replied  Carmen,  a  little  confused  as  she  strug 
gled  vainly  with  her  hair.  "Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  fuss  with  it  any 
more!"  she  suddenly  exclaimed.  "Yes,  I'll  go  with  you,  and 
let  the  maid  do  it  up.  Isn't  it  long!" 

She  glanced  about  her,  and  then  up  the  avenue  toward 
which  the  men  had  been  riding.  A  flush  suddenly  spread  over 
her  face,  and  she  turned  and  looked  searchingly  at  the  man. 

"You — you — live — in — there?"  she  stammered,  pointing  to 
ward  the  distant  house.  "And  you  are — 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  coming  to  her  assistance,  but  evidently 
greatly  enjoying  her  embarrassment,  "I  am  the  President." 

163 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Carmen  gave  a  little  gasp.     "Oh!" 

Then  her  hand  stole  mechanically  to  the  rose  flaming  upon 
her  bosom.  "I — I  guess  I  know  why  I  bought  this  now,"  she 
said  softly.  Quickly  unpinning  it,  she  extended  it  to  the  man. 
"I  was  bringing  it  to  you,  wasn't  I?"  she  laughed.  "It's  a 
'President'  rose." 

The  picture  was  one  that  would  have  rejoiced  an  artist: 
the  simple  girl,  with  her  tumbled  hair  and  wonderful  face, 
standing  there  in  the  glorious  sunlight,  holding  out  a  single 
rose  to  the  chief  executive  of  a  great  nation. 

The  President  bowed  low  and  took  the  proffered  flower.  "I 
thank  you,"  he  said.  "It  is  beautiful.  But  the  one  who  gives 
it  is  far  more  so." 

Then  he  bade  his  companion  take  the  two  horses  to  the 
stable,  and  motioned  to  Carmen  to  accompany  him. 

"I  was  just  returning  from  my  morning  ride,"  he  began 
again,  "when  you  happened — 

"Things  never  happen,"  interrupted  the  girl  gently. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  little  quizzical  side  glance.  "Then 
you  didn't  happen  to  be  in  the  way?"  he  said,  smiling. 

"No,"  she  returned  gravely.  "I  was  obeying  the  law  of 
cause  and  effect." 

"And  the  cause?"  he  pursued,  much  interested. 

"A  desire  to  see  you,  I  guess.  Or,  perhaps,  the  necessity  of 
seeing  you.  And  because  I  wanted  to  see  you  in  the  interests  of 
good,  why,  evil  seemed  to  try  to  run  over  me." 

"But  why  should  you  wish  to  see  me?"  he  continued,  greatly 
wondering. 

"Because  you  are  the  head  of  a  wonderful  nation.  Your 
influence  is  very  great.  And  you  are  a  good  man." 

He  studied  her  for  a  moment.     Then: 

"You  came  down  from  New  York  to  talk  with  me?"  he 
asked. 

"I  think  I  came  all  the  way  from  South  America  to  see 
you,"  she  said. 

"South  America!" 

]Tes,  Colombia." 

"Colombia!  There  is  a  revolution  in  progress  down  there 
now.  Did  you  come  to  see  me  about  that?  I  can  do  nothing — " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  "it's  to  prevent  a 
revolution  here  in  your  own  country  that  I  think  I  have  come  to 
see  you." 

They  had  by  now  reached  the  door  of  the  Executive  Man 
sion.  Entering,  the  President  summoned  a  maid,  and  turned 
the  big-eyed  girl  over  to  her.  "Bring  her  to  my  office,"  he 
directed,  "when  she  is  ready." 

164 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


A  little  later  the  nameless  girl  from  Simiti  again  stood  before 
the  President  of  the  United  States. 

"I  have  an  important  conference  at  ten,"  he  said,  glancing 
at  a  clock.  "But  we  have  a  few  minutes  before  that  time.  Will 
you — may  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  something  about  yourself?"  he 
ventured.  "You  are  feeling  all  right?  No  bad  effects  from  the 
accident?"  he  added,  looking  apprehensively  at  her  while  he  set 
out  a  chair. 

The  girl  drew  the  chair  close  to  his  desk  and  sat  down.  "I 
know  nothing  about  accidents,"  she  said  quietly.  Then,  turn 
ing  quite  from  that  topic,  she  drew  the  President  quickly  into 
her  thought  and  carried  him  off  with  her  as  on  a  magic  carpet. 

The  man  listened  in  rapt  attention.  From  time  to  time  he 
turned  and  stared  at  his  strange  visitor.  At  other  times  he 
made  notes  of  points  which  impressed  him.  Once  he  inter 
rupted,  when  she  made  reference  to  her  past  life.  "This  priest, 
Jose  de  Rincon,  might  he  not  have  been  imprisoned  as  a  political 
offender?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  the  girl  replied  tenderly.  "My  foster- 
father,  Rosendo,  did  not  mention  him  in  the  two  letters  which 
I  have  received." 

The  President  nodded;  and  the  girl  went  rapidly  on.  Soon 
she  was  deep  in  the  problem  presented  by  Avon. 

But  at  the  mention  of  that  town,  and  of  its  dominating 
genius,  the  President  seemed  to  become  nervous.  At  length  he 
raised  a  hand,  as  if  to  end  the  interview. 

"I  fear  I  can  do  nothing  at  present,"  he  said  with  an  air  of 
helplessness.  "My  influence  is  quite  limited." 

"But,"  she  protested,  "you  have  the  public  welfare  at  heart. 
And  can  you  not  see  that  public  welfare  is  the  welfare  of  each 
individual?" 

"I  know  Mr.  Ames  well,"  the  President  replied,  somewhat 
irrelevantly.  "He,  like  all  men  of  great  wealth,  presents  a  seri 
ous  problem,  doubtless.  But  he  himself,  likewise,  is  confronted 
by  problems  of  very  trying  natures.  We  must  give  him  time  to 
work  them  out." 

The  girl  sighed.  "It's  like  getting  at  the  essence  of  Chris 
tianity,"  she  said.  "The  world  has  had  nearly  two  thousand 
years  in  which  to  do  that,  but  it  hasn't  made  much  of  a  start 
as  yet.  How  much  time  does  Mr.  Ames  require?  And  how 
many  more  lives  must  he  sacrifice?" 

"But,"  the  President  resumed  reflectively,  "after  all,  it  is 
the  people  who  are  wholly  responsible  for  the  conditions  which 
exist  among  them.  They  have  the  means  of  remedying  every 
economic  situation,  the  ballot.  It  is  really  all  in  their  hands, 
is  it  not?  They  elect  their  public  officers,  their  judges,  and 
their  lawmakers." 

165 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Again  the  girl  sighed.  "You  too,"  she  said,  "take  refuge  in 
the  cant  of  the  age.  Yes,  the  people  do  try  to  elect  public 
servants;  but  by  some  strange  anomaly  the  servant  becomes 
master  the  moment  he  enters  the  door  of  office.  His  thought 
then  centers  upon  himself.  And  then  they,  and  you,  sit  help 
lessly  back  and  cry,  No  use!  And  if  the  people  rise,  their 
servants  meet  them  with  a  hail  of  lead.  It's  really  childishly 
ridiculous,  isn't  it?  when  you  stop  to  consider  it  seriously." 

She  leaned  her  elbows  upon  the  desk,  and  sat  with  chin  in 
her  hands,  looking  squarely  into  the  eyes  of  the  President. 

"So  you,  the  head  of  this  great  nation,  confess  to  utter 
helplessness,"  she  slowly  said.  "But  you  don't  have  to." 

A  servant  entered  at  that  moment  with  a  card.  The  Presi 
dent  glanced  at  it,  and  bade  him  request  the  caller  to  wait  a 
few  moments.  Then,  after  some  reflection: 

"The  people  will  always— 

The  door  through  which  the  servant  had  passed  was  abrupt 
ly  thrown  open,  and  a  harsh  voice  preceded  the  entrance  of  a 
huge  bulk. 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  being  told  to  wait,  Mr.  President," 
said  the  ungracious  voice.  "My  appointment  was  for  ten 
o'clock,  and  I  am  here  to  keep  it." 

Then  the  newcomer  stopped  abruptly,  and  stared  in  amaze 
ment  at  the  young  girl,  sitting  with  her  elbows  propped  upon 
the  desk,  -and  her  face  close  to  that  of  the  President. 

The  latter  rose,  flushed  and  angry.  But  Ames  did  not  notice 
him.  His  attention  was  centered  upon  the  girl  who  sat  looking 
calmly  up  at  him.  A  dark,  menacing  scowl  drew  his  bushy 
eyebrows  together,  and  made  the  sinister  look  which  mantled 
his  face  one  of  ominous  import  to  the  person  upon  whom  it 
fell. 

Carmen  was  the  first  to  break  the  tense  silence.  With  a 
bright  smile  illuming  her  face  she  rose  and  held  out  a  hand  to 
the  giant  before  her.  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  said. 
"We  meet  pretty  often,  don't  we?" 

Ames  ignored  both  the  greeting  and  the  extended  hand. 
Turning  upon  the  President,  he  said  sharply:  "So,  the  Ex 
press  seeks  aid  in  the  White  House,  eh?" 

"No,  Mr.  Ames,"  said  Carmen  quickly,  answering  for  the 
President.  "It  seeks  to  aid  the  White  House." 

Ames  turned  to  the  girl.  "Might  I  ask,"  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  mordant  sarcasm,  "how  you  learned  that  I  was  to  be  here 
this  morning?  I  would  like  to  employ  your  methods  of  espion 
age  in  my  own  business." 

"I  would  give  anything  if  you  would  employ  my  methods 
in  your  business,"  returned  the  girl  gently. 

166 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


The  President  looked  in  embarrassment  from  one  to  the 
other.  "I  think,  Miss  Carmen,"  he  said,  "that  we  must  con 
sider  our  interview  ended.  This  next  hour  belongs  by  appoint 
ment  to  Mr.  Ames." 

A  peculiar  expression  had  come  into  Ames's  features.  His 
thought  had  been  working  rapidly.  Here  was  an  opportunity 
for  a  telling  stroke.  He  would  play  it.  His  manner  suddenly 
became  more  gracious. 

"Let  her  remain,  Mr.  President,"  he  said  in  a  tone  pregnant 
with  meaning.  "I  am  glad  to  have  a  representative  of  the  New 
York  press  with  us  to  hear  you  express  your  attitude  toward 
the  cotton  schedule." 

The  President  caught  the  insinuation.  His  hand  was  to  be 
forced!  His  indignation  mounted,  but  he  checked  it. 

"The  schedule  has  been  reported  out  of  committee,"  he 
replied  briefly.  "It  is  now  before  Congress." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Ames.  "And  your  influence 
with  Congress  in  regard  to  it?" 

"I  am  studying  the  matter,  Mr.  Ames,"  returned  the  Presi 
dent  slowly. 

"Shall  the  Avon  mills  be  closed  pending  a  decision?  Or, 
on  the  assumption  that  Congress  will  uphold  the  altered  sched 
ule,  must  the  Spinners'  Association  begin  immediate  retrench 
ment?  As  president  of  that  Association,  I  ask  for  instruc 
tions." 

"My  influence  with  Congress,  as  you  well  know,  Mr.  Ames, 
is  quite  limited,"  replied  the  hectored  executive. 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  the  amount  of  your  influence  with 
that  body,  Mr.  President,"  returned  Ames  coldly,  "but  of  how 
you  will  employ  that  which  you  have." 

Silence  lay  upon  them  all  for  some  moments.  Then  Ames 
resumed: 

"I  would  remind  you,"  he  remarked  with  cruel  insinuation, 
"that — or,"  glancing  at  the  girl,  "perhaps  I  should  not  make 
this  public."  He  paused  and  awaited  the  effect  of  his  signifi 
cant  words  upon  the  President.  Then,  as  the  latter  remained 
silent,  he  went  on  evenly: 

"Second-term  prospects,  you  are  aware,  are  often  very  great 
ly  influenced  by  public  facts  regarding  the  first  election.  Of 
course  we  are  saying  nothing  that  the  press  might  use,  but — 
well,  you  must  realize  that  there  is  some  suspicion  current  as 
to  the  exact  manner  in  which  your  election  was — 

"I  think  you  wish  to  insinuate  that  my  election  was  due  to 
the  Catholic  vote,  which  you  controlled  in  New  York,  and  to 
your  very  generous  campaign  contributions,  do  you  not?  I 
see  no  reason  for  withholding  from  the  press  your  views  on  the 
subject." 

167 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"But,  my  friend,  this  is  an  age  of  investigation,  and  of 
suspicion  toward  all  public  officials.  And  such  rumors 
wouldn't  look  well  on  the  front  pages  of  the  press  throughout 
the  country.  Of  course,  our  young  friend  here  isn't  going  to 
mention  them  to  her  superiors;  but,  nevertheless,  they  ought  to 
be  suppressed  at  once.  Their  effect  upon  your  second-term 
prospects  would  be  simply  annihilating.  Now  I  am  in  a  posi 
tion  to  greatly  assist  in  the  matter  of — well,  in  fact,  I  have 
already  once  offered  my  aid  to  the  Express.  And  T  stand  ready 
now  to  join  with  it  in  giving  the  lie  to  those  who  are  seeking 
to  embarrass  the  present  administration.  Miss  Carmen  is 
with  us — 

"Mr.  Ames,"  the  girl  quietly  interrupted,  "I  wish  you  were 
with  us." 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  have  I— 

"For  then  there  would  be  no  more  suffering  in  Avon,"  she 
added. 

"Ha!  Then  it  was  you  who  wrote  that  misleading  stuff  in 
the  Express,  eh?  I  might  have  known  it!  May  I  ask,"  he 
added  with  a  contemptuous  sneer,  "by  whose  authority  you 
have  visited  the  houses  occupied  by  my  tenants,  without  my 
permission  or  knowledge?  I  take  it  you  were  down  there, 
although  the  cloudy  weather  must  have  quite  dimmed  your 
perception." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have  been  there. 
And  it  was  very  cloudy.  Yes,  I  visited  your  charnel  houses 
and  your  cemeteries.  I  saw  your  victims.  I  held  their  trem 
bling  hands,  and  stroked  their  hot  brows.  I  fed  them,  and 
gave  them  the  promise  that  I  would  plead  their  cause  with 
you." 

"Humph!     But  you  first  come  here  to — " 

"It  was  with  no  thought  of  seeing  you  that  I  came  to  Wash 
ington,  Mr.  Ames.  If  I  cross  your  path  often,  it  must  be  for 
a  purpose  not  yet  revealed  to  either  of  us.  Perhaps  it  is  to 
warn  you,  to  awaken  you,  if  not  too  late,  to  a  sense  of  your 
desperate  state." 

"My  desperate  state!" 

"Yes.  You  are  drunk,  you  know,  drunk  with  greed.  And 
such  continuous  drunkenness  has  made  you  sick  unto  death, 
t  is  the  same  dread  disease  of  the  soul  that  the  wicked  Cortez 
told  the  bewildered  Mexicans  he  had,  and  that  could  be  cured 
only  with  gold.  You-  you  don't  see,  Mr.  Ames,  that  you  are 
mesmerized  by  the  evil  which  is  always  using  you." 

She  stood  close  to  the  huge  man,  and  looked  straight  up 
into  his  face.  He  remained  for  a  moment  motionless,  yielding 
again  to  that  fascination  which  always  held  him  when  in  her 

168 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


presence,  and  of  which  he  could  give  no  account  to  himself. 
That  slight,  girlish  figure — how  easily  he  could  crush  her! 

"But  you  couldn't,  you  know,"  she  said  cryptically,  as  she 
shook  her  head. 

"Couldn't  what?"  he  demanded. 

"Crush  me." 

He  recoiled  a  step,  struck  by  the  sudden  revelation  that  the 
girl  had  read  his  thought. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  continued,  "what  a  craven  error 
is  before  truth.  It  makes  a  coward  of  you,  doesn't  it?  Your 
boasted  power  is  only  a  mesmerism,  which  you  throw  like  a 
huge  net  over  your  victims.  You  and  they  can  break  it,  if  you 
will." 

"Miss  Carmen!"  exclaimed  the  President.  "We  really  must 
consider  our  interview  ended.  Let  us  make  an  appointment 
for  another  day." 

"I  guess  the  appointment  was  made  for  to-day,"  the  girl 
said  softly.  "And  by  a  higher  power  than  any  of  us.  Mr. 
Ames  is  the  type  of  man  who  is  slowly  turning  our  Republican 
form  of  government  into  a  despotism  of  wealth.  He  boasts 
that  his  power  is  already  greater  than  a  czar's.  You  bow  be 
fore  it;  and  so  the  awful  monster  of  privilege  goes  on  un 
hampered,  coiling  its  slimy  tentacles  about  our  national  re 
sources,  our  public  utilities,  and  natural  wealth.  I — I  can't 
see  how  you,  the  head  of  this  great  nation,  can  stand  trembling 
by  and  see  him  do  it.  It  is  to  me  incomprehensible." 

The  President  flushed.  He  made  as  if  to  reply,  but  re 
strained  himself.  Carmen  gave  no  indication  of  leaving.  A 
stern  look  then  came  into  the  President's  face.  He  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  in  thought.  Then  he  turned  again  to  his  desk 
and  sat  down. 

"Please  be  seated,"  he  said,  "both  of  you.  I  don't  know 
what  quarrel  there  is  between  you  two,  and  I  am  not  interested 
in  it.  But  you,  Miss  Carmen,  represent  the  press;  Mr.  Ames, 
business.  The  things  which  have  been  voiced  here  this  morn 
ing  must  remain  with  us  alone.  Now  let  us  see  if  we  can  not 
meet  on  common  ground.  Is  the  attitude  of  your  newspaper, 
Miss  Carmen,  one  of  hostility  toward  great  wealth?" 

"The  Express  raises  its  voice  only  against  the  folly  and 
wickedness  of  the  human  mind,  not  against  personality,"  re 
plied  the  girl. 

"But  you  are  attacking  Mr.  Ames." 

"No.  We  attack  only  the  human  thought  which  manifests 
in  him.  We  oppose  the  carnal  thought  which  expresses  itself 
in  the  folly,  the  madness  of  -strife  for  excessive  wealth.  It  is 
that  strife  that  makes  our  hospitals  and  asylums  a  disgraceful 

169 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


necessity.  It  makes  the  immigrant  hordes  of  Europe  flock  here 
because  they  are  attracted  by  the  horrible  social  system  which 
fosters  the  growth  of  great  fortunes  and  makes  their  acquisi 
tion  possible.  Our  alms-houses  and  prisons  increase  in  num 
ber  every  year.  It  is  because  rich  men  misuse  their  wealth, 
trample  justice  under  foot,  and  prostitute  a  whole  nation's 
conscience." 

"But  the  rich  need  not  do  that.    They  do  not  all— 

"It  is  a  law  of  human  thought,"  said  Carmen  in  reply,  "that 
mankind  in  time  become  like  that  which  has  absorbed  their 
attention.  Rich  men  obey  this  law  with  utmost  precision. 
They  acquire  the  nature  and  character  of  their  god,  gold. 
They  rapidly  grow  to  be  like  that  which  they  blindly  worship. 
They  harden  like  their  money.  They  grow  metallic,  yellow, 
calloused,  unchanging,  and  soulless,  like  the  coins  they  heap 
up.  There  is  the  great  danger  to  our  country,  Mr.  President. 
And  it  is  against  the  human  thought  that  produces  such  beings 
—thought  stamped  with  the  dollar  mark — that  the  Express 
opposes  itself." 

She  hesitated,  and  looked  in  the  direction  of  Ames.  Then 
she  added: 

"Their  features  in  time  reveal  to  the  world  their  metallic 
thought.  Their  veins  shrivel  with  the  fiery  lust  of  gold.  Their 
arteries  harden.  And  then,  at  last,  they  crumble  and  sink  into 
the  dust  of  which  their  god  is  made.  And  still  their  memories 
continue  to  poison  the  very  sources  of  our  national  existence. 
You  see,"  she  concluded,  "there  is  no  fool  so  mired  in  his  folly 
as  the  man  who  gives  his  soul  for  great  wealth." 

"A  very  enjoyable  little  sermon,  preached  for  my  benefit, 
Miss  Carmen,"  interposed  Ames,  bowing  to  her.  "And  now  if 
you  have  finished  excoriating  my  poor  character,"  he  con 
tinued  dryly,  "will  you  kindly  state  by  whose  authority  you 
publish  to  the  world  my  affairs?" 

'^God's  authority,  Mr.  Ames,"  returned  the  girl  gently. 

"Bah!  The  maudlin  sentimentalism  of  such  as  you  make 
us  all  suffer!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  gesture  of  disgust.  "Hadn't 
we  better  sing  a  hymn  now?  You're  obsessed  with  your  foolish 
religious  notions!  You're  running  aniuck!  You'lf  be  wiser  in 
a  few  years,  I  hope." 

The  girl  reflected.  "And  may  I  ask,  Mr.  Ames,  by  what 
right  you  own  mines,  and  forests,  and  lands?  Divine  right,  ! 
suppose." 

"By  the  divine  right  of  law,  most  assuredly,"  he  retorted. 

And  you  make  the  law.  Yes,  divine  right !  I  have  learned," 
she  continued,  turning  to  the  President,  "that  a  bare  handful 
of  men  own  or  control  all  the  public  utilities  of  this  great 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


country.  It  doesn't  seem  possible!  But,"  abruptly,  "y°u  be 
lieve  in  God,  don't  you?" 

He  nodded  his  head,  although  with  some  embarrassment. 
His  religion  labored  heavily  under  political  bias. 

She  looked  down  at  the  floor,  and  sat  silent  for  a  while. 
"Divine  right,"  she  began  to  murmur,  "the  fetish  of  the 
creatures  made  rich  by  our  man-made  social  system!  'The 
heavens  are  thine,  the  earth  also  is  thine:  as  for  the  world 
and  the  fullness  thereof,  thou  hast  founded  them.'  But,  oh, 
what  must  be  the  concept  of  God  held  by  the  rich,  a  God  who 
bestows  these  gifts  upon  a  few,  and  with  them  the  privilege 
and  divine  consent  to  oppress  and  crush  their  fellow-men! 
What  a  low  order  of  intelligence  the  rich  possess!  An  intelli 
gence  wherein  the  sentiments  of  love  and  justice  have  melted 
into  money!" 

"Mr.  President,"  put  in  Ames  at  this  juncture,  "I  think 
we  have  spent  quite  enough  time  moralizing.  Suppose  you 
now  indicate  your  attitude  on  the  cotton  tariff.  I'd  like  to 
know  what  to  expect." 

Carmen  glanced  quickly  up.  Her  sparkling  eyes  looked 
right  into  the  President's.  A  smile  wreathed  her  mouth.  "I 
admire  the  man,"  she  said,  "who  dares  to  stand  for  the  right 
in  the  face  of  the  great  taboo!  There  are  few  men  nowadays 
who  stand  for  anything  in  particular." 

"Look  here!"  exclaimed  Ames,  aware  now  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake  in  permitting  the  girl  to  remain,  "I  wish  my  inter 
view  to  be  with  you  alone,  Mr.  President." 

Carmen  rose.  "I  have  embarrassed  you  both,  haven't  I?" 
she  said.  "I  will  go.  But  first- 
She  went  to  Ames  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "I  wish — I 
wish  I  might  awaken  you,"  she  said  gently.  "There  is  no  vic 
tim  at  Avon  in  so  desperate  a  state  as  you.  More  gold  will  not 
cure  you,  any  more  than  more  liquor  can  cure  a  slave  to  strong 
drink.  You  do  not  know  that  you  are  hourly  practicing  the 
most  despicable  form  of  robbery,  the  wringing  of  profits  which 
you  do  not  need  out  of  the  dire  necessities  of  your  fellow- 
beings." 

She  stopped  and  smiled  down  into  the  face  of  the  man.  His 
emotions  were  in  a  whirl.  This  girl  always  dissected  his  soul 
with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"I  wish  I  might  awaken  you  and  your  poor  victims  by  show 
ing  you  and  them  that  righteousness  makes  not  for  a  home  in 
the  skies,  but  for  greater  happiness  and  prosperity  for  every 
body  right  here  in  this  world.  Don't  you  really  want  the  little 
babies  to  have  enough  to  eat  down  there  at  Avon?  Do  you 
really  want  the  President  to  support  you  in  the  matter  of  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


cotton  schedule,  and  so  increase  the  misery  and  sorrow  at  your 
mills?  You  don't  know,  do  you?  that  one's  greatest  happiness 
is  found  only  in  that  of  others."  She  stood  looking  at  him  for 
a  few  moments,  then  turned  away. 

The  President  rose  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She 
almost  laughed  as  she  took  it,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  the 
light  of  her  eager,  unselfish  desire. 

"I — I  guess  I'm  like  Paul,"  she  said,  "consumed  with  zeal. 
Anyway,  you'll  wear  my  rose,  won't  you?" 

"Indeed  I  will!"  he  said  heartily. 

"And — you  are  not  a  bit  afraid  about  a  second  term,  are 
you?  As  for  party  principle,  why,  you  know,  there  is  only  one 
principle,  God.  He  is  the  Christ-principle,  you  know,  and  that 
is  way  above  party  principle." 

Under  the  spell  of  the  girl's  strange  words  every  emotion 
fled  from  the  men  but  that  of  amazement. 

"Righteousness,  you  know,  is  right-thinking.  And  that 
touches  just  that  about  which  men  are  most  chary,  their 
pocketbooks." 

She  still  held  his  hand.  Then  she  arched  her  brows  and 
said  naively:  "You  will  find  in  yesterday's  Express  something 
about  Avon.  You  will  not  use  your  influence  with  Congress 
until  you  have  read  it,  will  you?"  And  with  that  she  left  the 
room. 

A  deep  quiet  fell  upon  the  men,  upon  the  great  executive 
and  the  great  apostle  of  privilege.  It  seemed  to  the  one  that  as 
the  door  closed  against  that  bright  presence  the  spirit  of  night 
descended;  the  other  sat  wrapped  in  the  chaos  of  conflicting 
emotions  in  which  she  always  left  him. 

Suddenly  the  President  roused  up.  "Who  is  she?"  he 
asked. 

"She's  the  bastard  daughter  of  a  negro  priest,"  replied  Ames 
in  an  ugly  tone. 

^What— she?     That  beautiful  girl—!     I  don't  believe  it!" 

"By  God,  she  is!"  cried  the  thoroughly  angered  Ames,  bring 
ing  a  huge  fist  down  hard  upon  the  desk.  "And  I've  got  the 
proof!  And,  what's  more,  she's  head  over  heels  in  love  with 
another  renegade  priest! 

"But  that's  neither  here  nor  there,"  he  continued  savagely. 
"I  want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  for  us?" 

"I — I  do  not  see,  Mr.  Ames,  that  I  can  do  anything,"  replied 
the  President  meditatively. 

"Well — will  you  leave  the  details  to  us,  and  do  as  we  tell 
you  then?"  the  financier  pursued,  taking  another  tack. 

The  President  hesitated.  Then  he  raised  his  head.  "You 
say  you  have  proof?"  he  asked. 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Proof?" 

"Yes — about  the  girl,  you — " 

"Damn  the  girl!"  almost  shouted  Ames.  "I've  got  proofs 
that  will  ruin  her,  and  you  too — and,  by  God,  I'll  use  'em,  if 
you  drive  me  to  it !  You  seem  to  forget  that  you  were  elected 
to  do  our  bidding,  my  friend!" 

The  President  again  lapsed  into  silence.  For  a  long  time 
he  sat  staring  at  the  floor.  Then  he  looked  up.  "It  was  won 
derful,"  he  said,  "wonderful  the  way  she  faced  you,  like  David 
before  Goliath!  There  isn't  a  ves-tige  of  fear  in  her  make-up. 
I — we'll,  talk  this  matter  over  some  other  time,  Mr.  Ames,"  he 
finished,  rising  abruptly. 

"We'll  talk  it  over  now!"  roared  Ames,  his  self-control  fly 
ing  to  the  winds.  "I  can  ruin  you — make  your  administration 
a  laughing-stock — and  plunge  this  country  into  financial  panic! 
Do  you  do  as  I  say,  or  not?" 

The  President  looked  the  angry  man  squarely  in  the  eyes. 
"I  do  not,"  he  answered  quietly.  "Good  morning." 


CHAPTER  13 

"TT'S  corking!    Simply  corking!"  cried  Haynerd,  when  he  and 

I    Hitt  had  finished  reading  Carmen's  report  on  her  first  few 

days  in  Washington.     "Makes  a  fellow  feel  as  if  the  best 

thing  Congress  could  do  would  be  to  adjourn  for  about  fifty 

years,  eh?     Such  freak  legislation!     But  she's  a  wonder,  Hitt! 

And  she's  booming  the  Express  to  the  skies!      Say,   do  you 

know?  she's  in  love,  that  girl  is!     That's  why  she  is  so — as  the 

Mexicans  say — simpdtico." 

"Eh?  In  love!"  exclaimed  Hitt.  "Well,  not  with  you,  I 
hope!" 

"No,  unfortunately,"  replied  Haynerd,  assuming  a  dejected 
mien,  "but  with  that  Rincon  fellow — and  he  a  priest!  He's 
got  a  son  down  in  Cartagena  somewhere,  and  he  doesn't  write 
to  her  either.  She's  told  Sid  the  whole  story,  and  he's  working 
it  up  into  a  book  during  his  odd  moments.  But,  say,"  turning 
the  conversation  again  into  its  original  channel,  "how  much  of 
her  report  are  we  going  to  run?  You  know,  she  tried  to  head  us 
off.  Doesn't  want  to  attack  Ames.  Ha!  ha!  As  if  she  hadn't 
already  attacked  him  and  strewn  him  all  over  the  field!" 

"We'll  have  to  be  careful  in  our  allusions  to  the  President," 
replied  Hitt.  "I'll  rewrite  it  myself,  so  as  not  to  offend  her 
or  him.  And  I — but,  by  George!  her  reports  are  the  truth,  and 
they  rightfully  belong  to  the  people!  The  Express  is  the 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


avowed  servant  of  the  public!  What  she  finds  out  belongs  to 
all.  I  see  no  reason  for  concealing  a  thing.  Did  I  tell  you  that 
I  had  two  inquiries  from  Italian  and  German  papers,  asking 
permission  to  translate  her  reports  into  their  own  columns?" 

"No?  Jerusalem!  We're  becoming  famous!  Did  you  wire 
her  to  see  Gossitch  and  Mall?" 

"Yes,  and  Logue,  as  well  as  others.  And  I've  put  dozens  of 
senators  and  congressmen  on  our  mailing  list,  including  the 
President  himself.  I've  prepared  letters  for  each  one  of  them, 
calling  attention  to  the  girl  and  her  unique  reports.  She  cer 
tainly  writes  in  a  fascinating  vein,  doesn't  she?  Meanwhile, 
she's  circulating  around  down  there  and  advertising  us  in  the 
best  possible  manner.  We're  a  success,  old  man!"  he  finished, 
slapping  the  city  editor  roundly  upon  the  back. 

"Humph!"  growled  the  latter.  "Confine  your  enthusiasm 
to  words,  my  friend.  Say,  what  did  you  do  about  that  liquid 
food  advertisement?" 

"Discovered  that  it  was  beer,"  replied  Hitt,  "and  turned  it 
firmly  down." 

"Well,  isn't  beer  a  food?  Not  that  we  care  to  advertise  it, 
but- 

Hitt  laughed.  "When  that  fellow  Glaus  smoothly  tried  to 
convince  me  that  beer  was  a  food,  I  sent  a  sample  of  his  stuff 
to  the  lies  chemical  laboratory  for  analysis.  They  reported 
ninety-four  per  cent  water,  four  per  cent  alcohol — defined  now 
as  a  poisonous  drug — and  about  two  per  cent  of  possible  food 
substance.  If  the  beer  had  been  of  the  first  grade  there 
wouldn't  have  been  even  the  two  per  cent  of  solids.  You  know, 
I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  what  Carmen  said  about  the  beer 
that  is  advertised  in  brown  bottles  to  preserve  it  from  the 
deleterious  effects  of  light.  Light,  you  know,  starts  decay  in 
beer.  Well,  light,  according  to  Fuller,  is  'God's  eldest  daughter.' 
Emerson  says  it  is  the  first  of  painters,  and  that  there  is  noth 
ing  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not  make  it  beautiful.  Light 
destroys  fermentation.  Thus  the  light  of  truth  destroys  the 
fermentation  which  is  supposed  to  constitute  the  human  mind 
and  body.  So  light  tries  to  purify  beer  by  breaking  it  up.  The 
brewers  have  to  put  it  into  brown  bottles  to  preserve  its  poison 
ous  qualities.  As  Carmen  says,  beer  simply  can't  stand  the 
light.  No  evil  can  stand  the  light.  Remarkable,  isn't  it?" 

"Humph!  It's  astonishing  that  so  many  so-called  reputable 
papers  will  take  their  advertising  stuff.  It's  just  as  bad  as 
patent  medicine  ads." 

"Yes.  And  I  note  that  the  American  public  still  spend  their 
annual  hundred  million  dollars  for  patent  medicine  dope.  Most 
of  this  is  spent  by  women,  who  are  largely  caught  by  the  mail- 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


order  trade.  I  learned  of  one  exposure  recently  made  where 
it  was  found  that  a  widely  advertised  eye  wash  was  composed 
of  borax  and  water.  The  cost  was  somewhere  about  five  cents 
a  gallon,  and  it  sold  for  a  dollar  an  ounce.  Nice  little  profit  of 
some  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  per  cent,  and  all  done 
by  the  mesmerism  of  suggestive  advertising.  Shrewd  business, 
eh?  Nice  example  in  morality.  Speaking  of  parasites  on 
society,  Ames  is  not  the  only  one!" 

"And  yet  those  fellows  howl  and  threaten  us  with  the  boy 
cott  because  we  won't  advertise  their  lies  and  delusions.  It's 
as  bad  as  ecclesiastical  intolerance!" 

Carmen  spent  a  week  in  Washington.  Then  she  returned 
to  New  York  and  went  directly  to  Avon.  What  she  did  there 
can  only  be  surmised  by  a  study  of  her  reports  to  Hitt,  who 
carefully  edited  them  and  ran  them  in  the  Express.  Again, 
after  several  days,  she  journeyed  back  to  Washington.  Her 
enthusiasm  was  boundless;  her  energy  exhaustless;  her  indus 
try  ceaseless;  and  her  persistency  doggedly  unshakable.  In 
Washington  she  made  her  way  unhindered  among  those  whom 
she  deemed  essential  to  the  work  which  she  was  doing.  Doubt 
less  her  ability  to  do  this  and  to  gain  an  audience  with  whomso 
ever  she  might  choose  was  in  great  part  due  to  her  beauty 
and  charming  simplicity,  her  grace  of  manner,  and  her  won 
derful  and  fearless  innocence,  combined  with  a  mentality  re 
markable  for  its  matured  powers.  Hitt  and  Haynerd  groaned 
over  her  expenses,  but  promptly  met  them. 

"She's  worth  it,"  growled  the  latter  one  day.  "She's  had 
four  different  talks  with  the  President!  How  on  earth  do  you 
suppose  she  does  it?  And  how  did  she  get  Mall  and  Logue  to 
take  her  to  dinner  and  to  the  theater  again  and  again?  And 
what  did  she  do  to  induce  that  doddering  old  blunderbuss, 
Gossitch,  to  tell  her  what  Ames  was  up  to?  I'll  bet  he  made 
love  to  her!  How  do  you  suppose  she  found  out  that  Ames 
was  hand  in  glove  with  the  medical  profession,  and  working 
tooth  and  nail  to  help  them  secure  a  National  Bureau  of  Health? 
Say,  do  you  know  what  that  would  do?  It  would  foist  allo 
pathy  upon  every  chick  and  child  of  us!  Make  medication, 
drugging,  compulsory!  Good  heavens!  Have  we  come  to  that 
in  this  supposedly  free  country?  By  the  way,  Hitt,  Doctor 
Morton  has  been  let  out  of  the  University.  Fired!  He  says 
Ames  did  it  because  of  his  association  with  us.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

"I  think,  my  friend,"  replied  Hitt,  "that  it  is  a  very  serious 
matter,  and  one  that  impinges  heavily  upon  the  rights  of  every 
one  of  us,  when  a  roaring  lion  like  Ames  is  permitted  to  run 
loose  through  our  streets.  Can  nothing  stop  him!" 

175 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I've  centered  my  hopes  in  Carmen,"  sighed  Haynerd. 
"She's  my  one  last  bet.  If  she  can't  stop  him,  then  God  himself 
can't!" 

Hitt  turned  and  went  into  his  office.  A  few  moments  later 
he  came  out  again  and  handed  an  opened  letter  to  Haynerd. 
"Some  notes  she's  sent  from  Washington.  Mentions  the  Na 
tional  Bureau  of  Health  project.  It  hasn't  escaped  her,  you 
see.  Say,  will  you  tell  me  where  she  picks  up  her  informa 
tion?" 

"The  Lord  gives  it  to  her,  I  guess,"  said  Haynerd,  glancing 
over  the  letter.  "What's  this? 

"  'Reverend  Borwell  and  Doctor  Siler  are  down  here  lobbying  for 
the  National  Bureau  of  Health  bill.  Also,  Senator  Gossitch  dropped  a 
remark  to  me  yesterday  which  makes  me  believe  that  he  and  other 
Senators  have  been  approached  by  Tetham  with  reference  to  sending  an 
American  ambassador  to  the  Vatican.  Mr.  Ames  favors  this.'  " 

Haynerd  handed  the  letter  back  to  Hitt  and  plunged  into 
the  papers  on  his  desk.  "Don't  say  another  word  to  me!"  he 
exclaimed.  "This  country's  going  stark,  staring  mad!  WTe're 
crazy,  every  mother's  son  of  us!" 

"It's  the  human  mind  that  is  crazy,  Ned,  because  it  is  wholly 
without  any  basis  of  principle,"  returned  Hitt  with  a  sigh. 
»**»** 

"Doctor  Siler!     I  beg  your  pardon!" 

"Eh?  Why,  Miss  Carmen!"  exclaimed  that  worthy  person, 
looking  up  from  the  gutter,  whither  he  had  hastened  after  his 
silk  hat  which  had  been  knocked  off  by  the  encounter  with  the 
young  girl  who  had  rounded  the  corner  of  Ninth  street  into 
Pennsylvania  avenue  and  plunged  full  into  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,  Doctor!  I  was  coming  from  the  Smith 
sonian  Institution,  and  I  guess — " 

"Don't  mention  it,  Miss  Carmen.  It's  a  privilege  to  have  my 
hat  knocked  off  by  such  a  radiant  creature  as  you." 

"But  it  was  so  stupid  of  me!  Dreaming  again!  And  I  want 
to  offer  my — 

"Look  here,  Miss  Carmen,  just  offer  yourself  as  my  guest 
at  luncheon,  will  you?  That  will  not  only  make  amends,  but 
place  me  hopelessly  in  your  debt." 

"Indeed  I  will!"  exclaimed  the  girl  heartily.  "I  was  on  my 
way  to  a  restaurant." 

"Then  come  with  me.  I've  got  a  little  place  around  the 
corner  here  that  would  have  made  Epicurus  sit  up  nights  in 
diting  odes  to  it." 

The  girl  laughed  merrily,  and  slipped  her  arm  through  his. 
A  few  minutes  later  they  were  seated  at  a  little  table  in  a 
secluded  corner  of  the  doctor's  favorite  chophouse. 

176 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"By  the  way,  I  met  a  friend  of  yours  a  few  minutes  ago," 
announced  the  doctor,  after  they  had  given  their  orders.  "He 
was  coming  out  of  the  White  House,  and — were  you  ever  in  a 
miniature  cyclone?  Well,  that  was  Ames!  He  blew  me  right 
off  the  sidewalk!  So  angry,  he  didn't  see  me.  That's  twice 
to-day  I've  been  sent  to  the  gutter!"  He  laughed  heartily  over 
his  experiences,  then  added  significantly:  "You  and  he  are 
both  mental  cyclones,  but  producing  diametrically  opposite 
effects." 

Carmen  remained  seriously  thoughtful.  The  doctor  went 
on  chatting  volubly.  "Ames  and  the  President  don't  seem  to 
be  pulling  together  as  well  as  usual.  The  President  has  come 
out  squarely  against  him  now  in  the  matter  of  the  cotton 
schedule.  Ames  declares  that  the  result  will  be  a  general  finan 
cial  panic  this  fall.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Sands,  the  Express  cor 
respondent,  seems  to  be  getting  mighty  close  to  administration 
affairs  these  days.  Where  did  he  get  that  data  regarding  a 
prospective  National  Bureau  of  Health,  do  you  suppose?" 

"I  gave  it  to  him,"  was  the  simple  reply. 

The  doctor  dropped  his  fork,  and  stared  at  the  girl.  "You!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Well — of  course  you  naturally  would  be  op 
posed  to  it.  But — " 

"Tell  me,"  she  interrupted,  "tell  me  candidly  just  what  you 
doctors  are  striving  for,  anyway.  For  universal  health?  Are 
your  activities  all  quite  utilitarian,  or — is  it  money  and 
monopoly  that  you  are  after?  It  makes  a  lot  of  difference,  you 
know,  in  one's  attitude  toward  you.  If  you  really  seek  the 
betterment  of  health,  then  you  are  only  honestly  mistaken  in 
your  zeal.  But  if  you  are  doing  this  to  make  money — and  I 
think  you  are — then  you  are  a  lot  of  rascals,  deserving  defeat." 

"Miss  Carmen,  do  you  impugn  my  motives?"  He  laughed 
lightly  at  the  thought. 

"N — well — "  She  hesitated.  He  began  to  color  slightly 
under  her  keen  scrutiny.  "Well,"  she  finally  continued,  "let's 
see.  If  you  doctors  have  made  the  curative  arts  effective,  and 
if  you  really  do  heal  disease,  then  I  must  support  you,  of  course. 
But,  while  there  is  nothing  quite  so  important  to  the  average 
mortal  as  his  health,  yet  I  know  that  there  is  hardly  anything 
that  has  been  dealt  with  in  such  a  bungling  way.  The  art  of 
healing  as  employed  by  our  various  schools  of  medicine  to-day 
is  the  result  of  ages  and  ages  of  experimentation  and  bitter  ex 
perience,  isn't  it?  And  its  cost  in  human  lives  is  simply  in 
calculable.  No  science  is  so  speculative,  none  so  hypothetical, 
as  the  so-called  science  of  medicine." 

"But  we  have  had  to  learn,"  protested  the  doctor. 

"Do  you  realize,  Doctor,"  she  resumed,  "that  the  teaching 

57  177 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


and  preaching  of  disease  for  money  is  one  of  the  greatest 
curses  resting  upon  the  world  to-day?  I  never  saw  a  doctor 
until  I  was  on  the  boat  coming  to  New  York.  And  then  I 
thought  he  was  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  I  had  ever  seen. 
I  followed  him  about  and  listened  to  him  talk  to  the  passengers. 
And  I  learned  that,  like  most  of  our  young  men,  he  had  entered 
the  practice  of  medicine  under  the  pressure  of  dollars  rather 
than  altruism.  Money  is  still  the  determining  factor  in  the 
choice  of  a  profession  by  our  young  men.  And  success  and 
fortune  in  the  medical  profession,  more  than  in  any  other, 
depend  upon  the  credulity  of  the  ignorant  and  helpless  human 
mind." 

"Do  you  deny  that  great  progress  has  been  made  in  the 
curative  arts?"  he  demanded.  "See  what  we  have  done  with 
diphtheria,  with  typhoid,  with  smallpox,  and  malaria!" 

"Surely,  Doctor,  you  can  not  believe  that  the  mere  tem 
porary  removing  of  a  disease  is  real  healing!  You  render  one 
lot  of  microbes  innocuous,  after  thousands  of  years  of  experi 
mentation,  and  leave  mankind  subject  to  the  rest.  Then  you 
render  another  set  harmless.  Do  you  expect  to  go  on  that  way, 
making  set  after  set  of  microbes  harmless  to  the  human  body, 
and  thus  in  time,  after  millions  of  years,  eradicate  disease  en 
tirely?  Do  you  think  that  people  will  then  cease  to  die?  All 
the  time  you  are  working  only  in  matter  and  through  material 
modes.  Do  you  expect  thereby  to  render  the  human  sense  of 
life  immortal?  I  think  a  sad  disappointment  awaits  you. 
Your  patients  get  well,  only  to  fall  sick  again.  And  death  to 
you  is  still  as  inevitable  as  ever,  despite  your  boasted  successes, 
is  it  not  so?" 

He  broke  into  a  bantering  laugh,  but  did  not  reply. 

"Doctor,  the  human  mind  is  self-inoculated.  It  suffers 
from  auto-infection.  It  makes  its  own  disease  microbes.  It 
will  keep  on  making  them,  until  it  is  educated  out  of  itself, 
and  taught  to  do  better.  Then  it  will  give  place  to  the  real 
reflection  of  divine  mind;  and  human  beings  will  be  no  more. 
Why  don't  you  realize  this,  you  doctors,  and  get  started  on  the 
right  track?  Your  real  work  is  in  the  mental  realm.  There 
you  will  find  both  cause  and  cure." 

"Well,  I  for  one  frave  little  respect  for  faith  cure — " 

"Nor  I,"  she  interposed.  "Dependence  upon  material  drugs, 
Doctor,  is  reliance  upon  the  phenomena  of  the  human  mind. 
Faith  cure  is  dependence  upon  the  human  mind  itself,  upon 
the  noumenon,  instead  of  the  phenomenon.  Do  you  see  the 
difference?  Hypnotism  is  mental  suggestion,  the  suggestions 
being  human  and  material,  not  divine  truth.  The  drugging 
system  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  belief  of  life  in  matter.  Faith 

178 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


cure  is  the  belief  of  life  and  power  inherent  in  the  human  mind. 
One  is  no  higher  than  the  other.  The  origin  of  healing  is 
shrouded  in  mythology,  and  every  step  of  its  so-called  progress 
has  been  marked  by  superstition,  dense  ignorance,  and  fear. 
The  first  doctor  that  history  records  was  the  Shaman,  or  medi 
cine-man,  whose  remedies  reflected  his  mental  status,  and  later 
found  apt  illustration  in  the  brew  concocted  by  Macbeth's 
witches.  And  think  you  he  has  disappeared?  Unbelievable  as 
it  may  seem,  it  was  only  a  short  time  ago  that  a  case  was  re 
ported  from  New  York  where  the  skin  of  a  freshly  killed  black 
cat  was  applied  as  a  remedy  for  an  ailment  that  had  refused 
to  yield  to  the  prescribed  drugging!  And  only  a  few  years  ago 
some  one  applied  to  the  Liverpool  museum  for  permission  to 
touch  a  sick  child's  head  with  one  of  the  prehistoric  stone 
axes  there  exhibited." 

"That  was  mere  superstition,"  retorted  the  doctor. 

"True,"  said  Carmen.  "But  materia  medica  is  superstition 
incarnate.  And  because  of  the  superstition  that  life  and  virtue 
and  power  are  resident  in  matter,  mankind  have  swallowed 
nearly  everything  known  to  material  sense,  in  the  hope  that 
it  would  cure  them  of  their  own  auto-infection.  You  remember 
what  awful  recipes  Luther  gave  for  disease,  and  his  exclama 
tion  of  gratitude:  'How  great  is  the  mercy  of  God  who  has 
put  such  healing  virtue  in  all  manner  of  muck!'  " 

"Miss  Carmen,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "we  physicians  are 
workers,  not  theorists.  We  handle  conditions  as  we  find  them, 
not  as  they  ought  to  be." 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't!"  laughed  the  girl.  "You  handle  con 
ditions  as  the  human,  mortal  mind  believes  them  to  be,  that's 
all.  You  accept  its  ugly  pictures  as  real,  and  then  you  try 
desperately  through  legislation  to  make  us  all  accept  them. 
Yet  you  would  bitterly  resent  it  if  some  religious  body  should 
try  to  legislate  its  beliefs  upon  you. 

"Now  listen,  you  doctors  are  rank  materialists.  Perhaps 
it  is  because,  as  Hawthorne  puts  it,  in  your  researches  into 
the  human  frame  your  higher  and  more  subtle  faculties  are 
materialized,  and  you  lose  the  spiritual  view  of  existence. 
Your  only  remedy  for  diseased  matter  is  more  matter.  And 
these  material  remedies?  Why,  ignorance  and  superstition 
have  given  rise  to  by  far  the  larger  number  of  remedies  in  use 
by  you  to-day!  And  all  of  your  attempts  to  rationalize  medi 
cine  and  place  it  upon  a  systematic  basis  have  signally  failed, 
because  the  only  curative  property  a  drug  has  is  the  credulity 
of  the  person  who  swallows  it.  And  that  is  a  factor  which 
varies  with  the  individual." 

"The  most  advanced  physicians  give  little  medicine  nowa 
days,  Miss  Carmen." 

179 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"They  are  beginning  to  get  away  from  it,  little  by  little," 
she  replied.  "In  recent  years  it  has  begun  to  dawn  upon  doc 
tors  and  patients  alike  that  the  sick  who  recover  do  so,  not 
because  of  the  drugs  which  they  have  taken,  but  in  spite  of 
them!  One  of  the  most  prominent  of  our  contemporary  physi 
cians  who  are  getting  away  from  the  use  of  drugs  has  said  that 
eighty-five  per  cent  of  all  illnesses  get  well  of  their  own  accord, 
no  matter  what  may  or  may  not  be  done  for  them.  In  a  very 
remarkable  article  from  this  same  doctor's  pen,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  the  huge  undertaking  which  physicians  must  assume 
in  order  to  clear  away  the  materia  medico  rubbish  of  the  ages, 
he  states  that  the  greatest  struggle  which  the  coming  doctor 
has  on  his  hands  is  with  drugs,  and  the  deadly  grip  which  they 
have  on  the  confidence  and  affections  both  of  the  profession 
and  of  the  public.  Among  his  illuminating  remarks  about  the 
drug  system,  I  found  two  drastic  statements,  which  should 
serve  to  lift  the  veil  from  the  eyes  of  the  chronic  drug  taker. 
These  are,  first,  Take  away  opium  and  alcohol,  and  the  back 
bone  of  the  patent  medicine  business  would  be  broken  inside  of 
forty-eight  hours,'  and,  second,  'No  drug,  save  quinine  and 
mercury  in  special  cases,  will  cure  a  disease.'  In  words  which 
he  quotes  from  another  prominent  physician,  'He  is  the  best 
doctor  who  knows  the  worthlessness  of  most  drugs.' 

"The  hundreds  of  drugs  listed  in  books  on  materia  medica 
I  find  are  gradually  being  reduced  in  number  to  a  possible 
forty  or  fifty,  and  one  doctor  makes  the  radical  statement  that 
they  can  be  cut  down  to  the  'six  or  seven  real  drugs.'  Still 
further  light  has  been  thrown  upon  the  debasing  nature  of  the 
drugging  system  by  a  member  of  the  Philadelphia  Drug  Ex 
change,  in  a  recent  hearing  before  the  House  Committee  on 
municipal  affairs  right  here.  He  is  reported  as  saying  that  it 
makes  little  difference  what  a  manufacturer  puts  into  a  patent 
medicine,  for,  after  all,  the  effect  of  the  medicine  depends  upon 
the  faith  of  the  user.  The  sick  man  who  turns  to  patent  medi 
cines  for  relief  becomes  the  victim  of  'bottled  faith.'  If  his 
faith  is  sufficiently  great,  a  cure  may  be  effected — and  the 
treatment  has  been  wholly  mental!  The  question  of  ethics  does 
not  concern  either  the  patent  medicine  manufacturer  or  the 
druggist,  for  they  argue  that  if  the  sick  man's  faith  has  been 
aroused  to  the  point  of  producing  a  cure,  the  formula  of  the 
medicine  itself  is  of  no  consequence,  and,  therefore,  if  a  solu 
tion  of  sugar  and  water  sold  as  a  cure  for  colds  can  stimulate 
the  sufferer's  faith  to  the  point  of  meeting  his  need,  the  busi 
ness  is  quite  legitimate.  'A  bunch  of  bottles  and  sentiment,' 
adds  this  member  of  the  Drug  Exchange,  'are  the  real  essentials 
for  working  healing  miracles.'  " 

180 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Say!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  again  sitting  back  and  regard 
ing  her  with  amazement.  "You  have  a  marvelous  memory  for 
data!" 

"But,  Doctor,  I  am  intensely  interested  in  my  fellow-men. 
I  want  to  help  them,  and  show  them  how  to  learn  to  live." 

"So  am  I,"  he  returned.  "And  I  am  doing  all  I  can,  the  very 
best  I  know  how  to  do." 

"I  guess  you  mean  you  are  doing  what  you  are  prompted  to 
do  by  every  vagrant  impulse  that  happens  to  stray  into  your 
mentality,  aren't  you?"  she  said  archly.  "You  haven't  really 
seriously  thought  out  your  way,  else  you  would  not  be  here 
now  urging  Congress  to  spread  a  blanket  of  ignorance  over  the 
human  mind.  If  you  will  reflect  seriously,  if  you  will  lay 
aside  monetary  considerations,  and  a  little  of  the  hoary  preju 
dice  of  the  ages,  and  will  carefully  investigate  our  present 
medical  systems,  you  will  find  a  large  number  of  schools  of 
medicine,  bitterly  antagonistic  to  one  another,  and  each  ac 
cusing  the  other  of  inferiority  as  an  exact  science,  and  as 
grossly  ignorant  and  reprehensibly  careless  of  life.  But  which 
of  these  warring  schools  can  show  the  greatest  number  of 
cures  is  a  bit  of  data  that  has  never  been  ascertained.  A  recent 
writer  says:  'As  important  as  we  all  realize  health  to  be,  the 
public  is  receiving  treatment  that  is  anything  but  scientific, 
and  the  amount  of  unnecessary  suffering  that  is  going  on  in 
the  world  is  certainly  enough  to  make  a  rock  shed  tears.'  He 
further  says  that,  'at  least  seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  people 
we  meet  who  are  apparently  well,  are  suffering  from  some 
chronic  ailment  that  regular  medical  systems  can  not  cure,' 
and  that  many  of  these  would  try  further  experimentation  were 
it  not  for  the  criticism  that  is  going  on  in  the  medical  world 
regarding  various  curative  systems.  The  only  hope  under  the 
drugging  system  is  that  the  patient's  life  and  purse  may  hold 
out  under  the  strain  of  trying  everything  until  he  can  light 
upon  the  right  thing  before  he  reaches  the  end  of  the  list." 

"And  do  you  include  surgery  in  your  general  criticism?". he 
asked. 

"Surgery  is  no  less  an  outgrowth  of  the  belief  of  sentient 
matter  than  is  the  drugging  system,"  she  replied.  "It  is  ad 
mittedly  necessary  in  the  present  stage  of  the  world's  thought; 
but  it  is  likewise  admitted  to  be  'the  very  uncertain  art  of 
performing  operations,'  at  least  ninety  per  cent  of  which  are 
wholly  unnecessary. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "the  effect  upon  the  moral  nature 
of  the  sick  man  is  never  considered  as  rightfully  having  any 
influence  upon  the  choice  of  the  system  to  be  employed.  If 
Beelzebub  can  cast  out  demons,  why  not  employ  him?  For, 

181 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


after  all,  the  end  to  be  attained  is  the  ejection  of  the  demon. 
And  if  God  had  not  intended  minerals  and  plants  to  be  used  as 
both  food  and  medicine,  why  did  He  make  them?  Besides, 
man  must  earn  his  bread  in  some  way  under  our  present  crude 
and  inhuman  social  system,  and  if  the  demand  for  drugs  exists 
we  may  be  very  sure  it  will  be  supplied  by  others,  if  not  by 
ourselves.  Again,  the  influence  of  commercialism  as  a  deter 
mining  factor  in  the  choice  of  a  profession,  is  an  influence 
that  works  to  keep  many  in  the  practice  of  a  profession  that 
they  know  to  be  both  unscientific  and  harmful.  The  result  is 
an  inevitable  lowering  of  ideals  to  the  lust  of  material  accumu 
lation." 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  certainly  are  hard  on  us  poor 
doctors !  And  we  have  done  so  much  for  you,  too,  despite  your 
accusations.  Think  of  the  babies  that  are  now  saved  from 
diphtheria  alone!" 

"And  think  of  the  children  who  are  the  victims  of  th^ 
medical  mania!"  she  returned.  "Think  how  they  are  brought 
up  under  the  tyranny  of  fear!  Fear  of  this  and  of  that;  fear 
that  if  they  scratch  a  finger  blood  poisoning  will  deprive  them 
of  life;  fear  that  eating  a  bit  of  this  will  cause  death;  or  sitting 
in  a  breeze  will  result  in  wasting  sickness!  Isn't  it  criminal? 
As  for  diphtheria  antitoxin,  it  is  in  the  same  class  as  the  white 
of  an  egg.  It  contains  no  chemicals.  It  is  the  result  of  human 
belief,  the  belief  that  a  horse  that  has  recovered  from  diph 
theria  can  never  again  be  poisoned  by  the  microbe  of  that 
disease.  The  microbe,  Doctor,  is  the  externalization  in  the 
human  mentality  of  the  mortal  beliefs  of  fear,  of  life  and  power 
in  matter,  and  of  disease  and  death.  The  microbe  will  be  sub 
ject,  therefore,  to  the  human  mind's  changing  thought  regard 
ing  it,  always." 

"Well  then,"  said  the  doctor,  "if  people  are  spiritual,  and 
if  they  really  are  a  consciousness,  as  you  say,  why  do  we  seem 
to  be  carrying  about  a  body  with  us  all  the  time — a  body  from 
which  we  are  utterly  unable  to  get  away?" 

"It  is  because  the  mortal  mind  and  body  are  one,  Doctor. 
The  body  is  a  lower  stratum  of  the  human  mind.  Hence,  the 
so-called  mind  is  never  distinct  from  its  body  to  the  extent  of 
complete  separation,  but  always  has  its  substratum  with  it. 
And,  Doctor,  the  mind  can  not  hold  a  single  thought  without 
that  thought  tending  to  become  externalized — as  Professor 
James  tells  us — and  the  externalization  generally  has  to  do 
with  the  body,  for  the  mind  has  come  to  center  all  its  hopes 
of  happiness  and  pleasure  in  the  body,  and  to  base  its  sense  of 
life  upon  it.  The  body,  being  a  mental  concept  formed  of  false 
thought,  passes  away,  from  sheer  lack  of  a  definite  principle 

182 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


upon  which  to  rest.  Therefore  the  sense  of  life  embodied  in  it 
passes  away  with  it.  You  know,  the  ancients  had  some  idea 
of  the  cause  of  disease  when  they  attributed  it  to  demons,  for 
demons  at  least  are  mental  influences.  But  then,  after  that, 
men  began  to  believe  that  disease  was  sent  by  God,  either  to 
punish  them  for  their  evil  deeds,  or  to  discipline  and  train  them 
for  paradise.  Funny,  isn't  it?  Think  of  regarding  pain  and 
suffering  as  divine  agents!  I  don't  wonder  people  die,  do  you? 
Humboldt,  you  know,  said:  'The  time  will  come  when  it  will 
be  considered  a  disgrace  for  a  man  to  be  sick,  when  the  world 
will  look  upon  it  as  a  misdemeanor,  the  result  of  some  vicious 
thinking.'  Many  people  seem  to  think  that  thought  affects 
only  the  brain;  but  the  fact  is  that  we  think  all  over!" 

"But  look  here,"  put  in  the  doctor.  "Here's  a  question  I 
intended  to  ask  Hitt  the  other  night.  He  said  the  five  physical 
senses  did  not  testify  truly.  Well  now,  if,  as  you  say,  the  eyes 
do  not  testify  to  disease,  then  they  can't  testify  to  cures  either, 
eh?"  He  sat  back  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"Quite  correct,"  replied  Carmen.  "The  physical  senses 
testify  only  to  belief.  In  the  case  of  sickness,  they  testify  to 
false  belief.  In  the  case  of  a  cure,  they  testify  to  a  changed 
belief,  to  a  belief  of  recovered  health,  that  is  all.  It  is  all  on 
the  basis  of  human  belief,  you  see." 

"Eh?    But— nerves  feel- 

"Nerves,  Doctor,  like  all  matter,  are  externalizations  of  hu 
man  thought.  Can  the  externalization  of  thought  talk  back  to 
thought?  No.  You  are  still  on  the  basis  of  mere  human  belief." 

At  that  moment  the  doctor  leaned  over  and  tapped  upon 
the  window  to  attract  the  attention  of  some  one  in  the  street. 
Carmen  looked  out  and  caught  sight  of  a  tall,  angular  man 
dressed  in  clerical  garb.  The  man  bowed  pleasantly  to  the 
doctor,  and  cast  an  inquiring  glance  at  the  girl,  then  passed  on. 

"A  priest?"  inquired  Carmen. 

"Yes,  Tetham,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Oh,  is  that  the  man  who  maintains  the  lobby  here  at  the 
Capital  for  his  Church?  I've  heard  about  him.  He — well,  it  is 
his  business  to  see  that  members  of  his  Church  are  promoted 
to  political  office,  isn't  it?  He  trades  votes  of  whole  districts 
to  various  congressmen  in  return  for  offices  for  strong  church 
members.  He  also  got  the  parochial  schools  of  New  York  ex 
empt  from  compulsory  vaccination.  The  Express — •" 

"Eh?  The  Express  has  heard  from  him?"  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"Yes.  We  opposed  the  candidate  Mr.  Ames  was  supporting 
for  Congress.  We  also  supported  Mr.  Wales  in  his  work  on 
the  cotton  schedule.  And  so  we  heard  from  Father  Tetham. 

183 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


He  is  supporting  the  National  Bureau  of  Health  bill.  He  is 
working  for  the  Laetare  medal.  He— 

"Say,  Miss  Carmen,  will  you  tell  me  where  you  pick  up 
your  news?  Really,  you  astonish  me!  Do  you  know  some 
thing  about  everybody  here  in  Washington?" 

She  laughed.  "I  have  learned  much  here,"  she  said,  "about 
popular  government  as  exemplified  by  these  United  States. 
The  knowledge  is  a  little  saddening.  But  it  is  especially  sad 
dening  to  see  our  constitutional  liberties  threatened  by  this 
Bureau  of  Health  bill,  and  by  the  Government's  constant  truck 
ling  to  the  Church  of  Rome.  Doctor,  can  it  be  that  you  want 
to  commit  this  nation  to  the  business  of  practicing  medicine, 
and  to  its  practice  according  to  the  allopathic,  or  'regular' 
school?  The  American  Medical  Association,  with  its  reaction 
ary  policies  and  repressive  tendencies,  is  making  strenuous 
endeavors  to  influence  Congress  to  enact  certain  measures 
which  would  result  in  the  creation  of  such  a  Department  of 
Health,  the  effect  of  wrhich  would  be  to  monopolize  the  art  of 
healing  and  to  create  a  'healing  trust.'  If  this  calamity  should 
be  permitted  to  come  upon  the  American  people,  it  would  fall 
as  a  curtain  of  ignorance  and  superstition  over  our  fair  land, 
and  shut  out  the  light  of  the  dawning  Sun  of  Truth.  It  would 
mean  a  reversion  to  the  blight  and  mold  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
in  many  respects  a  return  in  a  degree  to  the  ignorance  and 
tyranny  that  stood  for  so  many  centuries  like  an  impassable 
rock  in  the  pathway  of  human  progress.  The  attempt  to  foist 
upon  a  progressive  people  a  system  of  medicine  and  healing 
which  is  wholly  unscientific  and  uncertain  in  its  effects,  but 
which  is  admittedly  known  to  be  responsible  for  the  death  of 
millions  and  for  untold  suffering  and  misery,  and  then  to  say, 
'Thou  shall  be  cured  thereby,  or  not  be  cured  at  all,'  is  an  insult 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  Fathers  of  our  liberties,  and  a  crime 
upon  a  people  striving  for  the  light.  It  smacks  of  the  Holy 
Inquisition:  You  accept  our  creed,  or  you  shall  go  to  hell- 
after  we  have  broken  you  on  the  rack !  Why,  the  thought  of 
subjecting  this  people  to  years  of  further  dosing  and  experi 
mentation  along  the  materialistic  lines  of  the  'regular'  school, 
of  curtailing  their  liberties,  and  forcing  their  necks  under  the 
yoke  of  medical  tyranny,  should  come  to  them  with  the  in 
sistence  of  a  clarion  call,  and  startle  them  into  such  action  that 
the  subtle  evil  which  lurks  behind  this  proposed  legislative 
action  would  be  dragged  out  into  the  light  and  exterminated! 
To  permit  commercialism  and  greed,  the  lust  of  mammon,  and 
the  pride  of  the  flesh  that  expresses  itself  in  the  demand,  'Who 
shall  be  greatest?'  to  dictate  the  course  of  conduct  that  shall 
shape  the  destinies  of  a  great  people,  is  to  admit  the  failure  of 

184 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


free  government,  and  to  revert  to  a  condition  of  mind  that  we 
had  thought  long  since  outgrown.  To  yield  our  dear-bought 
liberties  to  Italian  ecclesiastics,  on  the  other  hand — well,  Doc 
tor,  it  is  just  unthinkable!" 

"H'm!  Well,  at  least  you  are  delightfully  frank  with  me. 
Yet  you  have  the  effect  of  making  me  feel  as  if — as  if  I  were 
in  some  way  behind  a  veil.  That — " 

"Well,  the  human  mind  is  very  decidedly  behind  a  veil — 
indeed,  behind  many  of  them.  And  how  can  it  see  God  through 
them?  Mankind  just  grope  about  all  their  lives  back  of  these 
veils,  not  knowing  that  God  is  right  before  them  all  the  time. 
God  has  got  to  be  everything,  or  else  He  will  be  nothing.  With 
or  without  drugs,  it  is  God  'who  healeth  all  thy  diseases.'  The 
difficulty  with  physicians  is  that  they  are  densely  ignorant  of 
what  healing  means,  and  so  they  always  start  with  a  dreadful 
handicap.  They  believe  that  there  is  something  real  to  be 
overcome — and  of  course  fail  to  permanently  overcome  it. 
Many  of  them  are  not  only  pitiably  ignorant,  but  are  in  the 
profession  simply  to  make  money  out  of  the  fears  and  credulity 
of  the  people.  Doctor,  the  physician  of  to-day  is  in  no  way 
qualified  to  handle  the  question  of  public  health — especially 
those  doctors  who  say:  'If  you  won't  take  our  medicines  we'll 
get  a  law  passed  that  will  make  you  take  them.'  To  place  the 
health  of  the  people  in  their  hands  would  be  a  terrible  mistake. 
The  agitation  for  a  federal  Department  of  Health  is  based  upon 
motives  of  ignorance  and  intentional  wrong.  If  the  people 
generally  knew  this,  they  would  rise  in  a  body  against  it.  Make 
what  laws  you  wish  for  yourself,  Doctor.  The  human  mind  is 
constantly  occupied  in  the  making  of  ridiculous  laws  and  limi 
tations.  But  do  not  attempt  to  foist  your  laws  upon  the  people. 
Tell  me,  why  all  this  agitation  about  teaching  sex-hygiene  in 
the  public  schools?  Why  not,  for  a  change,  teach  Christianity? 
What  would  be  the  result?  But  even  the  Bible  has  been  put 
out  of  the  schools.  And  by  whom?  By  your  Church,  that  its 
interpretation  may  continue  to  be  falsely  made  by  those  utterly 
and  woefully  ignorant  of  its  true  meaning!" 

For  some  moments  they  continued  their  meal  in  silence. 
Then  the  girl  took  up  the  conversation  again.  "Doctor,"  she 
said,  "will  you  come  out  from  among  them  and  be  separate?" 

He  looked  at  her  quizzically.  "Oppose  Ames?"  he  finally 
said. 

"Ah,  that  is  the  rub,  then!  Yes,  oppose  ignorance  and 
falsity,  even  though  incarnate  in  Mr.  Ames,"  she  replied. 

"He  would  ruin  me!"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "He  ruins 
everybody  who  stands  in  his  way!  The  cotton  schedule  has 
gone  against  him,  and  the  whole  country  will  have  to  suffer 
for  it!" 

185 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"But  how  can  he  make  the  country  suffer  because  he  has 
been  blocked  in  his  colossal  selfishness?"  she  asked. 

"That  I  can  not  answer,"  said  the  doctor.  "But  I  do  know 
that  he  has  intimated  that  there  will  be  no  cotton  crop  in  this 
country  next  year." 

"No  cotton  crop!     Why,  how  can  he  prevent  that?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "Mr.  Ames  stands  as  the  claim 
of  omnipotent  evil,"  was  his  laconic  reply. 

And  when  the  meal  was  ended,  the  girl  went  her  way, 
pondering  deeply.  "No  cotton  crop!  What — what  did  he 
mean?"  But  that  was  something  too  dark  to  be  reported  to  the 
Express. 

»»**** 

Three  weeks  from  the  day  he  had  his  brush  with  Carmen 
in  the  presence  of  the  President,  Ames,  the  great  corruptionist, 
the  master  manipulator,  again  returned  from  a  visit  to  Wash 
ington,  and  in  a  dangerous  frame  of  mind.  What  might  have 
been  his  mental  state  had  he  known  that  the  train  which  drew 
his  private  car  also  brought  Carmen  back  to  New  York,  can 
only  be  conjectured.  It  was  fortunate,  no  doubt,  that  both 
were  kept  in  ignorance  of  that  fact,  and  that,  while  the  great 
externalization  of  the  human  mind's  "claim"  of  business  sulked 
alone  in  his  luxurious  apartments,  the  little  follower  after  right 
eousness  sat  in  one  of  the  stuffy  day  coaches  up  ahead,  holding 
tired,  fretful  babies,  amusing  restless  children,  and  soothing 
away  the  long  hours  to  weary,  care-worn  mothers. 

When  the  financier's  car  drew  into  the  station  his  valets 
breathed  great  sighs  of  relief,  and  his  French  chef  and  negro 
porter  mopped  the  perspiration  from  their  troubled  brows, 
while  silently  offering  peans  of  gratitude  for  safe  delivery. 
When  the  surly  giant  descended  the  car  steps  his  waiting  foot 
man  drew  back  in  alarm,  as  he  caught  his  master's  black  looks. 
When  he  threw  himself  into  the  limousine,  his  chauffeur  drew 
a  low  whistle  and  sent  a  timidly  significant  glance  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  lackey.  And  when  at  last  he  flung  open  the  doors 
of  his  private  office  and  loudly  summoned  Hood,  that  capable 
and  generally  fearless  individual  quaked  with  dire  foreboding. 

"The  Express — I  want  a  libel  suit  brought  against  it  at 
once!  Draw  it  for  half  a  million!  File  it  in  Judge  Penny's 
court!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  lawyer  meekly.  "The  grounds?" 

"Damn  the  grounds!"  shouted  Ames.  Then,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  anger:  "Have  you  read  the  last  week's  issues? 
Then  find  your  grounds  in  them!  Make  that  girl  a  defendant 
too!" 

"She  has  no  financial  interest  in  the  paper,  sir.    And,  as  for 

186 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


the  reports  which  they  have  published — I  hardly  think  we  can 
establish  a  case  from  them — " 

"What?  With  Judge  Penny  sitting?  If  you  and  he  can't 
make  out  a  case  against  them,  then  I'll  get  a  judge  and  a 
lawyer  who  can!  I  want  that  bill  filed  to-morrow!"  bringing 
his  fist  down  upon  the  desk. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  assented  Hood,  stepping  back. 

"Another  thing,"  continued  Ames,  "see  Judge  Hanson  and 
have  the  calling  of  the  Ketchim  case  held  in  abeyance  until  I  am 
ready  for  it.  I've  got  a  scheme  to  involve  that  negro  wench  in 
the  trial,  and  drag  her  through  the  gutters!  So,  she's  still  in 
love  with  Rincon,  eh?  Well,  we'll  put  a  crimp  in  that  little 
affair,  I  guess!  Has  Willett  heard  from  Wenceslas?" 

"Not  yet,  sir." 

"I'll  lift  the  scalp  from  that  blackguard  Colombian  prelate 
if  he  tries  to  trick  me!  Has  Willett  found  Lafelle's  where 
abouts?" 

"No,  sir.  But  the  detectives  report  that  he  has  been  in  Spain 
recently." 

"Spain!  What's  he — up  to  there?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice 
that  began  high  and  ended  in  a  whisper. 

He  lapsed  into  a  reflective  mood,  and  for  some  moments 
his  thoughts  seemed  to  wander  far.  Then  he  pulled  himself 
together  and  roused  out  of  his  meditations. 

"You  told  Jayne  that  I  would  back  the  Budget  to  any  extent, 
provided  it  would  publish  the  stuff  I  sent  it?" 

"Yes,  sir.     He  was  very  glad  to  accept  your  offer." 

"Very  well.  You  and  Willett  set  about  at  once  getting  up 
daily  articles  attacking  the  Express.  I  want  you  to  dig  up 
every  move  ever  made  by  Hitt,  Haynerd,  that  girl,  Waite,  Mor 
ton,  and  the  whole  miserable,  sneaking  outfit!  Rake  up  every 
scandal,  every  fact,  or  rumor,  that  is  in  any  way  associated 
with  any  of  them.  I  want  them  literally  cannonaded  by  the 
Budget!  Hitt's  a  renegade  preacher!  Haynerd  was  a  bum 
before  he  got  the  Social  Era!  Waite  is  an  unfrocked  priest! 
Miss  Wall's  father  was  a  distiller!  That  girl — that  girl  is  a — 
Did  you  know  that  she  used  to  be  in  a  brothel  down  in  the 
red-light  district?  Well,  she  did!  Great  record  the  publishers 
of  the  Express  have,  eh?  Now,  by  God!  I  want  you  and  Jayne 
to  bury  that  whole  outfit  under  a  mountain  of  mud!  I'm 
ready  to  spend  ten  millions  to  do  it!  Kill  'em!  Kill  'em  all!" 

"I  think  we  can  do  it,  Mr.  Ames,"  returned  the  lawyer  con 
fidently. 

"You've  got  to!  Now,  another  matter:  I'm  out  to  get  the 
President's  scalp!  He's  got  to  go  down!  Begin  with  those 
New  York  papers  which  we  can  influence.  I'll  get  Fallom  and 

187 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Adams  over  here  for  a  conference.  Meanwhile,  think  over 
what  we'd  better  say  to  them.  Our  attacks  upon  the  President 
must  begin  at  once!  I've  already  bought  up  a  Washington 
daily  for  that  purpose.  They  have  a  few  facts  now  that  will 
discredit  his  administration!" 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Ames.  Ah — a — there  is  a  matter  that  I 
must  mention  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Ames — 
regarding  Avon.  It  seems  that  the  reports  which  that  girl  has 
made  have  been  translated  into  several  languages,  and  are  being 
used  by  labor  agitators  down  there  to  stir  up  trouble.  The 
mill  hands,  you  know,  never  really  understood  what  your 
profits  were,  and — well,  they  have  always  been  quite  ignorant, 
you  know,  regarding  any  details  of  the  business.  But  now 
they  think  they  have  been  enlightened — they  think  they  see 
how  the  tariff  has  benefited  you  at  their  expense — and  they  are 
extremely  bitter  against  you.  That  priest,  Father  Danny,  has 
been  doing  a  lot  of  talking  since  the  girl  was  down  there." 

"By  God!"  cried  Ames,  rising  from  his  chair,  then  sinking 
back  again. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Ames,"  the  lawyer  continued,  "the  situation 
is  fast  becoming  acute.  The  mill  hands  don't  believe  now  that 
you  were  ever  justified  in  shutting  down,  or  putting  them  on 
half  time.  And,  whether  you  reduce  wages  or  not,  they  are 
going  to  make  very  radical  demands  upon  you  in  the  near 
future,  unless  I  am  misinformed.  These  demands  include 
better  working  conditions,  better  tenements,  shorter  hours,  and 
very  much  higher  wages.  Also  the  enforcement  of  the  child 
labor  law,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"They  don't  dare!"  shouted  Ames. 

"But,  after  all,  Mr.  Ames,  you  know  you  have  said  that  it 
would  strengthen  your  case  with  Congress  if  there  should  be 
a  strike  at  Avon." 

"But  not  now!  Not  now!"  cried  Ames.  "It  would  ruin 
everything!  I  am  distinctly  out  of  favor  with  the  President- 
owing  to  that  little  negro  wench!  And  Congress  is  going 
against  me  if  I  lose  Gossitch,  Logue,  and  Mall!  That  girl  has 
put  me  in  bad  down  there!  Wales  is  beginning  to  threaten! 
By  G— " 

"But,  Mr.  Ames,  she  can  be  removed,  can  she  not?" 

"Violence  would  still  further  injure  us.  But — if  we  can 
drive  the  Express  upon  the  shoals,  and  then  utterly  discredit 
that  girl,  either  in  the  libel  suit  or  the  Ketchim  trial,  why,  then, 
with  a  little  show  of  bettering  things  at  Avon,  we'll  get  what  we 
want.  But  we've  got  work  before  us.  Say,  is— is  Sidney  with 
the  Express?"  he  added  hesitatingly. 

Hood  started,  and  shot  a  look  of  mingled  surprise  and 
curiosity  at  his  master.  Was  it  possible  that  Ames— 

188 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"You  heard  my  question,  Mr.  Hood?" 

"I — I  beg  pardon!  Yes,  sir — Sidney  is  still  with  them. 
He — a — they  say  he  has  quite  conquered  his — his — 

"You  mean,  he's  no  longer  a  sot?"  Ames  asked  brutally. 
"Out  with  it,  man!  Don't  sit  there  like  a  smirking  Chinese 
god!" 

"Well,  Mr.  Ames,  I  learn  that  Sidney  has  been  cured  of  his 
habits,  and  that  the — that  girl — did  it,"  stammered  the  nervous 
lawyer. 

Ames's  mouth  jerked  open — and  then  snapped  shut.  Si 
lence  held  him.  His  head  slowly  sank  until  his  chin  touched  his 
breast.  And  as  he  sat  thus  enwrapped,  Hood  rose  and  noise 
lessly  left  the  room. 

Alone  sat  the  man  of  gold — ah,  more  alone  than  even  he 
knew.  Alone  with  his  bruised  ambitions,  his  hectored  egoism, 
his  watery  aims.  Alone  and  plotting  the  ruin  of  those  who 
had  dared  bid  him  halt  in  his  mad,  destroying  career.  Alone, 
this  high  priest  of  the  caste  of  absolutism,  of  the  old  individual 
ism  which  is  fast  hurrying  into  the  realm  of  the  forgotten. 
Alone,  and  facing  a  new  century,  with  whose  ideals  his  own 
were  utterly,  stubbornly,  hopelessly  discrepant. 

Alone  he  sat,  looking  out,  unmoved,  upon  the  want  and 
pain  of  countless  multitudes  gone  down  beneath  the  yoke  of 
conditions  which  he  had  made  too  hard  for  them.  Looking, 
unmoved,  unhearing,  upon  the  bitter  struggles  of  the  weak, 
the  ignorant,  the  unskilled,  the  gross  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water.  Looking,  and  knowing  not  that  in  their 
piteous  cry  for  help  and  light  was  sounded  his  own  dire  peril. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  office  boy  announced  the  chief 
stenographer  of  the  great  bank  below.  Ames  looked  up  and 
silently  nodded  permission  for  the  man  to  enter. 

"Mr.  Ames,"  the  clerk  began,  "I — I  have  come  to  ask  a 
favor — a  great  favor.  I  am  having  difficulty — considerable 
difficulty  in  securing  stenographers,  but — I  may  say — my  great 
est  struggle  is  with  myself.  I — Mr.  Ames,  I  can  not — I  simply 
can  not  continue  to  hire  stenographers  at  the  old  wage,  nine 
dollars  a  week!  I  know  how  these  girls  are  forced  to  live. 
Mr.  Ames,  with  prices  where  they  are  now,  they  can  not  live 
on  that!  May  I  not  offer  them  more?  Say,  ten  or  twelve 
dollars  to  start  with?" 

Ames  looked  at  him  fixedly.  "Why  do  you  come  to  me  with 
your  request?"  he  asked  coldly.  "Your  superior  is  Mr.  Doan." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know,"  replied  the  young  man  with  hesitation. 
"But — I — did  speak  to  him  about  it,  and — he  refused." 

"I  can  do  nothing,  sir,"  returned  Ames  in  a  voice  that  chilled 
the  man's  life-current. 

189 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"Then  I  shall  resign,  Mr.  Ames!  I  refuse  to  remain  here 
and  hire  stenographers  at  that  criminal  wage!" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Ames  in  the  same  low,  freezing 
tone.  "Hand  your  resignation  to  Mr.  Doan.  Good  day,  sir." 

Again  the  guardian  of  the  sanctity  of  private  property  was 
left  alone.  Again,  as  he  lapsed  into  dark  revery,  his  thought 
turned  back  upon  itself,  and  began  the  reconstruction  of 
scenes  and  events  long  since  shadowy  dreams.  And  always  as 
they  built,  the  fair  face  of  that  young  girl  appeared  in  the  fabric. 
And  always  as  he  retraced  his  course,  her  path  crossed  and 
crossed  again  his  own.  Always  as  he  moved,  her  reflection  fell 
upon  him — not  in  shadow,  but  in  a  flood  of  light,  exposing  the 
secret  recesses  of  his  sordid  soul. 

He  dwelt  again  upon  the  smoothness  of  his  way  in  those 
days,  before  her  advent,  when  that  group  of  canny  pirates  sat 
about  the  Beaubien's  table  and  laid  their  devious  snares.  It 
was  only  the  summer  before  she  came  that  this  same  jolly 
company  had  merged  their  sacred  trust  assets  to  draw  the 
clouds  which  that  autumn  burst  upon  the  country  as  the  worst 
financial  panic  it  had  known  in  years.  And  so  shrewdly  had 
they  planned,  that  the  storm  came  unheralded  from  a  clear 
sky,  and  at  a  time  when  the  nation  wras  never  more  prosperous. 

He  laughed.    It  had  been  rich  fun! 

And  then,  the  potato  scheme.  They  had  wagered  that  he 
could  not  put  it  through.  How  neatly  he  had  turned  the  trick, 
filled  his  pockets,  and  transformed  their  doubts  into  wondering 
admiration!  It  had  been  rare  pleasure!  Oh,  yes,  there  had 
been  some  suffering,  he  had  been  told.  He  had  not  given  that 
a  thought. 

And  the  Colombian  revolution!  How  surprised  the  people 
of  these  United  States  would  be  some  day  to  learn  that  this 
tropic  struggle  was  in  essence  an  American  war!  The  smug 
and  unthinkingly  contented  in  this  great  country  of  ours  re 
garded  the  frenzied  combat  in  the  far  South  as  but  a  sort  of 
opera  bouffe.  What  fools,  these  Americans!  And  he,  when 
that  war  should  end,  would  control  navigation  on  the  great 
Magdalena  and  Cauca  rivers,  and  acquire  a  long-term  lease  on 
the  emerald  mines  near  Bogota.  The  price?  Untold  suffering 
—countless  broken  hearts — indescribable,  maddening  torture — 
he  had  not  given  that  a  thought. 

He  laughed  again. 

But  he  was  tired,  very  tired.  His  trip  to  Washington  had 
been  exhausting.  He  had  not  been  well  of  late.  His  eyes  had 
been  bloodshot,  and  there  had  been  several  slight  hemorrhages 
from  the  nose.  His  physician  had  shaken  his  head  gravely,  and 
had  admonished  him  to  be  careful — 

190 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


But  why  did  that  girl  continue  to  fascinate  him?  he  won 
dered.  Why  now,  in  all  his  scheming  and  plotting,  did  he 
always  see  her  before  him?  Was  it  only  because  of  her  rare 
physical  beauty?  If  he  wrote  or  read,  her  portrait  lay  upon 
the  page;  if  he  glanced  up,  she  stood  there  facing  him.  There 
was  never  accusation  in  her  look,  never  malice,  nor  trace  of 
hate.  Nor  did  she  ever  threaten.  No;  but  always  she  smiled — 
always  she  looked  right  into  his  eyes — always  she  seemed  to 
say,  "You  would  destroy  me,  but  yet  I  love  you." 

God !  What  a  plucky  little  fighter  she  was !  And  she  fought 
him  fairly.  Aye,  much  more  so  than  he  did  her.  She  would 
scorn  the  use  of  his  methods.  He  had  to  admit  that,  though  he 
hated  her,  detested  her,  would  have  torn  her  into  shreds — 
even  while  he  acknowledged  that  he  admired  her,  yes,  beyond 
all  others,  for  her  wonderful  bravery  and  her  loyal  stand  for 
what  she  considered  the  right. 

He  must  have  dozed  while  he  sat  there  in  the  warm  office 
alone.  Surely,  that  hideous  object  now  floating  before  his 
straining  gaze,  that  thing  resembling  the  poor,  shattered  Mrs. 
Hawley-Crowles,  was  not  real!  It  was  but  a  shadow,  a  flimsy 
thing  of  thought!  And  that  woestricken  thing  there,  with  its 
tenuous  arms  extended  toward  him — was  that  Gannette?  Heav 
ens,  no!  Gannette  had  died,  stark  mad!  But,  that  other  shade 
—so  like  his  wife,  a  few  months  dead,  yet  alive  again !  Whence 
came  that  look  of  horror  in  a  face  once  so  haughty!  It  was 
unreal,  ghastly  unreal,  as  it  drifted  past!  Ah,  now  he  knew 
that  he  was  dreaming,  for  there,  there  in  the  light  stood  Car 
men!  Oh,  what  a  blessed  relief  to  see  that  fair  image  there 
among  those  other  ghastly  sights!  He  would  speak  to  her — 

But — God  above!  What  was  that?  A  woman — no,  not 
Carmen — fair  and— 
Her  white  lips  moved — they  were  transparent — he  could 
see  right  through  them — and  great  tears  dropped  from  her 
bloodless  cheeks  when  her  accusing  look  fell  upon  him! 

Slowly  she  floated  nearer — she  stopped  before  him,  and  laid 
a  hand  upon  his  shoulder — it  was  cold,  cold  as  ice!  He  tried 
to  call  out— to  rise — to  break  away — 

And  then,  groaning  aloud,  and  with  his  brow  dripping  per 
spiration,  he  awoke. 

Hood  entered,  but  stopped  short  when  he  saw  his  master's 
white  face.  "Mr.  Ames!  You  are  ill!"  he  cried. 

Ames  passed  a  hand  across  his  wet  forehead.  "A — a  little 
tired,  that's  all,  I  guess.  What  now?" 

The  lawyer  laid  a  large  envelope  upon  the  desk.  "It  has 
come,"  he  said.  "There's  a  delegation  of  Avon  mill  hands  in 
the  outer  office.  Here  are  their  demands.  It's  just  what  I 
thought." 

191 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Ames  slowly  took  up  the  envelope.  For  a  moment  he  hesi 
tated.  Again  he  seemed  to  see  that  smiling  girl  before  him.  His 
jaw  set,  and  his  face  drew  slowly  down  into  an  expression  of 
malignity.  Then,  without  examining  its  contents,  he  tore  the 
envelope  into  shreds,  and  cast  the  pieces  into  the  waste  basket. 

"Put  them  out  of  the  office!"  he  commanded  sharply.  "Wire 
Pillette  at  once  to  discharge  these  fellows,  and  every  one  else 
concerned  in  the  agitation!  If  those  rats  down  there  want  to 
fight,  they'll  find  rne  ready!" 


CHAPTER  14 

THE  immense  frame  of  J.  Wilton  Ames  bent  slightly,  and 
the  great  legs  might  have  been  seen  to  drag  a  bit,  as  the 
man  entered  his  private  elevator  the  morning  after  his 
rejection  of  the  mill  hands'  demands,  and  turned  the  lever  that 
caused  the  lift  to  soar  lightly  to  his  office  above.  And  a  mouse 
— had  the  immaculate  condition  of  his  luxurious  sanctum 
permitted  such  an  alien  dweller — could  have  seen  him  sink 
heavily  into  his  great  desk  chair,  and  lapse  into  deep  thought. 
Hood,  Willett,  and  Hodson  entered  in  turn;  but  the  magnate 
gave  them  scant  consideration,  and  at  length  waved  them  all 
away,  and  bent  anew  to  his  meditations. 

Truth  to  tell — though  he  would  not  have  owned  it — the 
man  was  now  dimly  conscious  of  a  new  force  at  work  upon 
him;  of  a  change,  slowly,  subtly  taking  place  somewhere  deep 
within.  He  was  feebly  cognizant  of  emotions  quite  unknown; 
of  .unfamiliar  sentiments,  whose  outlines  were  but  just  crys 
tallizing  out  from  the  thick  magma  of  his  materialistic  soul. 

And  he  fought  them;  he  hated  them;  they  made  him  appear 
unto  himself  weak,  even  effeminate!  His  abhorrence  of  sen- 
timentalism  had  been  among  the  strongest  of  his  life-character 
istics;  and  yet,  though  he  could  not  define  it,  a  mellowing 
something  seemed  to  be  acting  upon  him  that  dull,  bitterly  cold 
winter  morning,  that  shed  a  soft  glow  throughout  his  mental 
chambers,  that  seemed  to  touch  gently  the  hard,  rugged  things 
of  thought  that  lay  within,  and  soften  away  their  sharp  out 
lines.  He  might  not  know  what  lay  so  heavily  upon  his  thought, 
as  he  sat  there  alone,  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast.  And 
yet  the  girl  who  haunted  his  dreams  would  have  told  him  that 
it  was  an  interrogation,  even  the  eternal  question,  "What  shall 
it  profit  a  man — ?" 

Suddenly  he  looked  up.  The  door  had  opened,  he  thought. 
Then  he  sat  bolt  upright  and  stared. 

192 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


"Good  morning,  Mr.  Ames.     May  I  come  in?" 

Come  in!  Had  ever  such  heavenly  music  touched  his  ears 
before!  This  was  not  another  dream!  The  vision  this  time 
was  real!  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  would  have  held  out  his 
arms  to  her  if  he  could. 

And  yet,  how  dared  she  come  to  him?  How  dared  she, 
after  what  she  had  done?  Was  this  fresh  affrontery?  Had 
she  come  again  to  flout  him?  To  stand  within  the  protection 
which  her  sex  afforded  and  vivisect  anew  his  tired  soul?  But, 
whatever  her  motives,  this  girl  did  the  most  daring  things  he 
had  ever  seen  a  woman  do. 

"Isn't  it  funny,"  she  said,  as  she  stood  before  him  with  a 
whimsical  little  smile,  "that  wherever  I  go  people  so  seldom 
ask  me  to  sit  down!" 

Ames  sank  back  into  his  seat  without  speaking.  Carmen 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  about  her  rich  environment;  then 
drew  up  a  chair  close  to  him. 

"You  haven't  the  slightest  idea  why  I  have  come  here,  have 
you?"  she  said  sweetly,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"I  must  confess  myself  quite  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  this 
unexpected  pleasure,"  he  returned  guardedly,  bending  his  head 
in  mock  deference,  while  the  great  wonder  retained  possession 
of  him. 

"Well,"  she  went  on  lightly,  "will  you  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  come  here  because  I  love  you?" 

Aha!  A  dark  suspicion  sprang  up  within  him.  So  this 
was  an  attack  from  a  different  quarter !  Hitt  and  Haynerd  had 
invoked  her  feminine  wiles,  eh? 

Nonsense!  With  one  blow  the  unfamiliar  sentiment  which 
had  been  shedding  its  influence  upon  him  that  morning  laid 
the  ugly  suspicion  dead  at  his  feet.  A  single  glance  into  that 
sweet  face  turned  so  lovingly  up  to  his  brought  his  own  deep 
curse  upon  himself  for  his  hellish  thought. 

"You  know,"  she  bubbled,  with  a  return  of  her  wonted  airy 
gaiety,  "I  just  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  through  guards  and 
clerks  and  office  boys  to  get  here.  Aren't  you  glad  I  didn't  send 
in  my  card?  For  then  you  would  have  refused  to  see  me, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"I  would  not!"  he  replied  harshly.  Then  he  repented  his 
tone.  "If  I  had  known  you  were  out  there,"  he  said  more 
gently,  "I'd  have  sent  out  and  had  you  dragged  in.  I — I  have 
wanted  something  this  morning;  and  now  I  am  sure  it  was — " 

"Yes,"  she  interrupted,  taking  the  words  out  of  his  mouth, 
"you  wanted  me.  I  knew  you  would.  You  see,  it's  just  abso 
lutely  impossible  to  oppose  anybody  who  loves  you.  You  know, 
that's  the  very  method  Jesus  gave  for  overcoming  our  enemies 

ss  193 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


to  love  them,  just  love  them  to  pieces,  until  we  find  that  we 

haven't  any  enemies  at  all  any  more.  Isn't  it  simple?  My! 
Well,  that's  the  way  I've  been  doing  with  you — just  loving 
you." 

The  man's  brows  knotted,  and  his  lips  tightened.  Was  this 
girl  ridiculing  him?  Or  was  there  aught  but  the  deepest  sin 
cerity  expressed  in  the  face  from  which  he  could  not  take  his 
eyes?  Impossible!  And  yet,  did  ever  human  being  talk  so 
strangely,  so  weirdly,  as  she? 

He  bent  a  little  closer  to  her.  "Did  you  say  that  you  loved 
me?"  he  asked.  "I  thought  you  looked  upon  me  as  a  human 
monster."  After  all,  there  was  a  note  of  pathos  in  the  question. 
Carmen  laid  her  hand  upon  his. 

"It's  the  real  you  that  I  love,"  she  answered  gently.  "The 
monster  is  only  human  thought — the  thought  that  has  seemed 
to  mesmerize  you.  But  you  are  going  to  throw  off  the  mes 
merism,  aren't  you?  I'll  help  you,"  she  added  brightly.  "You're 
going  to  put  off  the  'old  man'  completely — and  you're  going  to 
begin  by  opening  yourself  and  letting  in  a  little  love  for  those 
poor  people  down  at  Avon,  aren't  you?  Yes,  you  are!" 

At  the  mention  of  the  people  of  Avon  his  face  became  stern 
and  dark.  And  yet  she  spoke  of  them  alone.  She  had  not 
mentioned  the  Beaubien,  Miss  Wall,  the  Express,  nor  herself. 
He  noted  this,  and  wondered. 

"You  see,  you  don't  understand,  Mr.  Ames.  You'll  be,  oh, 
so  surprised  some  day  when  you  learn  a  little  about  the  laws  of 
thought — even  the  way  human  thought  operates!  For  you 
can't  possibly  do  another  person  an  injury  without  that  injury 
flying  back  and  striking  you.  It's  a  regular  boomerang!  You 
may  not  feel  the  effects  of  its  return  right  away — but  it  does 
return,  and  the  effects  accumulate.  And  then,  some  day,  when 
you  least  expect  it,  comes  the  crash!  But,  when  you  love  a 
person,  why,  that  comes  back  to  you  too;  and  it  never  conies 
alone.  It  just  brings  loads  of  good  with  it.  It  helps  you,  and 
everybody.  Oh,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  cried,  suddenly  rising  and  seiz 
ing  both  his  hands,  "you've  just  got  to  love  those  people  down 
there !  You  can't  help  it,  even  if  you  think  you  can,  for  hate  is 
not  real — it's  an  awful  delusion!" 

It  was  not  so  much  an  appeal  which  the  girl  made  as  an 
affirmation  of  things  true  and  yet  to  come.  The  mighty  Thou 
shalt  not!  which  Moses  laid  upon  his  people,  when  transfused 
by  the  omnipotent  love  of  the  Christ  was  transformed  from 
a  clanking  chain  into  a  silken  cord.  The  restriction  became  a 
prophecy;  for  when  thou  hast  yielded  self  to  the  benign  in 
fluence  of  the  Christ-principle,  then,  indeed,  thou  shalt  not 
desire  to  break  the  law  of  God. 

194 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Carmen  returned  to  her  chair,  and  sat  eagerly  expectant. 
Ames  groped  within  his  thought  for  a  reply.  And  then  his  men 
tal  grasp  closed  upon  the  words  of  Hood. 

"They  are  very  bitter  against  me — they  hate  me!"  he  re 
torted  lamely. 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  said  quickly.  "They  reflect  in  kind  your 
thought  of  them.  Your  boomerangs  of  greed,  of  exploitation, 
of  utter  indifference  which  you  have  hurled  at  them,  have 
returned  upon  you  in  hatred.  Do  you  know  that  hatred  is  a 
fearful  poison?  And  do  you  know  that  another's  hatred  resting 
upon  you  is  deadly,  unless  you  know  how  to  meet  and  neutralize 
it  with  love?  For  love  is  the  neutralizing  alkaloid." 

"Love  is — weakness,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "That  kind,  at 
least." 

"Love  weakness !  Oh!  Why,  there  is  no  such  mighty  power 
in  the  whole  universe  as  love!  It  is  omnipotent!  It  is  hatred 
that  is  weak!" 

Ames  made  a  little  gesture  of  contempt.  "We  argue  from 
different  standpoints,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  plain,  matter-of-fact, 
cold-blooded  business  man.  There  is  no  love  in  business!" 

"And  that,"  she  replied  in  a  voice  tinged  with  sadness,  "is 
why  business  is  such  chaos;  why  there  is  so  much  failure,  so 
much  anxiety,  fear,  loss,  and  unhappiness  in  the  business  world. 
Mr.  Ames,  you  haven't  the  slightest  conception  of  real  business, 
have  you?" 

She  sat  for  a  moment  in  thought.  Then,  brightly,  "I  am  in 
business,  Mr.  Ames — " 

"Humph !  I  am  forced  to  agree  with  you  there !  The  busi 
ness  of  attempting  to  annihilate  me!" 

"I  am  in  the  business  of  reflecting  good  to  you,  and  to  all 
mankind,"  she  gently  corrected. 

"Then  suppose  you  manifest  your  love  for  me  by  refraining 
from  meddling  further  in  my  affairs.  Suppose  from  now  on 
you  let  me  alone." 

"Why — I  am  not  meddling  with  you,  Mr.  Ames!" 

"No?"  He  opened  a  drawer  of  the  desk  and  took  out  sev 
eral  copies  of  the  Express.  "I  am  to  consider  that  this  is  not 
strictly  meddling,  eh?"  he  continued,  as  he  laid  the  papers 
before  her. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  she  promptly  replied.  "That's  uncovering 
evil,  so's  it  can  be  destroyed.  All  that  evil,  calling  itself  you 
and  your  business,  has  got  to  come  to  the  surface — has  got 
to  come  up  to  the  light,  so  that  it  can  be — " 

"Ah!  I  see.  Then  I,  the  monster,  must  be  exposed,  eh? 
And  afterward  destroyed.  A  very  pretty  little  idea!  And  the 
mines  and  mills  which  I  own — " 

195 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"You  own  nothing,  Mr.  Ames,  except  by  consent  of  the 
people  whom  you  oppress.  They  will  wake  up  some  day;  and 
then  state  and  national  ownership  of  public  utilities  will  come, 
forced  by  such  as  you." 

"And  that  desideratum  will  result  in  making  everybody 
honest,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  she  answered  gravely.  "We  must  go  deeper  than 
that.  All  our  present  troubles,  whether  domestic,  business, 
civic,  or  social,  come  from  a  total  misapprehension  of  the  nature 
of  God — a  misunderstanding  of  what  is  really  good.  We  have 
all  got  to  prove  Him.  And  we  are  very  foolish  to  lose  any 
more  time  setting  about  it,  don't  you  think  so? 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  while  he  sat  studying  her,  "those 
poor  people  down  at  Avon  don't  know  any  more  about  what  is 
the  real  good  than  you  do.  And  that's  why  their  thoughts  and 
yours  center  upon  the  false  pleasures  of  this  ephemeral  exist 
ence  called  life — this  existence  of  the  so-called  physical  senses — 
and  why  you  both  become  the  tools  of  vice,  disease,  and  mis 
fortune.  They  build  up  such  men  as  you,  and  then  you  turn 
about  and  crush  them.  And  in  the  end  you  are  both  what 
the  Bible  says — poor,  deluded  fools." 

"Well,  I'll  be—" 

"Oh,  don't  swear!"  she  pleaded,  again  seizing  his  hand 
and  laughing  up  into  his  face.  But  then  her  smile  vanished. 

"It's  time  you  started  to  prove  God,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"Won't  you  begin  now — to-day?  Haven't  you  yet  learned  that 
evil  is  the  very  stupidest,  dullest,  most  uninteresting  thing  in 
the  world?  It  is,  really.  Won't  you  turn  from  your  material 
endeavors  now,  and  take  time  to  learn  to  really  live?  You've 
got  plenty  of  time,  you  know,  for  you  aren't  obliged  to  work  for 
a  living." 

She  was  leaning  close  to  him,  and  her  breath  touched  his 
cheek.  Her  soft  little  hand  lay  upon  his  own.  And  her  great, 
dark  eyes  looked  into  his  with  a  light  which  he  knew,  despite 
his  perverted  thought,  came  from  the  unquenchable  flame  of 
her  selfless  love. 

Again  that  unfamiliar  sentiment — nay,  rather,  that  senti 
ment  long  dormant — stirred  within  him.  Again  his  worldly 
concepts,  long  entrenched,  instantly  rose  to  meet  and  overthrow 
it.  He  had  not  yet  learned  to  analyze  the  thoughts  which  crept 
so  silently  into  his  ever-open  mentality.  To  all  alike  he  gave 
free  access.  And  to  those  which  savored  of  things  earthy  he 
still  gave  the  power  to  build,  with  himself  as  a  willing  tool. 

"You  will— help  me— to  live?"  he  said.  He  thought  her  the 
most  gloriously  beautiful  object  he  had  ever  known,  as  she  sat 
there  before  him,  so  simply  gowned,  and  yet  clothed  with  that 
which  all  the  gold  of  Ophir  could  not  have  bought. 

196 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"Yes,  gladly — oh,  so  gladly!"  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  a  rush 
of  tears. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said  gently,  drawing  his  chair  a  little 
closer  to  her,  "that  we  have  quite  misunderstood  each  other? 
I  am  sure  we  have." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  answered  thoughtfully.  "But,"  with  a 
happy  smile  again  lighting  her  features,  "we  can  understand 
each  other  now,  can't  we?" 

"Of  course  we  can!  And  hasn't  the  time  come  for  us  to 
work  together,  instead  of  continuing  to  oppose  each  other?" 

"Yes!  yes,  indeed!"  she  cried  eagerly. 

"I — I  have  been  thinking  so  ever  since  I  returned  yesterday 
from  Washington.  I  am — I — " 

"We  need  each  other,  don't  we?"  the  artless  girl  exclaimed, 
as  she  beamed  upon  him. 

"I  am  positive  of  it!"  he  said  with  suggestive  emphasis.  "I 
can  help  you — more  than  you  realize — and  I  want  to.  I — I've 
been  sorry  for  you,  little  girl,  mighty  sorry,  ever  since  that 
story  got  abroad  about — " 

"Oh,  never  mind  that!"  she  interrupted  happily.  "We  are 
living  in  the  present,  you  know." 

"True — and  in  the  future.  But  things  haven't  been  right 
for  you.  And  I  want  to  see  them  straightened  out.  And  you 
and  I  can  do  it,  little  one.  Madam  Beaubien  hasn't  been 
treated  right,  either.  And — " 

"There!"  she  laughed,  holding  up  a  warning  finger.  "We're 
going  to  forget  that  in  the  good  we're  going  to  do,  aren't  we?" 

"Yes,  that's  so.  And  you  are  going  to  get  a  square  deal. 
Now,  I've  got  a  plan  to  make  everything  right.  I  want  to  see 
you  in  the  place  that  belongs  to  you.  I  want  to  see  you  happy, 
and  surrounded  by  all  that  is  rightfully  yours.  And  if  you  will 
join  me,  we  will  bring  that  all  about.  I  told  you  this  once  be 
fore,  you  may  remember." 

He  stopped  and  awaited  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  the 
girl. 

"But,  Mr.  Ames,"  she  replied,  her  eyes  shining  with  a  great 
hope,  "don't  think  about  me!  It's  the  people  at  Avon  that  I 
want  to  help." 

"We'll  help  them,  you  and  I.  We'll  make  things  right  all 
round.  And  Madam  Beaubien  shall  have  no  further  trouble. 
Nor  shall  the  Express." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ames!     Do  you  really  mean  it?    And — Sidney?" 

"Sidney  shall  come  home — " 

With  a  rush  the  impulsive  girl,  forgetting  all  but  the  ap 
parent  success  of  her  mission,  threw  herself  upon  him  and 
clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "it  is  love 
that  has  done  all  this!  And  it  has  won  you!" 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  startled  man  strained  the  girl  tightly  in  his  arms.  He 
could  feel  the  quick  throbbing  in  her  throat.  Her  warm  breath 
played  upon  his  cheek  like  fitful  tropic  breezes.  For  a  brief 
moment  the  supreme  gift  of  the  universe  seemed  to  be  laid  at 
his  feet.  For  a  fleeting  interval  the  man  of  dust  faded,  and  a 
new  being,  pure  and  white,  seemed  to  rise  within  him. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured  gently,  "we'll  take  him  to  our  home 
with  us." 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  girl  released  herself  from  his  em 
brace  and  stepped  back.  "With — us?"  she  murmured,  searching 
his  face  for  the  meaning  which  she  had  dimly  discerned  in  his 
words. 

"Yes — listen!"  He  reached  forward  and  with  a  quick  move 
ment  seized  her  hand.  "Listen,  little  girl.  I  want  you— I  want 
you!  Not  now — no,  you  needn't  come  to  me  until  you  are 
ready.  But  say  that  you  will  come!  Say  that!  Why,  I  didn't 
know  until  to-day  what  it  was  that  was  making  me  over !  It's 
you!  Don't  go!  Don't—' 

Carmen  had  struggled  away  from  him,  and,  with  a  look  of 
bewilderment  upon  her  face,  was  moving  toward  the  door. 
"Oh,  I  didn't  know,"  she  murmured,  "that  you  were — were — 
proposing  marriage  to  me!" 

"Don't  you  understand?"  he  pursued.  "We'll  just  make  all 
things  new!  We'll  begin  all  over  again,  you  and  I!  Why,  I'll 
do  anything — anything  in  the  world  you  say,  Carmen,  if  you 
will  come  to  me — if  you  will  be  my  little  wife ! 

"I  know — I  know,"  he  hastily  resumed,  as  she  halted  and 
stood  seemingly  rooted  to  the  floor,  "there  is  a  great  difference 
in  our  ages.  But  that  is  nothing — many  happy  marriages  are 
made  between  ages  just  as  far  apart  as  ours.  Think — think 
what  it  means  to  you!  I'll  make  you  a  queen!  I'll  surround 
you  with  limitless  wealth!  I'll  make  you  leader  of  society! 
I'll  make  Madam  Beaubien  rich!  I'll  support  the  Express,  and 
make  it  what  you  want  it  to  be !  I'll  do  whatever  you  say  for 
the  people  of  Avon !  Think,  little  girl,  what  depends  now  upon 
you!" 

Carmen  turned  and  came  slowly  back  to  him.  "And — you 
will  not  do  these  things — unless  I  marry  you?"  she  said  in  a 
voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

I  will  do  them  all,  Carmen,  if  you  will  come  to  me!" 

"But— oh,  you  were  only  deceiving  me  all  the  time!  And 
now — if  I  refuse — then  what?" 

"It  depends  upon  you,  entirely — and  you  will  come?  Not 
now— but  within  the  next  few  months — within  the  year— tell 
me  that  you  will!" 

"But — you  will  do  these  things  whether  I  come  to  you  or 
not?"  she  persisted. 

198 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I've  put  it  all  into  your  hands,"  he  answered  shortly.  "I've 
named  the  condition." 

A  strange  look  crossed  the  girl's  face.  She  stood  as  if 
stunned.  Then  she  glanced  about  in  helpless  bewilderment. 

"I — I — love — you,"  she  murmured,  as  she  looked  off  toward 
the  window,  but  with  unseeing  eyes.  "I  would  do  anything  for 
you  that  was  right.  I — love — everybody — everybody;  but  there 
are  no  conditions  to  my  love'.  Oh!"  she  suddenly  cried,  bury 
ing  her  face  in  her  hands  and  bursting  into  tears.  "You  have 
tried  to  buy  me!" 

Ames  rose  and  came  to  her.  Taking  her  by  the  hand  he 
led  her,  unresisting,  back  to  her  chair. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  bending  toward  her.  "Go  home  now  and 
think  it  all  over.  Then  let  me  know  your  answer.  It  was 
sudden,  I  admit;  I  took  you  by  surprise.  But — well,  you  are 
not  going  to  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  all  that  good,  are 
you?  Think!  It  all  depends  upon  your  word!" 

The  girl  raised  her  tear-stained  face.  She  had  been  crushed; 
and  another  lesson  in  the  cruelty  of  the  human  mind — that 
human  mind  which  has  changed  not  in  a  thousand  years — 
had  been  read  to  her.  But  again  she  smiled  bravely,  as  she 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"It's  all  right  now,"  she  murmured.  "It  was  all  right  all 
the  time — and  I  was  protected." 

Then  she  turned  to  him.  "Some  day,"  she  said  gently,  and 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  just  a  little,  "you  will  help  the  people 
of  Avon,  but  not  because  I  shall  marry  you.  God  does  not 
work  that  way.  I  have  loved  you.  And  I  love  them.  And 
nothing  can  kill  that  love.  God  will  open  the  way." 

"Then  you  refuse  my  offer,  do  you?"  he  asked  sharply,  as 
his  face  set.  "Remember,  all  the  blame  will  be  upon  you.  I 
have  shown  you  a  way  out." 

She  looked  up  at  him.  She  saw  now  with  a  clairvoyance 
which  separated  him  from  the  mask  which  he  had  worn.  Her 
glance  penetrated  until  it  found  his  soul. 

"You  have  shown  me  the  depths  of  the  carnal  mind,"  she 
slowly  replied.  "The  responsibility  is  not  with  me,  but  with— 
God.  I — I  came  to-day  to — to  help  you.  But  now  I  must  leave 
you — with  Him." 

"Humph!" 

He  stooped  and  took  up  her  muff  which  lay  upon  the  floor. 
As  he  did  so,  a  letter  fell  out.  He  seized  it  and  glanced  at  the 
superscription. 

"Cartagena!  To  Jose  de  Rinc6n!  Another  little  billet-doux 
to  your  priestly  lover,  eh?" 

She  looked  down  at  the  letter  which  he  held.    "It  is  money," 

199 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


she  said,  though  her  thought  seemed  far  away.  "Money  that 
I  am  sending  to  a  little  newsboy  who  bears  his  name." 

"Ha!    His  brat!    But,  you  still  love  that  fallen  priest?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  whispered  answer. 

He  rose  and  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk.  Taking  out  a 
paper-bound  book,  he  held  it  out  to  the  girl.  "Look  here,"  he 
sneered.  "Here's  a  little  piece  of  work  which  your  brilliant 
lover  did  some  time  ago.  'Confessions  of  a  Roman  Catholic 
Priest.'  Do  you  know  the  penalty  your  clerical  paramour  paid 
for  that,  eh?  Then  I'll  tell  you,"  bending  over  close  to  her 
ear,  "his  life!" 

Carmen  rose  unsteadily.  The  color  had  fled  from  her 
cheeks.  She  staggered  a  few  steps  toward  the  door,  then 
stopped.  "God — is — is — everywhere!"  she  murmured.  It  was 
the  refuge  of  her  childhood  days. 

Then  she  reeled,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  15 

IF  additional  proof  of  the  awful  cost  of  hating  one's  fellow- 
men  were  required,  the  strike  which  burst  upon  the  in 
dustrial  world  that  winter  must  furnish  it  in  sickening  ex 
cess.  But  other  facts,  too,  were  rendered  glaringly  patent  by 
that  same  desperate  clash  which  made  Avon  a  shambles  and 
transformed  its  fair  name  into  a  by-word,  to  be  spoken  only 
in  hushed  whispers  when  one's  thought  dwells  for  a  moment 
upon  the  madness  of  the  carnal  mind  that  has  once  tasted 
blood.  The  man-cleft  chasm  between  labor  and  capital,  that 
still  unbridged  void  which  separates  master  and  servant,  and 
which  a  money-drunk  class  insolently  calls  God-made,  grows 
wider  with  each  roar  of  musketry  aimed  by  a  frenzied  militia 
at  helpless  men  and  women;  grows  deeper  with  each  splitting 
crack  of  the  dynamite  that  is  laid  to  tear  asunder  the  con 
scienceless  wielder  of  the  goad;  and  must  one  day  fall  gaping 
in  a  cavernous  embouchure  that  will  engulf  a  nation. 

Hitt  saw  it,  and  shuddered;  Haynerd,  too.  Ames  may  have 
dimly  marked  the  typhoon  on  the  horizon,  but,  like  everything 
that  manifested  opposition  to  this  superhuman  will,  it  only  set 
his  teeth  the  firmer  and  thickened  the  callous  about  his  cold 
heart.  Carmen  saw  it,  too.  And  she  knew — and  the  world  must 
some  day  know — that  but  one  tie  has  ever  been  designed  ade 
quate  to  bridge  this  yawning  canon  of  human  hatred.  That  tie 
is  love.  Aye,  well  she  knew  that  the  world  laughed,  and  called 
it  chimera;  called  it  idealism,  and  emotional  weakness.  And 

200 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


well  she  knew  that  the  most  pitiable  weakness  the  world  has 
ever  seen  was  the  class  privilege  which  nailed  the  bearer  of 
the  creed  of  love  upon  the  cross,  and  to-day  manifests  in  the 
frantic  grasping  of  a  nation's  resources,  and  the  ruthless  mur 
der  of  those  who  ask  that  they,  too,  may  have  a  share  in  that 
abundance  which  is  the  common  birthright  of  all.  Do  the 
political  bully,  the  grafter,  the  tout,  know  the  meaning  of  love? 
No;  but  they  can  be  taught.  Oh,  not  by  the  hypocritical  mil 
lionaire  pietists  who  prate  their  glib  platitudes  to  their  Sunday 
Bible  classes,  and  return  to  their  luxurious  homes  to  order  the 
slaughter  of  starving  women  and  babes !  They,  like  their  poor 
victims,  are  deep  under  the  spell  of  that  mesmerism  which  tells 
them  that  evil  is  good.  Nor  by  the  Church,  with  its  lamentable 
weakness  of  knowledge  and  works.  Only  by  those  who  have 
learned  something  of  the  Christ-principle,  and  are  striving  daily 
to  demonstrate  its  omnipotence  in  part,  can  the  world  be  taught 
a  saving  knowledge  of  the  love  that  solves  every  problem  and 
creates  a  new  heaven  and  a  newer,  better  concept  of  the  earth 
and  its  fullness. 

That  morning  when  Carmen  went  to  see  Ames  the  Express 
received  word  of  the  walk-out  of  the  Avon  mill  employes.  Al 
most  coincident  with  the  arrival  of  the  news,  Carmen  herself 
came  unsteadily  into  Hitt's  office.  The  editor  glanced  up  at 
her,  then  looked  a  second  time.  He  had  never  before  seen  her 
face  colorless.  Finally  he  laid  down  his  papers. 

"What's  happened?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  girl.  "What  work  have  you — for 
me — to-day?"  She  smiled,  though  her  lips  trembled. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  pursued,  scanning  her  closely. 

She  did  not  reply  at  once.  Then,  so  low  that  he  scarcely 
caught  the  words,  "I — I  have  been  with — a  friend." 

Sidney  Ames  came  puffing  into  the  office  at  that  moment. 
"Hello!"  he  cried  as  he  saw  Carmen.  "How  does  it  happen 
you're  out  riding  with  Willett?  Saw  him  help  you  out  of  an 
auto  just  now." 

"He  brought  me  here,"  she  answered  softly. 

"Where  from?" 

"Your  father's  office." 

Hitt  and  the  lad  stared  at  her  with  open  mouths.  She 
turned,  and  started  for  her  own  room,  moving  as  if  in  a  haze. 
As  she  neared  the  door  she  stumbled.  Sidney  sprang  after 
her  and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  When  she  turned  her  face, 
they  saw  that  her  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears. 

Hitt  was  on  his  feet  instantly.  "Look  here!"  he  cried. 
"Something's  wrong!  Leave  us,  Sidney.  Let  me  talk  with  her 
alone." 

201 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  boy  reluctantly  obeyed.  Hitt  closed  the  door  after  him, 
then  took  the  girl's  hand  and  led  her  back  to  his  own  chair. 
"Now,  little  one,"  he  said  gently,  "tell  me  all  about  it." 

For  a  moment  she  sat  quiet.  Then  the  tears  began  to  flow; 
and  then  she  leaned  her  head  against  him  and  sobbed — sobbed 
as  does  the  stricken  mother  who  hangs  over  the  lifeless  form 
of  her  babe — sobbed  as  does  the  strong  man  bereft  of  the  friend 
of  his  bosom — sobbed  as  did  the  Man  of  Sorrow,  when  he  held 
out  his  arms  over  the  worldly  city  that  cruelly  rejected  him. 
He  was  the  channel  for  the  divine;  yet  the  wickedness  of  the 
human  mind  broke  his  great  heart.  Carmen  was  not  far  from 
him  at  that  moment. 

Hitt  held  her  hand,  and  choked  back  the  lump  that  filled 
his  throat.  Then  the  weeping  slowly  ceased,  and  the  girl  looked 
up  into  his  anxious  face. 

"It's  all  past  now,"  she  said  brokenly.  "Jesus  forgave  them 
that  killed  him.  And—" 

"You  have  been  with — Ames?"  said  Hitt  in  a  low,  quiet  tone. 
"And  he  tried  to  kill  you?" 

"He — he  knew  not  what  he  was  doing.  Evil  used  him,  be 
cause  as  yet  he  has  no  spiritual  understanding.  But — God  is 
life!  There  is — no — death!"  Her  voice  faded  away  in  a 
whisper. 

"Well,  little  girl,  I  am  waiting  for  the  whole  story.  What 
happened?" 

Carmen  got  to  her  feet.  "Nothing  happened,  Mr.  Hitt — 
nothing.  It  didn't  happen — it  wasn't  real.  I — I  seemed  to 
manifest  weakness — and  I  fell — to  the  floor — but  I  didn't  lose 
consciousness.  And  just  then  Mr.  Willett  came  in — and  Mr. 
Ames  sent  me  here  with  him." 

"But  what  had  Ames  said  to  you,  Carmen?"  persisted  Hitt, 
his  face  dark  with  anger. 

The  girl  smiled  feebly.  "I  see  Mr.  Ames  only  as — as  God's 
child,"  she  murmured.  "Evil  is  not  real,  and  it  doesn't  happen. 
Now  I  want  to  work — work  as  I  never  did  before!  I  must! 
/  must!" 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  more  about  it?"  he  asked,  for  he 
knew  now  that  a  deadly  thrust  had  been  made  at  the  girl's  life. 

She  brushed  the  tears  away  from  her  eyes.  "It  didn't  hap 
pen,"  was  her  reply.  "Good  is  all  that  is.  God  is  life.  There 
is  no  death!" 

A  suspicion  flashed  into  Hitt's  mind,  kindled  by  the  girl's 
insistence  upon  the  nothingness  of  death.  "Carmen,"  he  asked, 
"did  he  tell  you  that — some  one  had  died?" 

She  came  to  him  and  laid  her  head  against  him.  Her  hands 
stole  into  his.  "Don't!  Please,  Mr.  Hitt!  We  must  never 

202 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


speak  of  this  again!  Promise  me!  I  shall  overcome  it,  for  God 
is  with  me.  Promise  that  no  one  but  us  shall  know!  Make 
Sidney  promise.  It — it  is — for  me." 

The  man's  eyes  grew  moist,  and  his  throat  filled.  He  drew 
the  girl  to  him  and  kissed  her  forehead.  "It  shall  be  as  you 
wish,  little  one,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Now  set  me  to  work!"  she  cried  wildly.  "Anything!  This 
is  another  opportunity  to — to  prove  God!  I  must  prove  Him! 
I  must — right  here!" 

He  turned  to  his  desk  with  a  heavy  heart.  "There  is  work 
to  be  done  now,"  he  said.  "I  wonder — " 

She  took  the  telegram  from  his  hands  and  scanned  it.  At 
once  she  became  calm,  her  own  sorrow  swallowed  up  in  selfless 
love.  "Oh,  they  have  gone  out  at  Avon!  Those  mothers  and 
children — they  need  me!  Mr.  Hitt,  I  must  go  there  at  once!" 

"I  thought  so,"  he  replied,  swallowing  hard.  "I  knew  what 
you  would  do.  But  you  are  in  higher  hands  than  mine,  Car 
men.  Go  home  now,  and  get  ready.  You  can  go  down  in  the 
morning.  And  we,  Sidney  and  I,  will  say  nothing  of — of  your 
visit  to  his  father." 

****** 

That  night  Hitt  called  up  the  Beaubien  and  asked  if  he  and 
Haynerd  might  come  and  talk  with  her  after  the  paper  had 
gone  to  press,  and  requesting  that  she  notify  Carmen  and 
Father  Waite.  A  few  hours  later  the  little  group  met  quietly 
in  the  humble  cottage.  Miss  Wall  and  Sidney  were  with  them. 
And  to  them  all  those  first  dark  hours  of  morning,  when  as  yet 
the  symbol  of  God's  omnipresence  hung  far  below  the  horizon, 
seemed  prescient  with  a  knowledge  of  evil's  further  claims  to 
the  lives  and  fortunes  of  men. 

"I  have  asked  you  here,"  Hitt  gravely  announced  when  they 
were  assembled,  "to  consider  a  matter  which  touches  us  all — 
how  deeply,  God  alone  knows.  At  ten  o'clock  to-night  I  re 
ceived  this  message."  He  opened  the  paper  which  he  held  in 
his  hand  and  read: 

"  'Property  of  Hitt  oil  company,  including  derricks,  pump  houses, 
storage  tanks,  destroyed  by  fire.  Dynamite  in  pump  houses  exploded, 
causing  wells  to  cave  and  choke.  Loss  complete.  Wire  instructions.'  " 

The  news  burst  over  them  like  the  cracking  of  a  bomb. 
Haynerd,  who,  like  the  others,  had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  message  until  now,  started  from  his  chair  with  a  loud  ex 
clamation,  then  sank  back  limp.  Carmen's  face  went  white. 
Evil  seemed  to  have  chosen  that  day  with  canny  shrewdness  to 
overwhelm  her  with  its  quick  sallies  from  out  the  darkness  of 
the  carnal  mind. 

203 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Hitt  broke  the  tense  silence.  "I  see  in  this,"  he  said  slowly, 
"the  culmination  of  a  long  series  of  efforts  to  ruin  the  Express. 
That  my  oil  property  was  deliberately  wrecked,  I  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt.  Nor  can  I  doubt  by  whose  hand." 

"Whose?"  demanded  Haynerd,  having  again  found  his  voice. 
"Ames's?" 

Hitt  replied  indirectly.  "The  Express  has  stood  before  the 
world  as  a  paper  unique  and  apart.  And  because  of  its  high 
ideals,  the  forces  of  evil  singled  it  out  at  the  beginning  for  their 
murderous  assaults.  That  the  press  of  this  country  is  very 
generally  muzzled,  stifled,  bought  and  paid  for,  I  have  good 
reason  now  to  know.  My  constant  brushes  with  the  liquor  in 
terests,  with  low  politicians,  judges,  senators,  and  dive-keepers, 
have  not  been  revealed  even  to  you.  Could  you  know  the  pres 
sure  which  the  Church,  both  Catholic  and  Protestant,  has  tried 
to  exert  upon  us,  you  would  scarce  credit  me  with  veracity. 
But  the  Express  has  stood  out  firm  against  feudalism,  mediae- 
valism,  and  entrenched  ecclesiasticism.  It  has  fearlessly  op 
posed  the  legalizing  of  drugging.  It  has  fought  the  debauching 
of  a  nation's  manhood  by  the  legalized  sale  of  a  deadly  poison, 
alcohol.  And  it  has  fought  without  quarter  the  pernicious 
activity  of  morally  stunted  brewers  and  distillers,  whose  hellish 
motto  is,  'Make  the  boys  drink!'  It  has  fought  the  money 
octopus,  and  again  and  again  has  sounded  to  the  world  the  peril 
which  money-drunken  criminals  like  Ames  and  his  clique  con 
stitute.  And  for  that  we  must  now  wear  the  crown  of  mar 
tyrdom!" 

Silence,  dismal  and  empty,  lay  over  the  little  room  for  a 
long  time.  Then  Hitt  resumed.  "The  Express  has  not  been 
self-supporting.  Its  growth  has  been  steady,  but  it  has  de 
pended  for  its  deficit  upon  the  revenue  from  my  oil  property. 
And  so  have  we  all.  Ames  ruined  Madam  Beaubien  financially, 
as  well  as  Miss  Wall.  He  cleaned*  you  out,  Ned.  And  now, 
knowing  that  we  all  depended  upon  my  oil  wells,  he  has,  I 
doubt  not,  completely  removed  that  source  of  income." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Haynerd,  "your  property  was  insured, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Hitt,  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a  smile.  "But 
with  the  proviso  that  dynamite  should  not  be  kept  on  the 
premises.  You  will  note  that  dynamite  wrecked  the  wells.  That 
doubtless  renders  my  policies  void.  But,  even  in  case  I  should 
have  a  fighting  chance  with  the  insurance  companies,  don't  you 
think  that  they  will  be  advised  that  I  purposely  set  fire  to  the 
wells,  in  order  to  collect  the  insurance?  I  most  certainly  do. 
And  I  shall  find  myself  with  a  big  lawsuit  on  my  hands,  and 
with  no  funds  to  conduct  the  fight.  Ames's  work,  you  know, 

204 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


is  always  thorough,  and  the  Express  is  already  facing  his  suit 
for  libel." 

"But  you  told  us  you  were  going  to  mortgage  your  prop 
erty,"  said  Miss  Wall. 

"I  stood  ready  to,  should  the  Express  require  it.  But,  with 
its  recent  little  boom,  our  paper  did  not  seem  to  need  that  as 
yet,"  he  returned. 

"Good  God!"  cried  Haynerd.    "We're  done  for!" 

"Yes,  Ned,  God  is  good!"    It  was  Carmen  who  spoke. 

Hitt  turned  quickly  to  the  girl.  "Can  you  say  that,  after 
all  you  have  endured,  Carmen?" 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  lost  in  wonder.  "An  out 
cast  babe,"  he  murmured,  "left  on  the  banks  of  a  great  river 
far,  far  away;  reared  without  knowledge  of  father  or  mother, 
and  amid  perils  that  hourly  threatened  to  crush  her;  torn  from 
her  beloved  ones  and  thrust  out  into  an  unknown  and  unsym 
pathetic  world;  used  as  a  stepping-stone  to  advance  the  low 
social  ambitions  of  worldly  women;  blackened  by  the  foulest 
slander,  and  ejected  as  an  outcast  by  those  who  had  fawned 
at  her  feet;  still  going  about  with  her  beautiful  message  of  love, 
even  though  knowing  that  her  childhood  home  is  enveloped  in 
the  flames  of  war,  and  her  dear  ones  scattered,  perhaps  lost; 
spurned  from  the  door  of  the  rich  man  whom  she  sought  to 
save;  carrying  with  her  always  the  knowledge  that  the  one 
upon  whom  her  affections  had  centered  had  a  son  in  distant 
Cartagena,  and  yet  herself  contributing  to  the  support  of  the 
little  lad;  and  now,  this  morning — "  He  stopped,  for  he  re 
membered  his  promise. 

"This  morning,"  she  finished,  "shielded  by  the  One  who  is 
both  Father  and  Mother  to  me." 

"That  One  surely  ought  to  love  you,  Carmen — " 

"He  does,"  she  answered  softly. 

"Well!"  put  in  Haynerd,  torn  with  anger  and  fear.  "What 
are  we  going  to  do  now?" 

"Everything,  Ned,  that  error  seems  to  tell  us  not  to  do," 
replied  the  girl. 

She  reached  over  to  the  little  table  that  stood  near,  and  took 
from  it  a  Bible.  Opening  it,  she  read  aloud,  very  slowly,  the 
entire  fourteenth  chapter  of  Exodus.  Then  she  concluded 
by  reading  the  last  two  verses  of  the  eighth  chapter  of 
Romans. 

"Now,"  she  said,  looking  up,  "we  know  what  we  are  going 
to  do,  don't  we?  We  are  going  right  on,  as  'seeing  Him  who  is 
invisible'  to  men  like  Mr.  Ames." 

They  sat  looking  at  her  in  silence. 

"There  is  no  curse,  whether  of  the  Church,  or  of  business, 

205 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


or  of  any  department  of  human  thought,  that  can  overthrow 
legitimate  business;  and  we  are  in  the  legitimate  business  of 
reflecting  God  to  the  world.  If  the  physical  sense  of  supply  is 
now  lost,  we  are  fortunate,  for  now  we  are  obliged  to  acquire 
a  higher  sense.  All  that  we  have  comes  from  God.  And  we 
become  aware  of  it  in  our  own  consciousness.  It  is  there  that 
we  interpret  His  supply.  Mr.  Ames  interprets  it  one  way;  we, 
in  a  very  different  way.  God  has  always  been  able  to  prepare 
a  table  in  the  wilderness  of  human  thought.  If  we  look  for 
supply  from  without,  we  shall  not  find  it,  for  everything  is 
within.  And  the  very  fact  that  there  is  a  legitimate  demand 
shows  that  there  is  the  supply  to  meet  it,  for — though  the  world 
hasn't  learned  this  yet — it  is  the  supply  itself  that  really  creates 
the  demand!" 

"But  money  makes  the  wheels  go!"  retorted  Haynerd. 

"Money,  Ned,  is  the  counterfeit  of  God.  He  is  our  only 
supply.  He  is  our  Principle — infinite,  inexhaustible.  He  is  our 
credit — without  limit!  We  are  facing  a  crisis,  but,  like  every 
seeming  disturbance  of  the  infinite  harmony,  it  will  vanish  in  a 
little  while  if  we  but  cling  to  the  divine  Mind  that  is  God  for 
guidance." 

Hitt  folded  the  telegram  and  returned  it  to  his  pocket.  "Are 
you  going  to  Avon  to-morrow?"  he  abruptly  asked  of  the  girl. 

"Yes,  why  not?" 

"We  can't  afford  it  now!"  cried  Haynerd. 

Hitt  reflected  a  moment.  Then  he  rose.  "And  we  sit  here 
lamenting!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  when  we  have  in  our  midst 
this  girl,  who  has  borne,  without  one  word  of  complaint  or  re 
viling,  the  world's  most  poignant  sorrows!  I — I  really  regret 
that  I  told  you  of — of  this  telegram.  I  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
be  overwhelmed.  But  I  am  on  my  feet  again  now!" 

He  reached  into  a  pocket  and  took  out  some  bills,  which  he 
handed  to  Carmen.  "That  will  see  you  through  for  a  day  or  so 
down  there.  If  you  need  more,  wire  me.  I'll  get  it  from  some 
source !  Come,"  he  added,  beckoning  to  Haynerd,  "the  Express 
will  be  issued  to-morrow  as  usual,  and  we  must  get  to  bed.  I've 
really  had  quite  a  strenuous  day!"  He  turned,  then  paused  and 
looked  at  Carmen. 

The  girl  caught  the  meaning  in  his  glance,  and  went  di 
rectly  to  the  piano.  Hitt  followed  and  bent  over  her. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  "if  you  do  not  feel  like  it.  This  day  has 
been  a  hard  one  for  you,  I  know.  And — " 

"But  I  do  feel  like  it,"  she  answered,  smiling  up  at  him.  "I 
want  to  sing  for  you.  And,"  her  voice  dropped  low,  "I  want  to 
sing  to — Him." 

Hitt  gulped  down  something  in  his  throat.  "The  bravest 

206 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


little  girl  in  the  whole  wide  world!"  he  muttered  through  his 
set  teeth. 

****** 

The  carnage  at  Avon  was  not  incidental;  it  was  the  logical 
effect  of  definite  mental  causes.  It  was  the  orderly  sequence  of 
an  endless  train  of  hatred  of  man  for  man,  bred  of  greed  and 
the  fear  of  starvation.  And  starvation  is  the  externalized  hu 
man  belief  that  life  is  at  the  caprice  of  intelligent  matter.  But 
that  is  an  infraction  of  the  first  Commandment,  given  when  the 
human  race  was  a  babe. 

When  the  mill  hands  left  their  looms  at  evening  of  the 
day  following  Ames's  rejection  of  their  demands,  the  master 
closed  the  doors  behind  them  and  locked  them  out.  Were  not 
these  mills  his? 

No,  they  were  a  sacred  trust  asset. 

Bah!     The  parrot-cry  of  the  maudlin  sentimental! 

But,  four  thousand  men,  women,  and  little  children,  with 
never  a  dollar  beyond  their  earnings  of  the  day,  thrust  out  into 
the  blasts  of  the  bitterest  winter  the  New  England  states  had 
known  in  years! 

True;  but  why,  then,  did  they  strike?  For,  you  see,  that  of 
itself  proved  the  soundness  of  Ames's  single  reply  to  all 
further  appeal:  "There  is  nothing  whatever  to  arbitrate." 

In  the  garden  of  the  human  mind  waves  many  a  flower, 
both  black  and  red,  fanned  by  the  foul  winds  of  carnal  thought. 
There  grow  the  brothel,  the  dive,  the  gin-shop,  the  jail.  About 
these  hardier  stems  twine  the  hospital,  the  cemetery,  the  mad 
house,  the  morgue.  And  Satan,  "the  man-killer  from  the  be 
ginning,"  waters  their  roots  and  makes  fallow  the  soil  with  the 
blood  of  fools.  But  of  those  for  whom  the  gardener  waits,  there 
is  none  whose  blood  is  so  life-giving  to  these  noxious  plants  as 
that  type  of  the  materially  rich  who,  like  Ames,  have  waxed 
gross  upon  the  flesh  of  their  own  brothers. 
i  Ames  was  a  gambler  in  human  lives.  They  were  his 
chips,  by  which  he  gained  or  lost,  and  of  themselves  were  void 
of  intrinsic  value.  The  world  was  the  table  whereon  he  played; 
the  game  rouge  et  noir,  with  the  whirl  of  predatory  commer 
cialism  as  the  wheel,  and  the  ball  weighted  to  drop  where  he 
might  direct.  He  carried  millions  on  margin,  and  with  them 
carried  the  destinies,  for  weal  or  for  woe,  of  millions  of  his 
fellow-men,  with  not  one  thought  that  he  did  so  at  the  cost  of 
their  honor  and  morality,  not  less  than  their  life-blood. 

It  had  been  his  custom  to  close  his  mills  for  several  months 
each  year,  in  order  to  save  expense  when  times  were  dull.  And 
he  did  this  as  casually  as  he  closed  the  doors  of  his  stables,  and 
with  much  less  thought  for  the  welfare  of  those  concerned.  It 

207 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


is  doubtful  if  he  had  ever  really  considered  the  fact  that  these 
four  thousand  human  beings  were  wholly  dependent  upon  him 
for  their  very  existence.  For  he  was  a  business  man,  and  gold 
was  far  weightier  in  the  scale  of  values  than  human  flesh,  and 
much  less  easily  obtained.  Cain's  comforting  philosophy  was 
quite  correct,  else  would  the  business  world  not  have  been  so 
firmly  established  upon  it.  Besides,  he  was  terribly  busy;  and 
his  life  was  lived  upon  a  plane  high,  high  above  that  upon 
which  these  swarming  toilers  groveled  with  their  snouts  in 
the  dust. 

And  now,  with  the  doors  of  his  mills  barred  against  the 
hungry  hordes,  he  would  frame  the  terms  upon  which  they 
should  be  reopened.  The  eight-hour  law  must  not  be  enforced. 
Perhaps  he  could  influence  the  Supreme  Court  to  declare  it 
unconstitutional,  as  depriving  the  mill  hands  of  the  right  to 
labor  as  long  as  they  pleased.  Wages  should  not  be  raised. 
And  the  right  to  organize  and  band  together  for  their  common 
good  would  be  contemptuously  denied  the  ignorant  rats  who 
should  be  permitted  to  toil  for  him  once  more.  If  they  offered 
violence,  there  was  the  state  militia,  armed  and  impatient  to 
slay.  Also,  this  was  an  excellent  opportunity  to  stamp  out 
trade-unionism  within  the  confines  of  his  activities.  He  would 
win  the  plaudits  of  the  whole  industrial  world  by  so  doing.  He 
therefore  immediately  got  in  touch  with  the  Governor,  a  Tam 
many  puppet,  and  received  that  loyal  henchman's  warm  as 
surances  of  hearty  support  for  any  measures  which  the  great 
magnate  might  wish  to  enforce.  He  then  approached  the  offi 
cers  of  the  state  guard,  and  secured  them  to  a  man.  Times 
were  hard,  and  they  welcomed  his  favor.  He  finally  posted 
armed  guards  in  all  his  buildings  at  Avon,  and  bade  them  re 
member  that  property  rights  were  of  divine  institution.  Then 
he  sat  down  and  dictated  the  general  policy  to  be  followed  by 
the  Amalgamated  Spinners'  Association  throughout  the  country 
in  support  of  his  own  selfish  ends. 

His  activity  in  these  preparations,  as  in  everything,  was 
tremendous.  His  agents  swarmed  over  the  state  like  ants.  The 
Catholic  Archbishop  was  instructed  that  he  must  remove  Father 
Danny  from  Avon,  as  his  influence  was  pernicious.  But  the 
objection  was  made  that  the  priest  was  engaged  only  in  humani 
tarian  labors.  It  availed  not;  Ames  desired  the  man's  removal. 
And  removed  he  was.  The  widow  Marcus  likewise  had  been 
doing  much  talking.  Ames's  lawyer,  Collins,  had  her  haled 
into  court  and  thoroughly  reprimanded.  And  then,  that  mat 
ters  might  be  precipitated,  and  Congress  duly  impressed  with 
the  necessity  of  altering  the  cotton  schedule  in  favor  of  the 
Spinners'  Association,  Ames  ordered  his  agents  to  raise  the 

208 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


rents  of  his  miserable  Avon  tenements.  There  were  few,  he 
knew,  who  dared  even  attempt  to  meet  the  raise;  and  those 
who  could  not,  he  ordered  set  into  the  streets. 

It  was  a  wild  winter's  day  that  the  magnate  chose  for  the 
enforcement  of  this  cruel  order.  A  driving  blizzard  had  raged 
throughout  the  night,  and  the  snow  had  banked  up  in  drifts  in 
places  many  feet  deep.  The  temperature  was  freezing,  and  the 
strong  east  wind  cut  like  a  knife.  It  was  Ames's  desire  to  teach 
these  scum  a  needed  lesson,  and  he  had  chosen  to  enlist  the 
elements  to  aid  him  in  the  righteous  task. 

For  a  week,  ever  since  the  strike  was  declared,  Carmen  had 
lived  among  these  hectored  people..  Daily  her  reports  of  the 
unbearable  situation  had  gone  to  Hitt.  And  through  them  the 
editor  had  daily  striven  to  awaken  a  nation's  conscience.  Ames 
read  the  articles,  and  through  the  columns  of  the  Budget  sought 
to  modify  them  to  the  extent  of  shifting  the  responsibility  to 
the  shoulders  of  the  mill  hands  themselves,  and  to  a  dilatory 
Congress  that  was  criminally  negligent  in  so  framing  a  cotton 
tariff  as  to  make  such  industrial  suffering  possible.  Nor 
did  he  omit  to  foully  vilify  the  Express  and  calumniate  its 
personnel. 

Amid  curses,  screams,  and  despairing  wails,  the  satanic 
work  of  ejecting  the  tenement  dwellers  went  on  that  day. 
Ames's  hirelings,  with  loaded  rifles,  assisted  the  constables  and 
city  police  in  the  miserable  work,  themselves  cursing  often  be 
cause  of  the  keen  blasts  that  nipped  their  ears  and  numbed 
their  well-cased  limbs.  More  than  one  tiny,  wailing  babe  was 
frozen  at  the  breast  that  dull,  drab  afternoon,  when  the  sun 
hung  like  a  ghastly  clot  of  human  blood  just  above  the  horizon, 
and  its  weird,  yellow  light  flitted  through  the  snow-laden 
streets  like  gaunt  spectres  of  death.  More  than  one  aged,  toil- 
spent  laborer,  broken  at  the  loom  in  the  service  of  his  insatia 
ble  master,  fell  prone  in  the  drifts  and  lay  there  till  his  thin 
life-current  froze  and  his  tired  heart  stopped.  More  than  one 
frenzied,  despairing  father,  forgetful  for  the  moment  of  the 
divine  right  of  property,  rushed  at  a  guard  and  madly  strove 
with  him,  only  to  be  clubbed  into  complaisance,  or,  perchance, 
be  left  in  a  welter  of  crimson  on  the  drifting  snow.  Carmen 
saw  it  all.  She  had  been  to  see  Pillette  that  same  morning, 
and  had  been  laughed  from  his  presence.  She  did  not  under 
stand,  she  was  told,  what  miserable  creatures  these  were  that 
dared  ask  for  bread  and  human  rights.  Wait;  they  themselves 
would  show  their  true  colors. 

And  so  they  did.  And  the  color  was  red.  And  it  spurted 
like  fountains  from  their  veins.  And  they  saw  it  with  dim 
ming  eyes,  and  were  glad,  for  it  brought  sweet  oblivion.  That 

59  209 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


night  there  were  great  fires  built  along  the  frozen  creek.  Shacks 
and  tents  were  hastily  reared;  and  the  shivering,  trembling 
women  and  babes  given  a  desperate  shelter.  Then  the  men, 
sullen  and  grim,  drew  off  into  little  groups,  and  into  the  saloons 
and  gambling  halls  of  the  town.  And  when  the  blizzard  was 
spent,  and  the  cold  stars  were  dropping  their  frozen  light,  these 
dull-witted  things  began  to  move,  slowly  at  first,  circling  about 
like  a  great  forming  nebula,  but  gaining  momentum  and  power 
with  each  revolution.  More  than  a  thousand  strong,  they 
circled  out  into  the  frozen  streets  of  the  little  town,  and  up 
along  the  main  thoroughfare.  Their  dull  murmurs  slowly 
gained  volume.  Their  low  curses  welled  into  a  roar.  And 
then,  like  the  sudden  bursting  of  pent-up  lava,  they  swept  madly 
through  the  town,  carrying  everything  to  destruction  before 
them. 

Stores,  shops,  the  bank  itself,  burst  open  before  this  wave 
of  maddened  humanity.  Guns  and  pistols  were  thrown  from 
laden  shelves  to  the  cursing,  sweating  mob  below.  Axes  and 
knives  were  gathered  by  armfuls,  and  borne  out  into  the  streets 
to  the  whirling  mass.  Great  barrels  of  liquor  were  rolled  into 
the  gutters  and  burst  asunder.  Bread  and  meat  were  dragged 
from  the  shops  and  savagely  devoured.  The  police  gathered 
and  planted  themselves  with  spitting  pistols  before  the  human 
surge.  They  went  down  like  grass  under  stampeded  cattle. 
Frightened  clerks  and  operators  rushed  to  the  wires  and  sent 
wild,  incoherent  appeals  for  help  to  New  York.  Pandemonium 
had  the  reins,  the  carnal  mind  was  unleashed. 

On  rolled  the  mob,  straight  on  to  the  massive  stone  house 
of  Pillette,  the  resident  manager  of  the  great  Ames  mills.  On 
over  the  high  iron  fence,  like  hungry  dock  rats.  On  through 
the  battered  gate.  On  up  the  broad  drive,  shouting,  shooting, 
moaning,  raving.  On  over  the  veranda,  and  in  through  broken 
windows  and  shattered  doors,  swarming  like  flies  over  reeking 
carrion,  until  the  flames  which  .burst  through  the  peaked  roof 
of  the  mansion  drove  them  forth,  and  made  them  draw  sul 
lenly,  protestingly  away,  leaving  the  tattered  bodies  of  Pillette 
and  his  wife  and  daughters  to  be  consumed  in  the  roaring 
furnace. 

Oh,  ye  workers,  ye  toilers  at  loom  and  forge,  it  is  indeed 
you  who  bear  the  world's  burdens!  It  is  you  who  create  the 
rich  man's  wealth,  and  fight  his  battles.  So  ye  fought  in  the 
great  war  between  North  and  South,  and  protected  the  rich  man 
at  home,  hovering  in  fright  over  his  money  bags.  It  is  you 
who  put  into  his  hands  the  bayonet  which  he  turns  against  you 
to  guard  his  wealth  and  maintain  his  iniquitous  privilege.  It 
is  indeed  in  your  hands  that  the  destinies  of  this  great  nation 

210 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


lie;  but  what  will  ye  do  with  your  marvelous  opportunity? 
What,  with  your  stupendous,  untried  strength?  Will  ye  once 
more  set  up  the  golden  calf,  and  prostrate  yourselves  before  it? 
Will  ye  again  enthrone  ecclesiastical  despotism,  and  grovel  be 
fore  image  of  Virgin  and  Saint?  Will  ye  raise  high  the  powers 
of  mediaeval  darkness,  and  bend  your  necks  anew  to  the  yoke 
of  ignorance  and  stagnation?  But  think  you  now  that  flames 
and  dynamite  will  break  your  present  bonds?  Aye,  America 
may  be  made  a  land  without  a  pauper,  without  a  millionaire, 
without  industrial  strife.  But  fire  and  sword  will  not  effect  the 
transformation.  Yes,  perhaps,  as  has  been  said,  our  "comfort 
able  social  system  and  its  authority  will  some  day  be  blown  to 
atoms."  But  shall  we  then  be  better  off  than  we  are  to-day? 
For  shall  we  know  then  how  to  use  our  precious  liberty? 

Blood-drunk  and  reeling,  the  mob  turned  from  the  flaming 
wreckage  and  flowed  down  toward  the  mills.  There  were 
some  among  them,  saner,  and  prescient  of  the  dire  consequences 
of  their  awful  work,  who  counseled  restraint.  But  they  were 
as  chips  in  a  torrent.  Down  into  the  creek  bottom  rolled  the 
seething  tide,  with  a  momentum  that  carried  it  up  the  far  side 
and  crashing  into  the  heavily  barred  oak  doors  of  the  great 
mills.  A  crushing  hail  of  bullets  fell  upon  them,  and  their 
leaders  went  down;  but  the  mass  wavered  not.  Those  within 
the  buildings  knew  that  they  would  become  carrion  in  the  maws 
of  the  ravening  wolves  outside,  and  fought  with  a  courage  fed 
with  desperation. 

In  the  solemn  hush  of  death  Socrates  said,  "The  hour  of 
departure  has  arrived,  and  we  go  our  ways,  I  to  die  and  you  to 
live.  Which  is  better,  God  only  knows."  And  mankind  through 
the  ages  in  their  last  hours  have  echoed  this  sentiment  of  the 
gentle  philosopher.  For  all  human  philosophy  leads  to  a  single 
end — resignation. 

But  hunger  transforms  resignation  into  madness.  And  mad 
ness  is  murder.  The  frenzied  hordes  swarming  about  the  Ames 
mills  knew  in  their  heart  of  hearts  that  death  was  preferable 
to  life  in  death  under  the  goad  of  human  exploitation.  But 
such  knowledge  came  only  in  rational  moments.  Now  they 
were  crazed  and  beyond  reason. 

In  the  distance,  across  the  swale,  the  sky  glowed  red  where 
the  souls  of  the  agent  of  predatory  wealth  and  his  family  had 
gone  out  in  withering  heat.  In  the  stricken  town,  men  huddled 
their  trembling  loved  ones  about  them  and  stood  with  loaded 
muskets.  Somewhere  on  the  steel  bands  that  linked  this  scene 
of  carnage  with  the  great  metropolis  beyond,  a  train  plunged 
and  roared,  leaping  over  the  quivering  rails  at  the  rate  of  a 
hundred  miles  an  hour,  bringing  eager  militiamen  and  their 

211 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


deadly  instruments  of  civilization.     For  the  Ames  mills  were 
private  property.     And  that  was  a  divine  institution. 
#»»»** 

In  his  luxurious  office  in  the  tower  of  the  Ames  building  the 
master  sat  that  black  night,  surrounded  by  his  laboring  cohorts. 
Though  they  strained  under  the  excitement  of  the  hour,  Ames 
himself  remained  calm  and  determined.  He  was  in  constant 
communication  with  the  Governor  at  Albany,  and  with  the 
municipal  officers  of  both  New  York  and  Avon.  He  had  re 
ceived  the  tidings  of  the  destruction  of  the  Pillette  family  with 
a  grim  smile.  But  the  smile  had  crystallized  into  an  expression 
of  black,  malignant  hatred  when  he  demanded  of  the  Governor 
that  the  New  York  contingent  of  the  state  guard  be  sent  at  once 
to  protect  his  property,  and  specified  that  the  bullets  used 
should  be  of  the  "dum-dum"  variety.  For  they  added  to  the 
horrors  of  death.  Such  bullets  had  been  prohibited  by  the 
rules  of  modern  warfare,  it  was  true.  But  this  was  a  class 
war.  And  Ames,  foreseeing  it  all,  had  purchased  a  hundred 
thousand  rounds  of  these  hellish  things  for  the  militia  to  ex 
change  for  those  which  the  Government  furnished.  And  then, 
as  an  additional  measure  of  precaution,  he  had  sent  Hood  and 
Collins  into  the  United  States  District  Court  and  persuaded  the 
sitting  judge  to  issue  an  injunction,  enjoining  any  possible  re 
lief  committees  from  furnishing  food  and  shelter  to  such  as 
might  enter  the  industrial  conflict  being  waged  against  him. 

Had  the  man  gone  mad?  That  he  had!  And  in  the  blood- 
red  haze  that  hung  before  his  glittering  eyes  was  framed  the 
face  of  the  girl  who  had  spurned  him  but  a  few  days  before. 
She  was  the  embodiment  of  love  that  had  crossed  his  path  and 
stirred  up  the  very  quintessence  of  evil  within  him.  From  the 
first  she  had  drawn  him.  From  the  first  she  had  aroused  with 
in  his  soul  a  conflict  of  emotions  such  as  he  had  never  known 
before.  And  from  the  night  when,  in  the  Hawley-Crowles  box 
at  the  opera  he  had  held  her  hand  and  looked  down  into  her 
fathomless  eyes,  he  had  been  tortured  with  the  conflicting  de 
sires  to  possess  that  fair  creature,  or  to  utterly  destroy  her. 

But  always  she  had  eluded  him.  Always  she  hovered  just 
within  his  grasp;  and  then  drew  back  as  his  itching  fingers 
closed.  Always  she  told  him  she  loved  him — and  he  knew  she 
lied  not.  But  such  love  was  not  his  kind.  When  he  loved,  he 
possessed  and  used.  And  such  love  had  its  price — but  not 
hers.  And  so  hope  strove  with  wrath,  and  chagrin  with  de 
spair.  She  was  a  babe!  Yet  she  conquered  him.  He  was 
omnipotent  in  this  world!  Her  strength  she  drew  from  the 
world  invisible.  And  with  it  she  had  laid  the  giant  low  and 
bound  him  with  chains. 

212 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Not  so !  Though  he  knew  now  that  she  was  lost  to  him  for 
ever;  though  with  foul  curses  he  had  seen  hope  flee;  yet  with 
it  he  had  also  bidden  every  tender  sentiment,  every  last  vestige 
of  good  depart  from  his  thought  forever  more.  And: 

" with  hope,  farewell  fear, 

Farewell  remorse:    all  good  to  me  is  lost; 
Evil,   be  thou   my  good!" 

That  same  night  Hitt's  wells  burned.  And  that  night  the 
master  slept  not,  but  sat  alone  at  his  desk  in  the  great  Fifth 
Avenue  mansion,  and  plotted  the  annihilation  of  every  human 
being  who  had  dared  oppose  his  worldly  ambitions.  Plotted, 
too,  the  further  degradation  and  final  ruin  of  the  girl  who  had 
dared  to  say  she  loved  him,  and  yet  would  not  become  his  toy. 
*»***» 

There  is  no  need  to  curse  the  iniquitous  industrial  and 
social  system  upon  which  the  unstable  fabric  of  our  civilization 
rests,  for  that  system  is  its  own  fell  curse  in  the  rotting  fruit  it 
bears.  A  bit  of  that  poisonous  fruit  had  now  dropped  from 
the  slimy  branch  at  Avon.  Up  from  the  yards  came  the  militia 
men  at  double-quick,  with  rifles  unslung  and  loaded  with  the 
satanic  Ames  bullets.  Behind  them  they  dragged  two  machine 
guns,  capable  of  discharging  three  hundred  times  a  minute. 
The  mob  had  concentrated  upon  the  central  building  of  the  mill 
group,  and  had  just  gained  entrance  through  its  shattered 
doors.  Before  them  the  guards  were  falling  slowly  back,  fight 
ing  every  inch  of  the  way.  The  dead  lay  in  heaps.  The  air 
was  thick  with  powder  smoke.  One  end  of  the  building  was  in 
flames.  The  roar  of  battle  was  deafening. 

Quickly  swinging  into  action,  the  militia  opened  upon  the 
mill  hands.  Hemmed  in  between  two  fires,  the  mob  broke  and 
fled  down  the  frozen  stream.  The  officers  of  the  guard  then 
ordered  their  men  to  join  in  the  work  of  extinguishing  the 
flames,  which  were  beginning  to  make  headway,  fanned  by  the 
strong  draft  which  swept  through  the  long  building.  Until 
dawn  they  fought  the  stubborn  fire.  Then,  the  building  saved, 
they  pitched  their  tents  and  sought  a  brief  rest. 

At  noon  the  soldiers  were  again  assembled,  for  there  re 
mained  the  task  of  arresting  the  leaders  of  the  mob  and  bring 
ing  them  to  justice.  The  town  had  been  placed  under  martial 
law  with  the  arrival  of  the  militia.  Its  streets  were  patrolled  by 
armed  guards,  and  a  strong  cordon  had  been  thrown  around 
the  shacks  which  the  mill  hands  had  hastily  erected  the  after 
noon  before.  And  now,  under  the  protection  of  a  detachment 
of  soldiers,  the  demand  was  made  for  the  unconditional  sur 
render  of  the  striking  laborers. 

Dull  terror  lay  like  a  pall  over  the  miserable  shacks  huddled 

213 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


along  the  dead  stream.  It  was  the  dull,  hopeless,  numbing  ter 
ror  of  the  victim  who  awaits  the  blow  from  the  lion's  paw  in 
the  arena.  Weeping  wives  and  mothers,  clasping  their  little 
ones  to  them,  knelt  upon  the  frozen  ground  and  crossed  them 
selves.  Young  men  drew  their  newly-wed  mates  to  their  breasts 
and  kissed  them  with  trembling  lips.  Stern,  hard-faced  men, 
with  great,  knotted  hands,  grouped  together  and  looked  out  in 
deadly  hatred  at  the  heartless  force  surrounding  them. 

Then  out  from  among  them  and  across  the  ice  went  Carmen, 
up  the  slippery  hillside,  and  straight  to  the  multi-mouthed 
machine  gun,  at  the  side  of  which  stood  Major  Camp.  She  had 
been  all  night  with  these  bewildered,  maddened  people.  She 
had  warmed  shivering  babes  at  her  own  breast.  She  had  com 
forted  widows  of  a  night,  and  newly-bereaved  mothers.  She 
had  bound  up  gaping  wounds,  and  had  whispered  tender  words 
of  counsel  and  advice.  And  they  had  clung  to  her  weeping; 
they  had  called  upon  Virgin  and  Saint  to  bless  her;  and  they 
named  her  the  Angel  of  Avon — and  the  name  would  leave  her 
no  more. 

"Take  me,"  she  said,  "take  me  into  court,  and  let  me  tell 
all." 

The  major  fell  back  in  amazement.  This  beautiful,  well- 
clad  girl  among  such  miserable  vermin! 

"You  have  demanded  their  leaders,"  she  continued.  "I  have 
been  trying  to  lead  them.  Leave  them,  and  take  me." 

The  major's  eyes  roved  over  her  face  and  figure.  He  could 
make  nothing  out  of  her  words,  but  he  motioned  to  an  aid, 
and  bade  him  place  the  girl  under  arrest. 

A  wild  shout  then  rose  from  the  shacks,  as  Carmen  moved 
quietly  away  under  guard.  It  was  the  last  roar  of  raging  de 
spair.  The  girl  was  being  taken  from  them!  A  dozen  men 
sprang  out  and  rushed,  muskets  in  hand,  up  toward  the  soldiers 
to  liberate  her.  The  major  called  to  them  to  halt.  Poor,  dull- 
witted  creatures!  Their  narrow  vision  could  comprehend  but 
one  thing  at  a  time;  and  they  saw  in  the  arrest  of  the  girl  only 
an  additional  insult  piled  upon  their  already  mountainous  in 
juries. 

The^  major  shouted  a  command.  A  roar  burst  from  the 
soldiers'  rifles.  It  was  answered  by  a  shriek  of  rage  from  the 
hovels,  and  a  murderous  return  fire.  Then  the  major  gave  an 
other  loud  command,  and  the  machine  guns  began  to  vomit 
forth  their  clattering  message  of  death. 

At  the  sound  of  shooting,  Carmen's  guard  halted.  Then  one 
of  them  fell,  pierced  by  a  bullet  from  the  strikers.  The  others 
released  the  girl,  and  hurried  back  to  the  battle  line.  Carmen 
stood  alone  for  a  moment.  Bullets  whizzed  close  about  her. 

214 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


One  sang  its  death-song  almost  in  her  ear.  Another  tore 
through  her  coat.  Then  she  turned  and  made  her  way  slowly 
up  the  hill  to  the  paralyzed  town. 

Down  in  the  vale  beneath,  Death  swung  his  scythe  with  long, 
sweeping  strokes.  The  two  machine  guns  poured  a  flaming 
sheet  of  lead  into  the  little  camp  below.  The  shacks  fell  like 
houses  of  cards.  The  tents  caught  fire,  and  were  whirled  blaz 
ing  aloft  by  the  brisk  wind.  Men  dropped  like  chaff  from  a 
mill.  Hysterical,  screaming  women  rushed  hither  and  yon  to 
save  their  young,  and  were  torn  to  shreds  by  the  merciless 
fusillade  from  above.  Babes  stood  for  a  moment  bewildered, 
and  then  sank  with  great,  gaping  wounds  in  their  little,  quiver 
ing  bodies.  And  over  all  brooded  the  spirit  of  the  great  ma 
nipulator,  Ames,  for  the  protection  of  whose  sacred  rights  such 
ghastly  work  is  done  among  civilized  men  to-day. 

****** 

That  night,  while  the  stars  above  Avon  drew  a  veil  of  gray 
between  them  and  the  earth  below,  that  they  might  not  see  the 
red  embers  and  stark  bodies,  Carmen  came  slowly,  and  with 
bent  head,  into  the  office  of  the  Express.  As  she  approached 
Hitt's  door  she  heard  him  in  earnest  conversation  with  Hay- 
nerd. 

"Yes,"  the  editor  was  saying,  "I  had  a  mortgage  placed  on 
the  Express  to-day,  but  I  couldn't  get  much.  And  it's  a  short- 
term  one,  at  that.  Stolz  refused  point  blank  to  help  us,  unless 
we  would  let  him  dictate  the  policy  of  the  paper.  No,  he 
wouldn't  buy  outright.  He's  still  fighting  Ames  for  control  of 
C.  and  R.  And  I  learn,  too,  that  the  Ketchim  case  is  called  for 
next  week.  That  probably  means  an  attempt  by  Ames  to  smoke 
Stolz  out  through  Ketchim.  It  also  means  that  Carmen — 

"Yes;  what  about  her?" 

"That  she  will  be  forced  to  go  upon  the  stand  as  a  wit 
ness." 

"Well?" 

"And  that,  as  I  read  it,  means  a  further  effort  on  Ames's 
part  to  utterly  discredit  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  us 
through  her  association  with  the  Express." 

"But — where  is  she,  Hitt?  No  word  from  her  since  we  got 
the  news  of  the  massacre  at  Avon  this  afternoon!  Nothing 
happened  to  her,  do  you  think?" 

Hitt's  face  was  serious,  and  he  did  not  answer.  Then  Car 
men  herself  came  through  the  open  door.  Both  men  rose  with 
exclamations  of  gladness  to  welcome  her.  The  girl's  eyes  were 
wet,  and  her  wonted  smile  had  gone. 

"Mr.  Hitt,"  she  said,  "I  want  a  thousand  dollars  to-night." 

"Well!"     Hitt  and  Haynerd  both  sat  down  hard. 

215 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"I  must  go  back  to  Avon  to-morrow,"  she  announced. 
"And  the  money  is  for  the — the  people  down  there."  Her 
voice  caught,  and  her  words  stumbled. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  Then  Hitt 
reached  out  and  took  her  hand.  "Tell  us,"  he  said,  "about  the 
trouble  there  to-day." 

Carmen  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  "we  will  not  talk 
about  evil.  You — you  have  the  money?  A  thousand— 

"I  have  that  much  on  deposit  in  the  bank  now,  Carmen," 
he  replied  gravely.  His  thought  was  on  the  mortgage  which  he 
had  signed  that  morning. 

"Then  write  me  a  check  at  once,  and  I  will  deposit  it  in  the 
Avon  bank  when  I  get  there  to-morrow.  I  must  go  home  now 
— to  see  mother." 

"But — let  me  think  about  it,  Carmen.  Money  is — well, 
won't  less  than  that  amount  do  you?" 

"No,  Mr.  Hitt.     Write  the  check  now." 

Hitt  sighed,  but  made  no  further  protest.  If  the  Express 
must  founder,  then  this  money  were  well  spent  on  the  stricken 
people  of  Avon.  He  took  out  his  book,  and  immediately  wrote 
the  check  and  handed  it  to  the  girl. 

"Hitt,"  said  Haynerd,  after  Carmen  had  left  them  and  he 
had  exhausted  his  protests  over  the  size  of  the  check,  "some 
thing's  killing  that  girl!  And  it  isn't  only  the  trouble  at  Avon, 
either!  What  is  it?  I  believe  you  know." 

Hitt  shook  his  head.  "She's  no  longer  in  this  world,  Ned. 
She  left  it  two  days  ago." 

"Eh?     Say!     News  about  that  Rincon  fellow?" 

But  Hitt  would  say  nothing  to  further  illuminate  his  cryptic 
remark,  and  Haynerd  soon  switched  to  the  grim  topic  of  the 
industrial  war  in  progress  at  Avon. 

"What  are  we  coming  to?"  he  cried.  "What's  going  to  be 
the  end?  A  social  and  industrial  system  such  as  ours,  which 
leaves  the  masses  to  starve  and  consume  with  disease  under 
intolerable  burdens,  that  a  handful  may  rot  in  idleness  and 
luxury,  marks  us  in  this  latest  century  as  hopelessly  insane!" 

"Well,  Ned,  whence  came  the  idea,  think  you,  that  it  is 
divine  justice  for  a  majority  of  the  people  on  earth  to  be  poor 
in  order  that  a  few  may  be  rich?  And  how  are  we  going  to  get 
that  perverted  idea  out  of  the  minds  of  men?  Will  legislation 
do  it?" 

"Humph!"  grunted  Haynerd.  "Legislation  arouses  no  faith 
in  me!  We  are  suffering  here  because,  in  our  immensely  selfish 
thought  of  ourselves  only,  we  have  permitted  the  growth  of 
such  men  as  Ames,  and  allowed  them  to  monopolize  the  coun 
try  s  resources.  Heavens !  Future  generations  will  laugh  them- 

216 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


selves  sick  over  us!  Why,  what  sane  excuse  is  there  for  per 
mitting  the  commonest  necessities  of  life  to  be  juggled  with 
by  gamblers  and  unmoral  men  of  wealth?  How  can  we  ask  to 
be  considered  rational  when  we,  with  open  eyes,  allow  'corners' 
on  foodstuffs,  and  permit  'wheat  kings'  to  amass  millions  by 
corralling  the  supply  of  grain  and  then  raising  the  price  to 
the  point  where  the  poor  washerwoman  starves?  Lord!  We 
are  a  nation  gone  mad!  The  existence  of  poverty  in  a  country 
like  America  is  not  only  proof  positive  that  our  social  system 
is  rotten  to  the  core,  but  that  our  religion  is  equally  so!  As  a 
people  we  deserve  to  be  incarcerated  in  asylums!" 

"A  considerable  peroration,  Ned,"  smiled  Hitt.  "And  yet, 
one  that  I  can  not  refute.  The  only  hope  I  see  is  in  a  radical 
change  in  the  mental  attitude  of  the  so-called  enlightened  class 
— and  yet  they  are  the  very  worst  offenders!" 

"Sure!  Doesn't  the  militia  exist  for  men  like  Ames?  To 
day's  work  at  Avon  proves  it,  I  think!" 

"Apparently  so,  Ned,"  returned  Hitt  sadly.  "And  the  only 
possibility  of  a  change  in  enlightened  people  is  through  a  better 
understanding  of  what  is  really  good  and  worth  while.  That 
means  real,  practical  Christianity.  And  of  that  Ames  knows 
nothing." 

"Seems  to  me,  Hitt,  that  it  ought  to  stagger  our  preachers  to 
realize  that  nineteen  centuries  of  their  brand  of  Christianity 
have  scarcely  even  begun  to  cleanse  society.  What  do  you 
suppose  Borwell  thinks,  anyway?" 

"Ned,  they  still  cling  to  human  law  as  necessarily  a  com 
pelling  influence  in  the  shaping  of  mankind's  moral  nature." 

"And  go  right  on  accepting  the  blood-stained  money  of 
criminal  business  men  who  have  had  the  misfortune  to  amass 
a  million  dollars!  And,  more,  they  actually  hold  such  men  up 
as  patterns  for  the  youth  to  emulate!  As  if  the  chief  end  of 
endeavor  were  to  achieve  the  glorious  manhood  of  an  Ames! 
And  he  a  man  who  is  deader  than  the  corpses  he  made  at  Avon 
to-day!" 

"The  world's  ideal,  my  friend,  has  long  been  the  man  who 
succeeds  in  everything  except  that  which  is  worth  while,"  re 
plied  Hitt.  "But  we  have  been  bidden  to  come  out  from  the 
world,  and  be  separate.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Y — e — s,  of  course.  But  I  can't  take  my  thought  from 
Avon— 

"And  thereby  you  emphasize  your  belief  in  the  reality  of 
evil." 

"Well — look  at  us!  The  Express  stands  for  righteousness. 
And  now  we  are  a  dead  duck!" 

"Then,  if  that  is  so,  why  not  resign  your  position,  Ned?  Go, 
seek  work  elsewhere." 

217 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"No,  sir!  Not  while  the  Express  has  a  leg  to  stand  on! 
Your  words  are  an  offense  to  me,  sir!" 

Hitt  rose  and  clapped  his  friend  heartily  on  the  back.  "Ned, 
old  man!  You're  a  jewel!  Things  do  look  very  dark  for  us, 
if  we  look  only  with  the  human  sense  of  vision.  But  we  are 
trying  to  look  at  the  invisible  things  within.  And  there  is  only 
perfection  there.  Come,  we  must  get  to  work.  The  Express 
still  lives." 

"But— Carmen?" 

Hitt  turned  and  faced  him.  "Ned,  Carmen  is  not  in  our 
hands.  She  is  now  completely  with  her  God.  We  must  hence 
forth  wait  on  Him." 

****** 

On  the  following  afternoon  at  three  a  little  group  of  Avon 
mill  hands  crept  past  the  guards  and  met  in  Father  Danny's 
Mission,  down  in  the  segregated  vice  district.  They  met  there 
because  they  dared  not  go  through  the  town  to  the  Hall.  Father 
Danny  was  with  them.  He  had  slipped  into  town  the  preceding 
night,  and  remained  in  hiding  through  the  day.  And  Carmen 
was  with  them,  too.  She  had  gone  first  to  the  Hall,  and  then  to 
the  Mission,  when  she  arrived  again  in  the  little  town.  And 
after  she  had  deposited  Hitt's  check  in  the  bank  she  had  asked 
Father  Danny  to  call  together  some  of  the  older  and  more  in 
telligent  of  the  mill  hands,  to  discuss  methods  of  disbursing  the 
money. 

Almost  coincident  with  her  arrival  had  come  an  order  from 
Ames  to  apprehend  the  girl  as  a  disturber  of  the  peace.  The 
hush  of  death  lay  over  Avon,  and  even  the  soldiers  now  stood 
aghast  at  their  own  bloody  work  of  the  day  before.  Carmen  had 
avoided  the  main  thoroughfares,  and  had  made  her  way  un 
recognized.  At  a  distance  she  saw  the  town  jail,  heavily 
guarded.  Its  capacity  had  been  sorely  taxed,  and  many  of  the 
prisoners  had  been  crowded  into  cold,  cheerless  store  rooms, 
and  placed  under  guards  who  stood  ready  to  mow  them  down 
at  the  slightest  threatening  gesture. 

"It's  come,  Miss  Carmen!"  whispered  Father  Danny,  after 
he  had  quietly  greeted  the  girl.  "It's  come!  It  may  be  the 
beginning  of  the  great  revolution  we've  all  known  wasn't  far 
off!  I  just  had  to  get  back  here!  They  can  only  arrest  me, 
anyway.  And,  oh,  God!  my  poor,  poor  people!" 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  But 
soon  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  "No  time  for  mollycoddling!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Come,  men,  we'll  give  you  checks,  and  do  you  get 
food  for  the  babies.  Only,  don't  buy  of  the  company  stores!" 

"We'll  have  to,  Father,"  said  one  of  them.  "It's  dangerous 
not  to." 

218 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"But  they've  never  taken  cash  from  you  there,  ye  know. 
Only  your  pay  scrip." 

"Aye,  Father,  and  they've  discounted  that  ten  per  cent  each 
time.  But  if  we  bought  at  other  stores  we  were  discharged. 
And  now  we'd  be  blacklisted." 

"Ah,  God,  that's  true!"  exclaimed  the  priest.  "But  now 
then,  Miss  Carmen,  we'll  begin." 

For  an  hour  the  girl  wrote  small  checks,  and  the  priest 
handed  them  out  to  the  eager  laborers.  They  worked  fever 
ishly,  for  they  knew  that  at  any  moment  they  might  be  appre 
hended. 

"Ah,  you  men!"  cried  Father  Danny,  at  last  unable  to  re 
strain  himself.  "Did  ye  but  know  that  this  grand  nation  is 
wholly  dependent  on  such  as  you,  its  common  people!  Not  on 
the  rich,  I  say,  the  handful  that  own  its  mills  and  mines,  but 
on  you  who  work  them  for  your  rich  masters !  But  then,  ye're 
so  ignorant!" 

"Don't,  Father!"  pleaded  Carmen,  "don't!  They  have  suf 
fered  so  much!" 

"Ah,  lass,  it's  but  love  that  I'm  dealin'  out  to  'em,  God 
knows!  And  yet,  it's  they  that  are  masters  of  the  situation, 
only  they  don't  know  it!  There's  the  pity!  They've  no  leaders, 
except  such  as  waste  their  money  and  leave  'em  in  the  ditch! 
The  world's  social  schemes,  Miss  Carmen,  don't  reach  such  as 
these.  They're  only  sops.  And  they've  got  the  contempt  of 
the  wage-earners." 

"The  Church,  Father,  could  do  much  for  these  people,  if — " 

"Don't  hesitate,  Miss  Carmen.  You  mean,  if  we  didn't  give 
all  our  thought  to  the  rich,  eh?  But  still,  it's  wholly  up  to  the 
people  themselves,  after  all.  And,  mark  me,  when  they  do  rise, 
why,  such  men  as  Ames  won't  know  what's  hit  'em!" 

The  door  was  thrown  violently  open  at  that  moment,  and  a 
squad  of  soldiers  under  the  command  of  a  lieutenant  entered. 

Carmen  and  Father  Danny  rose  and  faced  them.  The  mill 
hands  stood  like  stone  images,  their  faces  black  with  sup 
pressed  rage.  The  lieutenant  halted  his  men,  and  then  ad 
vanced  to  the  girl. 

"Is  a  woman  named  Carmen  Ariza  here?"  he  demanded 
rudely. 

"I  am  she,"  replied  the  fearless  girl. 

"Come  with  us,"  he  said  in  a  rough  voice. 

"That  she  will  not!"  cried  Father  Danny,  suddenly  pulling 
the  girl  back  and  thrusting  himself  before  her. 

The  lieutenant  raised  his  hand.  The  soldiers  advanced. 
The  mill  hands  quickly  formed  about  the  girl.  And  then,  with 
a  yell  of  rage,  they  threw  themselves  upon  the  soldiers. 

219 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


For  a  few  minutes  the  little  room  was  a  bedlam.  The 
crazed  strikers  fought  without  weapons,  except  such  as  they 
could  wrest  from  the  soldiers.  But  they  fought  to  the  death. 
One  of  them  seized  Carmen  and  threw  her  beneath  the  table  at 
which  she  had  been  working.  Above  her  raged  the  desperate 
conflict.  The  shouting  and  cursing  might  have  been  heard  for 
blocks  around.  Father  Danny  stood  in  front  of  the  table,  be 
neath  which  lay  the  girl.  He  strove  desperately  to  maintain 
his  position,  that  he  might  protect  her,  meantime  frantically 
calling  to  the  mill  hands  to  drag  her  out  to  the  rear,  and  escape 
by  the  back  door. 

In  the  midst  of  the  melee  a  soldier  mounted  a  chair  near 
the  door  and  raised  his  rifle.  The  shot  roared  out,  and  Father 
Danny  pitched  forward  to  the  floor.  Another  shot,  and  still 
another  followed  in  quick  succession.  The  strikers  fell  back. 
Confusion  seized  them.  Then  they  turned  and  fled  precipitately 
through  the  rear  exit. 

The  lieutenant  dragged  Carmen  from  beneath  the  table  and 
out  through  the  door.  Then,  assembling  his  men,  he  gave  an 
order,  and  they  marched  away  with  her  up  the  icy  street  to 
the  town  jail. 

CHAPTER  16 

WITH  the  wreckage  which  he  had  wrought  strewn  about 
him,  J.  Wilton  Ames  sat  at  his  rich  desk  far  above  the 
scampering  human  ants  in  the  streets  below  and  con 
templated  the  fell  work  of  his  own  hands.  And  often  and 
anon  as  he  looked,  great  beads  of  perspiration  welled  out  upon 
his  forehead,  and  his  breath  came  hot  and  dry.  In  the  waste 
basket  at  his  feet  lay  crumpled  the  newspapers  with  their 
shrieking,  red-lettered  versions  of  the  slaughter  at  Avon.  He 
was  not  a  coward,  this  man!  But  he  had  pushed  that  basket 
around  the  desk  out  of  his  sight,  for  when  he  looked  at  it 
something  rose  before  him  that  sent  a  chill  to  his  very  soul. 
At  times  his  vision  blurred;  and  then  he  passed  his  hands 
heavily  across  his  eyes.  He  had  chanced  to  read  in  the  grew- 
some  accounts  of  the  Avon  massacre  that  little  children  had 
been  found  among  those  fallen  shacks,  writhing  in  their  last 
agonies.  And  the  reports  had  said  that  great,  red-dripping 
holes  had  been  ripped  in  their  thin  little  bodies  by  those  awful 
"dum-dum"  bullets.  God!  Why  had  he  used  them?  And  why 
had  the  demoniac  soldiers  down  there  blown  the  brains  from 
harmless  women  and  helpless  babes?  He  really  had  not  in 
tended  to  go  so  far! 

220 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


And  yet,  he  had!  Curse  them!  The  brats  would  have 
grown  up  to  oppose  the  vested  privileges  of  the  rich!  They,  too, 
would  have  become  anarchists  and  rioters,  bent  on  leveling  the 
huge  industrial  fabric  which  such  as  he  had  so  laboriously 
erected  under  the  legal  protection  afforded  their  sacred  rights! 
He  had  done  well  to  remove  them  now!  And  the  great  captains 
of  industry  would  thank  him  for  the  example  he  had  thus 
fearlessly  set! 

To  think  of  Avon  was  for  him  now  to  think  in  terms  of 
blood.  And  yet  his  carnal  soul  hourly  wrestled  sore  with 
thoughts  of  a  wholly  different  stamp;  with  those  strange 
emotions  which  he  had  felt  when  in  Carmen's  presence;  with 
those  unfamiliar  sentiments  which,  had  he  not  fought  them 
back  so  bitterly,  might  have  made  him  anew,  and — 

But  the  remembrance  maddened  him.  His  face  grew  black, 
and  his  mouth  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  foul  imprecations  and 
threats  upon  her  and  upon  those  who  stood  with  her.  His  rage 
towered  again.  He  smote  the  desk  with  his  great  fist.  He 
fumed,  he  frothed,  he  hurled  reason  from  its  throne,  and  bade 
the  Furies  again  become  his  counselors. 

Upon  the  desk  before  him  lay  the  mortgage  papers  which 
Hitt  had  signed.  He  had  bought  the  mortgage  from  the  bank 
which  had  loaned  the  Express  the  money.  He  would  crush 
that  sheet  now,  crush  it  until  the  ink  dripped  black  from  its 
emasculated  pages!  And  when  it  fell  into  his  hands,  he  would 
turn  it  into  the  yellowest  of  sensational  journals,  and  hoot 
the  memory  of  its  present  staff  from  ocean  to  ocean! 

Then,  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  he  fell  to  wondering 
if  he  might  not  secure  a  mortgage  upon  the  Beaubien  cottage, 
and  turn  its  occupants  into  the  street.  Ah,  what  a  power  was 
money!  It  was  the  lever  by  which  he  moved  the  world,  and 
clubbed  its  dull-witted  inhabitants  into  servile  obeisance !  Who 
could  stand  against  him — 

That  girl! 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  called  Hood.  That  obedient  lackey 
hastened  into  his  master's  presence. 

"The  Ketchim  trial?"  snarled  Ames. 

"Called  for  this  week,  sir,"  replied  Hood,  glad  that  the  an 
nouncement  could  not  possibly  offend  his  superior. 

"Humph!     The— that  girl?" 

"Brought  up  from  Avon,  and  lodged  in  the  Tombs,  sir." 

"You  tell  Judge  Spencer  that  if  he  allows  her  bail  I'll  see 
that  his  federal  appointment  is  killed,  understand?" 

"You  may  rely  upon  him,  sir." 

Ames  regarded  the  man  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and 
utter  contempt,  For  Hood  stood  before  him  a  resplendent  ex- 

221 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ample  of  the  influence  of  the  most  subtle  of  all  poisons,  the  in 
sidious  lure  of  money.  Soul  and  body  he  had  prostituted  him 
self  and  his  undoubted  talents  to  it.  And  now,  were  he  to  be 
turned  adrift  by  Ames,  the  man  must  inevitably  sink  into  obliv 
ion,  squeezed  dry  of  every  element  of  genuine  manhood,  and 
weighted  with  the  unclean  lucre  for  which  his  bony  fingers 
had  always  itched. 

"Will  Cass  defend  Ketchim?"  the  master  asked. 

"Oh,  doubtless.  He  knows  most  about  the  formation  of  the 
defunct  Simiti  company." 

"Well,  see  him  and — you  say  he's  young,  and  got  a  wife  and 
baby?  Offer  him  twenty-five  thousand  to  quit  the  case." 

"I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  do,  sir,"  returned  Hood,  shaking  his 
head  dubiously.  "I've  had  men  talking  with  him  regarding  the 
trial,  and  he — 

"Then  get  him  over  here.  I'll  see  if  I  can't  persuade  him," 
growled  Ames  in  an  ugly  tone. 

Hood  bowed  and  went  out.  A  few  minutes  later  Rev 
erend  Darius  Borwell  was  ushered  into  the  financier's  private 
office. 

"Mr.  Ames,"  cried  that  gentleman  of  the  cloth,  "it's  shock 
ing,  terribly  so,  what  those  unbridled,  unprincipled  mill  hands 
have  drawn  upon  themselves  down  in  Avon!  Goodness!  And 
four  members  of  the  Church  of  the  Social  Revolution  came  to 
my  study  last  evening  and  demanded  that  I  let  them  speak  to 
my  congregation  on  the  coming  Sabbath!" 

"Well?" 

"Why,  I  told  them  certainly  not!  My  church  is  God's 
house!  And  I  shall  have  policemen  stationed  at  the  doors 
next  Sunday  to  maintain  order!  To  think  that  it  has  come  to 
this  in  America!  But,  Mr.  Ames,  is  your  house  guarded?  I 
would  advise — " 

"Nobody  can  get  within  a  block  of  my  house,  sir,  without 
ringing  a  series  of  electric  bells,"  replied  Ames  evenly.  "I  have 
fifty  guards  and  private  detectives  in  attendance  in  and  about 
my  premises  all  the  time.  My  limousine  has  been  lined  with 
sheet  steel.  And  my  every  step  is  protected.  I  am  not  afraid 
for  my  life.  I  simply  want  to  keep  going  until  I  can  carry  out 
a  few  plans  I  have  in  hand."  His  thought  had  reverted  again 
to  the  fair  girl  in  the  Tombs. 

"But  now,  Borwell,"  he  continued,  "I  want  to  talk  with  you 
about  another  matter.  I  am  drawing  up  my  will,  and — " 

"Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Ames!    You  are  not  ill?" 

Ames  thought  of  his  physician's  constantly  iterated  warn 
ing;  but  shook  his  head.  "I  may  get  caught  in  this  Avon  af 
fair,"  he  said  evasively.  "And  I  want  to  be  prepared.  The 

222 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


President  has  sent  his  message  to  Congress,  as  you  may  be 
aware.  There  are  unpleasant  suggestions  in  it  regarding  dis 
possession  in  cases  like  my  own.  I'm  coming  back  by  magnan 
imously  willing  to  Congress  a  hundred  millions,  to  stand  as  a 
fund  for  social  uplift." 

"Ah!"  sighed  the  clergyman.     Great  was  Mammon! 

"But  the  little  matter  I  wish  to  discuss  with  you  is  the  sum. 
that  I  am  setting  aside  for  the  erection  of  a  new  church  edifice," 
continued  Ames,  eying  the  minister  narrowly. 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  cried  that  worthy  gentleman,  spring 
ing  up  and  clasping  the  financier's  hand.  "Mr.  Ames!  So 
magnanimous!  Ah — the  amount?" 

"Well,  will  half  a  million  do?"  suggested  Ames. 

The  minister  reflected  a  moment.  One  should  not  be  too 
precipitate  in  accepting  tentative  benefactions.  "Ah — we 
really  should  have — ah — a  trifle  more,  Mr.  Ames.  There's  the 
settlement  home,  and  the  commons,  you  know,  and — " 

"Humph!  Well,  we'll  start  with  half  a  million,"  replied 
Ames  dryly.  "By  the  way,  you  know  Jurges,  eh?  Reverend 
William  Jurges?  Er — have  you  any  particular  influence  with 
him,  if  I  may  ask?"  His  sharp  eyes  bored  straight  through  the 
wondering  divine. 

"Why — yes — yes,  I  know  the  gentleman.  And,  as  for  in 
fluence — well,  I  may — " 

"Yes,  just  so,"  put  in  Ames.  "Now  there  is  a  trial  coming 
up  this  week,  and  Jurges  will  be  called  to  the  stand.  I  want 
you  to  give  him  the  true  facts  in  regard  to  it.  I'll  call  Hood, 
and  we'll  go  over  them  in  detail  now.  Then  you  see  Jurges 
this  afternoon,  and — say,  he's  raising  a  building  fund  too,  isn't 
he?" 

The  magnate  summoned  Hood  again;  and  for  an  hour  the 
trio  discussed  the  forthcoming  trial  of  the  unfortunate  Philip 
O.  Ketchim.  Then  Ames  dismissed  the  clergyman,  and  bade 
his  office  boy  admit  the  young  lawyer,  Cass,  who  had  come  in 
response  to  Hood's  request. 

For  some  moments  after  Cass  entered  the  office  Ames  stood 
regarding  him,  studying  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  and  how 
best  to  approach  him.  Then  he  opened  the  conversation  by  a 
casual  reference  to  the  unsatisfactory  business  situation  which 
obtained  throughout  the  country,  and  expressed  wonder  that 
young  men  just  starting  in  their  professions  managed  to  make 
ends  meet. 

"But,"  he  concluded  with  deep  significance,  "better  go  hun 
gry  than  take  on  any  class  of  business  which,  though  promising 
good  money  returns,  nevertheless  might  eventually  prove  suici 
dal."  He  looked  hard  at  the  young  lawyer  when  he  paused. 

223 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Ames,"  returned  Cass.  "But  as 
I  am  particularly  busy  this  morning,  may  I  ask  why  you  have 
sent  for  me?  Have  you  anything  that  I  can — " 

"I  have,"  abruptly  interrupted  the  financier.  "We  need  ad 
ditions  to  our  legal  staff.  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  like  to 
talk  over  the  matter  with  me,  with  a  view  to  entering  our  em 
ploy." 

"Why,  Mr.  Ames,  I — I  have  never  thought  of — "  The  young 
man's  eyes  glistened. 

"Well,  suppose  you  think  of  it  now,"  said  Ames,  smiling 
graciously.  "I  have  heard  considerable  about  you  of  late,  and 
I  must  say  I  rather  like  the  way  you  have  been  handling  your 
work." 

Cass  looked  at  him  with  rising  wonder.  The  work  which 
he  had  been  doing  of  late  was  most  ordinary  and  routine,  and 
called  for  no  display  of  legal  skill  whatever.  Suspicions  slowly 
began  to  rise. 

"I'd  hate  to  see  you  tackle  anything  at  this  stage  of  your 
career,  Mr.  Cass,  that  would  bring  discredit  upon  you.  And  I 
am  afraid  your  association  with  Ketchim  is  going  to  do  just 
that.  But  possibly  you  do  not  intend  to  handle  further  busi 
ness  for  him?" 

Ketchim,  though  long  confined  in  the  Tombs,  had  at  length 
secured  bail,  through  the  not  wholly  disinterested  efforts  of  his 
uncle,  Stolz,  the  sworn  enemy  of  Ames.  And,  because  of  his 
loyal  efforts  in  behalf  of  Ketchim,  Stolz  had  insisted  that  Cass 
be  retained  as  counsel  for  the  latter  when  his  trial  should  come 
up. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Mr.  Cass,"  said  Ames  suddenly. 
"Mr.  Hood  will  take  you  on  at  a  salary  of,  say,  five  thousand 
to  start  with.  We'll  try  you  out  for  a  few  weeks.  Then,  if  we 
don't  mutually  fit,  why,  we'll  quietly  separate  and  say  nothing. 
How  about  it?" 

Cass  thought  hard.  Half  of  that  salary  would  have  looked 
large  to  him  then.  But— 

"May  I  ask,"  he  slowly  said  in  reply,  "what  class  of  work 
Mr.  Hood  would  give  me  to  start  with?" 

"Why,  nothing  of  great  importance,  perhaps,  while  you  are 
getting  into  the  harness.  Possibly  court  work,  as  a  starter. 
You've  had  experience  in  that,  eh?" 

Cass  reflected  again.  The  temptation  was  tremendous. 
That  little  house  which  he  had  passed  and  stopped  to  look  at 
so  wistfully  every  night  on  his  way  home  was  now  within  his 
grasp. 

He  glanced  up  at  the  great  man,  sitting  so  calmly  before 
him.  Then  he  thought  suddenly  of  Avon.  Then  of  Carmen. 

224 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"Mr.  Ames,"  he  said,  "if  I  enter  your  employ,  it  must  be  with 
the  stipulation  that  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  Ketchim 
trial." 

Ames's  face  went  suddenly  dark.  "If  you  enter  my  employ, 
sir,  it  will  be  with  the  stipulation  that  you  do  as  I  say,"  he 
returned  coldly. 

And  then  the  young  lawyer  saw  through  the  mask.  And 
his  anger  flamed  high  at  what  he  discerned  behind  it.  He  rose 
and  faced  the  great  man. 

"Mr.  Ames,"  said  he,  "you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  am  poor, 
and  I  need  business.  But  I  have  not  as  yet  fallen  so  completely 
under  the  spell  of  fortune-hunting  as  to  sell  my  honor  to  a 
man  like  you!  To  enter  your  employ,  I  now  see,  would  mean 
the  total  loss  of  character  and  self  respect.  It  would  mean  a 
lowering  of  my  ideals,  whatever  they  may  be,  to  your  own 
vulgar  standard.  I  may  have  done  wrong  in  becoming  asso 
ciated  with  Mr.  Ketchim.  In  fact,  I  know  that  I  have.  But  I 
pledged  myself  to  assist  him.  And  yet,  in  doing  so,  I  scarcely 
can  blacken  my  reputation  to  the  extent  that  I  should  were  I  to 
become  your  legal  henchman.  I  want  wealth.  But  there  are 
some  terms  upon  which  even  I  can  not  accept  it.  And  your 
terms  are  among  them.  I  bid  you  good  morning." 

Ames  gave  a  snort  of  anger  when  Cass  went  out.  Summon 
ing  Hood,  he  vented  his  great  wrath  upon  that  individual's  bald 
pate.  "And  now,"  he  concluded,  "I  want  that  fellow  Cass  so 
wound  up  that  he  will  sneak  off  to  a  lonely  spot  and  commit 
suicide!  And  if  you  can't  do  it,  then  I'll  accept  your  resigna 
tion!" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Hood.  "And,  by  the  way,  Mr. 
Ames,  I  have  just  learned  that  Judge  Harris,  father  of  the 
young  man  who  came  up  with  that  girl,  is  in  Colombia.  Seems 
that  he's  taken  some  wealthy  man  down  there  to  look  at  La 
Libertad  mine." 

"What!"     Ames's  eyes  snapped  fire. 

"They  believe  you  put  one  over  on  Ketchim,  with  the  help  of 
Monsignor  Lafelle,  and  so  they've  gone  down  to  get  titles  to 
that  mine." 

"By  G— " 

"And  they  say  that—" 

"Never  mind  what  they  say !"  roared  Ames.  "Cable  Wences- 
las  at  once  to  see  that  those  fellows  remain  permanently  in  Co 
lombia.  He  has  ways  of  accomplishing  that.  Humph!  Fools! 
Judge  Harris,  eh?  Ninny!  I  guess  Wenceslas  can  block  his 
little  game!" 

His  great  frame  shook  slightly  as  he  stood  consuming  with 
rage,  and  a  slight  hemorrhage  started  from  his  nostrils.  He 

GO  225 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


turned  to  the  lavatory.     And  as  he  walked,  Hood  thought  his 

left  foot  dragged  slightly.     But  the  lawyer  made  no  comment. 

****** 

And  then,  with  the  way  well  cleared,  came  the  Ketchim 
trial,  which  has  gone  down  in  history  as  containing  the  most 
spectacular  denoument  in  the  record  of  legal  procedure  in  the 
New  World.  Had  it  been  concerned,  as  was  anticipated,  only 
with  routine  legal  procedure  against  the  man  Ketchim,  a  weak- 
souled  compound  of  feeble  sycophancy  and  low  morals,  it  would 
have  attracted  slight  attention,  and  would  have  been  spread 
upon  the  court  records  by  uninterested  clerks  with  never  a 
second  thought.  But  there  were  elements  entering  into  it  of 
whose  existence  the  outside  wrorld  could  not  have  even  dreamed. 
Into  it  converged  threads  which  now  may  be  traced  back  to 
scenes  and  events  in  three  continents;  threads  \vhose  intricate 
windings  led  through  trackless  forest  and  dim-lit  church; 
through  court  of  fashion  and  hut  of  poverty;  back  through  the 
dark  mazes  of  mortal  thought,  where  no  light  shines  upon  the 
carnal  aims  and  aspirations  of  the  human  mind;  back  even  to 
the  doors  of  a  palace  itself,  even  to  the  proudest  throne  of  the 
Old  World. 

But  none  of  these  elements  found  expression  in  the  indict 
ment  against  the  frightened  defendant,  the  small-visioned  man 
who  had  sought  to  imitate  the  mighty  Ames,  and  yet  who 
lacked  sufficient  intelligence  of  that  sort  which  manifests  in 
such  a  perversion  of  skill  and  power.  Ames  was  a  tremendous 
corruptionist,  who  stood  beyond  the  laws  simply  because  of 
the  elemental  fact  that  he  himself  made  those  laws.  Ketchim 
was  a  plain  deceiver.  And  his  deception  was  religious  fervor. 
Mingling  his  theology  with  fraud,  he  employed  the  unholy 
alliance  for  the  purpose  of  exploiting  the  credulous  who  at 
tended  his  prayer  meetings  and  commented  with  bated  breath 
upon  his  beautiful  showing  of  religious  zeal.  He  was  but  one 
of  a  multitude  afflicted  with  the  "dollar  mania."  His  mis 
fortune  was  that  his  methods  were  so  antique  that  they  could 
not  long  fail  of  detection.  And  it  was  because  of  his  use  of 
the  mails  for  the  purpose  of  deceit  that  the  indictment  had^ 
been  drawn  against  Philip  O.  Ketchim  et  al.  by  the  long-suffer 
ing,  tolerant  complainant,  called  the  people. 

Nominally  the  people's  interests  were  in  the  hands  of  the 
Public  Prosecutor,  a  certain  smug  young  worldling  named 
Ellis.  But,  as  that  gentleman  owed  his  appointment  to  Ames, 
is  not  surprising  that  at  his  right  hand  sat  Hood  and  his 
well  trained  staff.  Nominally,  too,  Judge  Spencer  conducted  the 
trial  strictly  upon  its  merits,  not  all  of  which  lay  with  the  peo 
ple.  But  the  judge  might  have  been  still  prosecuting  petty  cases 

226 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


back  in  the  unknown  little  district  from  which  he  came,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  great  influence  of  Ames,  long  since,  who  had 
found  him  on  a  certain  occasion  useful.  And  so  the  jury  panel 
contained  none  but  those  who,  we  may  be  very  sure,  were 
amenable  to  the  tender  pressure  of  a  soft  hand  lined  with  yellow 
gold.  And  only  those  points  of  evidence  were  sustained  which 
conduced  to  the  incrimination  of  the  miserable  defendant. 
Ketchim  was  doomed  before  the  trial  began. 

And  yet,  to  subserve  the  dark  schemes  of  Ames,  and  to 
lengthen  the  period  of  torture  to  which  his  victims  should  be 
subjected,  the  trial  was  dragged  through  many  days.  Besides, 
even  he  and  his  hirelings  were  bound  to  observe  the  formalities. 

It  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Cass  that  no  effort  had  been 
made  to  procure  bail  for  Carmen  after  her  arrest.  The  dramat 
ic  may  always  be  relied  upon  to  carry  a  point  which  even  plain 
evidence  negatives.  And  she,  acquiescing  in  the  suggestion, 
remained  a  full  two  weeks  in  the  Tombs  before  Ames's  eager 
counsel  found  their  opportunity  to  confront  her  on  the  witness 
stand  and  besmirch  her  with  their  black  charges.  The  Beau- 
bien  was  prostrated.  But,  knowing  that  for  her  another  hour 
of  humiliation  and  sorrow  had  come,  she  strove  mightily  to 
summon  her  strength  for  its  advent.  Father  Waite  toiled  with 
Cass  day  and  night.  Hitt  and  Haynerd,  without  financial  re 
sources,  pursued  their  way,  grim  and  silent.  The  Express  was 
sinking  beneath  its  mountainous  load.  And  they  stood  at  the 
helm,  stanch  to  their  principles,  not  yielding  an  iota  to  offers 
of  assistance  in  exchange  for  a  reversal  of  the  policy  upon 
which  the  paper  had  been  launched. 

"We're  going  down,  Hitt,"  said  Haynerd  grimly.  "But  we 
go  with  the  flag  flying  at  the  mast!" 

Yet  Hitt  answered  not.  He  was  learning  to  know  as  did 
Carmen,  and  to  see  with  eyes  which  were  invisible. 

It  was  just  when  the  jury  had  been  impaneled,  after  long 
days  of  petty  wrangling  and  childish  recrimination  among  the 
opposing  lawyers,  that  Stolz  came  to  Ames  and  laid  down  his 
sword.  The  control  of  C.  and  R.  should  pass  unequivocally  to 
the  latter  if  he  would  but  save  Ketchim  from  prison. 

Then  Ames  lay  back  and  roared  with  laughter  over  his 
great  triumph.  C.  andR!  Poof!  He  would  send  Stolz' nephew 
to  prison,  and  then  roll  a  bomb  along  Wall  Street  whose  de 
tonation  would  startle  the  financial  world  clean  out  of  its  orbit! 
Stolz  had  failed  to  notice  that  Ames's  schemes  had  so  signally 
worked  out  that  C.  and  R.  was  practically  in  his  hands  now! 
The  defeated  railroad  magnate  at  length  backed  out  of  the 
Ames  office  purple  with  rage.  And  then  he  pledged  himself  to 
hypothecate  his  entire  fortune  to  the  rescue  of  his  worthless 
nephew. 

227 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Thus,  in  deep  iniquity,  was  launched  the  famous  trial,  a 
process  of  justice  in  name  only,  serving  as  an  outlet  for  a  single 
man's  long  nurtured  personal  animosities.  The  adulterous 
union  of  religion  and  business  was  only  nominally  before  the 
bar.  The  victims,  not  the  defendant  only,  not  the  preachers,  the 
washerwomen,  the  factory  girls,  the  widows,  and  the  orphans, 
whose  life  savings  Ketchim  had  drawn  into  his  net  by  the  lure 
of  pious  benedictions,  but  rather  those  unfortunates  who  had 
chanced  to  incur  the  malicious  hatred  of  the  great,  legalized 
malefactor,  Ames,  by  opposition  to  his  selfish  caprice,  and 
whose  utter  defeat  and  discrediting  before  the  public  would 
now  place  the  crown  of  righteous  expediency  upon  his  own 
chicanery  and  extortion  and  his  wantonly  murderous  deeds. 

The  prosecution  scored  from  the  beginning.  Doctor  Jurges, 
utterly  confused  by  the  keen  lawyers,  and  vainly  endeavoring 
to  follow  the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  while  attempting  to 
reconcile  them  with  his  many  talks  with  Darius  Borwell,  gave 
testimony  which  fell  little  short  of  incriminating  himself.  For 
there  were  produced  letters  which  he  had  written  to  members 
of  his  congregation,  and  which  for  subtlety  and  deception, 
though  doubtless  innocently  done,  would  have  made  a  sea 
soned  promoter  look  sharp  to  his  own  laurels. 

Then  Harris  was  called.  He  had  been  summoned  from 
Denver  for  the  trial.  But  his  stuttering  evidence  gave  no  ad 
vantage  to  either  side.  And  then — crowning  blunder! — Cass 
permitted  Ketchim  himself  -to  take  the  stand.  And  the  fright 
ened,  trembling  broker  gave  his  own  cause  such  a  blow  that 
the  prosecution  might  well  have  asked  the  judge  to  take  the 
case  from  the  jury  then  and  there.  It  was  a  legal  faux  pas; 
and  Cass  walked  the  floor  and  moaned  the  whole  night  through. 

Then,  as  per  program,  the  prosecution  called  Madam  Beau- 
bien.  Could  not  that  sorrowing  woman  have  given  testimony 
which  would  have  aided  the  tottering  defense,  and  unmasked 
the  evil  genius  which  presided  over  this  mock  trial?  Ah,  yes,  in 
abundance!  But  not  one  point  would  the  judge  sustain  when 
it  bordered  upon  forbidden  territory.  It  was  made  plain  to 
her  that  she  was  there  to  testify  against  Ketchim,  and  to  per 
mit  the  Ames  lawyers  to  bandy  her  own  name  about  the  court 
room  upon  the  sharp  points  of  their  cruel  cross-questions  and 
low  insinuations. 

But,  she  protested,  her  knowledge  of  the  Simiti  company's 
affairs  had  come  through  another  person. 

And  who  might  that  be? 

Mr.  J.  Wilton  Ames. 

Ah!  But  Mr.  Ames  should  give  his  own  testimony — for 
was  it  not  he  who  had,  not  long  since,  legally  punished  the 

228 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


witness  on  a  charge  of  defamation  of  character?  The  witness 
was  dismissed.  And  the  spectators  knew  that  it  was  because 
the  righteous  prosecution  could  no  longer  stain  its  hands  with 
one  who  bore  such  a  tarnished  name  as  she. 

And  then,  taunted  and  goaded  to  exasperation,  the  wronged 
woman  burst  into  tears  and  flayed  the  bigamist  Ames  there 
before  the  court  room  crowded  with  eager  society  ladies  and 
curious,  non-toiling  men.  Flayed  him  as  men  are  seldom 
flayed  and  excoriated  by  the  women  they  trample.  The  bailiffs 
seized  her,  and  dragged  her  into  an  ante-room;  the  judge  broke 
his  gavel  rapping  for  order,  and  threatened  to  clear  the  court; 
and  then  Cass,  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  avoid  battle 
with  seasoned  warriors,  rose  and  demanded  that  Madam  Beau- 
bien  be  returned  to  the  stand. 

The  astonished  judge  hesitated.  Cass  stood  his  ground.  He 
turned  to  the  people,  as  if  seeking  their  support.  A  great  mur 
mur  arose  through  the  court  room.  The  judge  looked  down  at 
Ames.  That  man,  sitting  calm  and  unimpassioned,  nodded  his 
head  slightly.  And  the  woman  was  led  back  to  the  chair. 

"It  may  have  an  important  bearing  upon  the  case,  Your 
Honor!"  cried  the  young  lawyer  for  the  defense.  "Mr.  Ames 
is  to  take  the  stand  as  an  important  witness  in  this  case.  If 
Madam  Beaubien  brings  such  a  charge  against  him,  it  gives  us 
reason  to  believe  his  honor  peccable,  and  his  testimony  open 
to  suspicion!" 

It  was  a  daring  statement,  and  the  whole  room  gasped,  and 
held  its  breath. 

"I  object,  Your  Honor!"  shouted  the  chief  prosecutor,  Ellis. 
"The  lawyer  for  the  defense  is  in  contempt  of  court!  Madam 
Beaubien  has  been  shown  to  be  a — " 

"The  objection  is  sustained!"  called  the  judge.  "The  charge 
is  utterly  irrelevant!  Order  in  the  court!" 

"His  first  wife's  portrait — is  in  a  glass  window — in  his 
yacht!"  cried  the  hysterical  Beaubien.  Then  she  crumpled  up 
in  a  limp  mass,  and  was  led  from  the  chair  half  fainting. 

At  the  woman's  shrill  words  a  white-haired  man,  dressed 
in  black,  clerical  garb,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  rear  of  the 
room  close  to  the  door,  rose  hastily,  then  slowly  sat  down  again. 
At  his  feet  reposed  a  satchel,  bearing  several  foreign  labels. 
Evidently  he  had  but  just  arrived  from  distant  lands. 

Consternation  reigned  throughout  the  room  for  a  few  min 
utes.  Then  Cass,  believing  that  the  psychological  moment  had 
arrived,  loudly  called  Carmen  Ariza  to  the  stand.  The  dramatic 
play  must  be  continued,  now  that  it  had  begun.  The  battle 
which  had  raged  back  and  forth  for  long,  weary  days,  could  be 
won,  if  at  all,  only  by  playing  upon  the  emotions  of  the  jury, 

229 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


for  the  evidence  thus  far  given  had  resulted  in  showing  not 
only  the  defense,  but  likewise  the  Beaubien,  and  all  who  had 
been  associated  with  the  Simiti  company,  including  Cass  him 
self,  to  be  participators  in  gross,  intentional  fraud. 

The  remaining  witness,  the  girl  herself,  had  been  purposely 
neglected  by  the  prosecution,  for  the  great  Ames  had  planned 
that  she  must  be  called  by  the  defense.  Then  would  he  bring 
up  the  prostitute,  Jude,  and  from  her  wring  testimony  which 
must  blast  forever  the  girl's  already  soiled  name.  Following 
her,  he  would  himself  take  the  stand,  and  tell  of  the  girl's  visits 
to  his  office;  of  her  protestations  of  love  for  him;  of  her  em 
bracing  him;  and  of  a  thousand  indiscretions  which  he  had 
carefully  garnered  and  stored  for  this  triumphant  occasion. 

But  the  judge,  visibly  perturbed  by  the  dramatic  turn  which 
the  case  seemed  to  be  taking,  studied  his  watch  for  a  moment, 
then  Ames's  face,  and  then  abruptly  adjourned  court  until  the 
following  day.  Yet  not  until  Cass  had  been  recognized,  and  the 
hounded  girl  summoned  from  her  cell  in  the  Tombs,  to  take  the 
stand  in  the  morning  for — her  life ! 


CHAPTER  17 

IN  the  days  to  come,  W7hen  the  divine  leaven  which  is  in  the 
wyorld  to-day  shall  have  brought  more  of  the  carnal  mind's 
iniquity  to  the  surface,  that  the  Sun  of  Truth  may  destroy 
the  foul  germs,  there  shall  be  old  men  and  women,  and  they 
which,  looking  up  from  their  work,  peep  and  mutter  of  strange 
things  long  gone,  who  shall  fall  wonderingly  silent  when  they 
have  told  again  of  the  fair  young  girl  who  walked  alone  into 
the  crowded  court  room  that  cold  winter's  morning.    And  their 
stories  will  vary  with  the  telling,  for  no  two  might  agree  what 
manner  of  being  it  was  that  came  into  their  midst  that  day. 

Even  the  bailiffs,  as  if  moved  by  some  strange  prescience, 
had  fallen  back  and  allowed  her  to  enter  alone.  The  buzz  of 
subdued  chatter  ceased,  and  a  great  silence  came  over  all  as 
they  looked.  Some  swore,  in  awed  whispers,  when  the  dramatic 
day  had  ended,  and  judge  and  jury  and  wrangling  lawyer  had 
silently,  and  with  bowed  heads,  gone  quiet  and  thoughtful  each 
to  his  home,  that  a  nimbus  encircled  her  beautiful  head  when 
she  came  through  the  door  and  faced  the  gaping  multitude. 
Some  said  that  her  eyes  were  raised;  that  she  saw  not  earthly 
things;  and  that  a  heavenly  presence  moved  beside  her.  Nor 
may  we  lightly  set  aside  these  tales;  for,  after  the  curtain  had 
fallen  upon  the  wonderful  scene  about  to  be  enacted,  there  was 

230 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


not  one  present  who  would  deny  that,  as  the  girl  came  into  the 
great  room  and  went  directly  to  the  witness  chair,  God  himself 
walked  at  her  side  and  held  her  hand. 

"Be  strong  and  of  a  good  courage;  be  not  afraid,  neither  be 
thou  dismayed:  for  the  Lord  thy  God  is  with  thee  whitherso 
ever  thou  goest." 

Through  the  mind  of  that  same  white-haired  man  in  the 
clerical  garb  ran  these  words  as  he  watched  the  girl  move  si 
lently  across  the  room.  She  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  new 
meaning  to  him  since  the  previous  day.  And  as  he  looked,  his 
eyes  grew  moist,  and  he  drew  out  his  handkerchief. 

But  his  were  not  the  only  eyes  that  had  filled  then.  Hitt 
and  Haynerd  bent  their  heads,  that  the  people  might  not  see; 
Miss  Wall  and  the  Beaubien  wept  silently,  and  with  no  attempt 
to  stay  their  grief;  Jude  buried  her  head  in  her  hands,  and 
rocked  back  and  forth,  moaning  softly.  Why  they  wept,  they 
knew  not.  A  welter  of  conflicting  emotions  surged  through 
their  harassed  souls.  They  seemed  to  have  come  now  to  the 
great  crisis.  And  which  way  the  tide  would  turn  rested  with 
this  lone  girl. 

For  some  moments  after  she  was  seated  the  silence  re 
mained  unbroken.  And  as  she  sat  there,  waiting,  she  looked 
down  at  the  man  who  sought  to  destroy  what  he  might  not  pos 
sess.  Some  said  afterward  that  as  she  looked  at  him  she 
smiled.  Who  knows  but  that  the  Christ  himself  smiled  down 
from  the  cross  at  those  who  had  riven  his  great  heart? 

But  Ames  did  not  meet  her  glance.  Somehow  he  dared  not. 
He  was  far  from  well  that  morning,  and  an  ugly,  murderous 
mood  possessed  him.  And  yet,  judged  by  the  world's  standards, 
he  had  tipped  the  crest  of  success.  He  had  conquered  all.  Men 
came  and  \vent  at  his  slightest  nod.  His  coffers  lay  bursting 
with  their  heavy  treasure.  He  was  swollen  with  wealth,  with 
material  power,  with  abnormal  pride.  His  tender  sensibilities 
and  sympathies  were  happily  completely  ossified,  and  he  was 
stone  deaf  and  blind  to  the  agonies  of  a  suffering  world.  Not 
a  single  aim  but  had  been  realized;  not  a  lone  ambition  but  had 
been  met.  Even  the  armed  camp  at  Avon,  and  the  little  wooden 
crosses  over  the  fresh  mounds  there,  all  testified  to  his  om 
nipotence;  and  in  them,  despite  their  horrors,  he  felt  a  satisfy 
ing  sense  of  his  own  great  might. 

The  clerk  held  up  the  Bible  for  the  girl  to  give  her  oath. 
She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  smiled.  "I  will 
tell  the  truth,"  she  said  simply. 

The  officer  hesitated,  and  looked  up  at  the  judge.  But  the 
latter  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl.  The  clerk  did  not 
press  the  point;  and  Carmen  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
the  lawyers. 

231 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Cass  hesitated.  He  knew  not  how  to  begin.  Then,  yielding 
to  a  sudden  impulse,  he  asked  the  girl  to  mention  briefly  the 
place  of  her  birth,  her  parentage,  and  other  statistical  data, 
leading  up  to  her  association  with  the  defendant. 

The  story  that  followed  was  simply  given.  It  was  but  the 
one  she  had  told  again  and  again.  Yet  the  room  hung  on  her 
every  word.  And  when  she  had  concluded,  Cass  turned  her 
back  again  to  Simiti,  and  to  Rosendo's  share  in  the  mining 
project  which  had  ultimated  in  this  suit. 

A  far-away  look  came  into  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  spoke  of 
that  great,  black  man  who  had  taken  her  from  desolate  Badillo 
into  his  own  warm  heart.  There  were  few  dry  eyes  among  the 
spectators  when  she  told  of  his  selfless  love.  And  when  she 
drew  the  portrait  of  him,  standing  alone  in  the  cold  mountain 
water,  far  up  in  the  jungle  of  Guamoco,  bending  over  the  laden 
batea,  and  toiling  day  by  day  in  those  ghastly  solitudes,  that 
she  might  be  protected  and  educated  and  raised  above  her 
primitive  environment  in  Simiti,  there  were  sobs  heard  through 
out  the  room;  and  even  the  judge,  hardened  though  he  was  by 
conflict  with  the  human  mind,  removed  his  glasses  and  loudly 
cleared  his  throat  as  he  wiped  them. 

Ames  first  grew  weary  as  he  listened,  and  then  exasperated. 
His  lawyer  at  length  rose  to  object  to  the  recital  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  largely  irrelevant  to  the  case.  And  the  judge,  pulling 
himself  together,  sustained  the  objection.  Cass  sat  down.  Then 
the  prosecution  eagerly  took  up  the  cross-examination.  Ames's 
hour  had  come. 

"Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow;  for  thou  knowest  not 
what  a  day  may  bring  forth,"  murmured  the  white-haired  man 
in  the  clerical  garb  far  back  in  the  crowded  room.  Had  he 
learned  the  law  of  Truth  to  error,  "Thou  shalt  surely  die"? 
Did  he  discern  the  vultures  gnawing  at  the  rich  man's  vitals? 
Did  he,  too,  know  that  this  giant  of  privilege,  so  insolently 
flaunting  his  fleeting  power,  his  blood-stained  wealth  and  his 
mortal  pride,  might  as  well  seek  to  dim  the  sun  in  heaven  as  to 
escape  the  working  of  those  infinite  divine  laws  which  shall  ef 
fect  the  destruction  of  evil  and  the  establishment  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  even  here  upon  earth? 

Ames  leaned  over  to  whisper  to  Hood.  The  latter  drew 
Ellis  down  and  transmitted  his  master's  instructions.  The 
atmosphere  grew  tense,  and  the  hush  of  expectancy  lay  over 
all. 

"Miss  Carmen,"  began  Ellis  easily,  "your  parentage  has 
been  a  matter  of  some  dispute,  if  I  mistake  not,  and — " 

Cass  was  on  his  feet  to  object.  What  had  this  question  to 
do  with  the  issue? 

232 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


But  the  judge  overruled  the  objection.  That  was  what  he 
was  there  for.  Cass  should  have  divined  it  by  this  time. 

"H'm!"  Ellis  cleared  his  throat  and  adjusted  his  glasses. 
"And  your  father,  it  is  said,  was  a  negro  priest.  I  believe  that 
has  been  accepted  for  some  time.  A  certain  Diego,  if  I  recall 
correctly." 

"I  never  knew  my  earthly  father,"  replied  Carmen  in  a  low 
voice. 

"But  you  have  admitted  that  it  might  have  been  this  Diego, 
have  you  not?" 

"It  might  have  been,"  returned  the  girl,  looking  off  absently 
toward  the  high  windows. 

"Did  he  not  claim  you  as  his  daughter?"  pursued  the  lawyer. 

"Yes,"  softly. 

"Now,"  continued  Ellis,  "that  being  reasonably  settled,  is  it 
not  also  true  that  you  used  the  claim  of  possessing  this  mine, 
La  Libertad,  as  a  pretext  for  admission  to  society  here  in  New 
York?" 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  but  only  smiled  pityingly  at  him. 
He,  too,  had  bartered  his  soul;  and  in  her  heart  there  rose  a 
great  sympathy  for  him  in  his  awful  mesmerism. 

"And  that  you  claimed  to  be  an  Inca  princess?"  went  on 
the  merciless  lawyer. 

"Answer!"  admonished  the  judge,  looking  severely  down 
upon  the  silent  girl. 

Carmen  sighed,  and  drew  her  gaze  away  from  the  windows. 
She  was  weary,  oh,  so  weary  of  this  unspeakable  mockery.  And 
yet  she  was  there  to  prove  her  God. 

"I  would  like  to  ask  this  further  question,"  Ellis  resumed, 
without  waiting  for  her  reply.  "Were  you  not  at  one  time  in 
a  resort  conducted  by  Madam  Cazeau,  down  on — 

He  stopped  short.  The  girl's  eyes  were  looking  straight 
into  his,  and  they  seemed  to  have  pierced  his  soul.  "I  am 
sorry  for  you,"  she  said  gently,  "oh,  so  sorry!  Yes,  I  was  once 
in  that  place." 

The  man  knew  not  whether  to  smile  in  triumph  or  hide  his 
head  in  shame.  He  turned  to  Hood.  But  Hood  would  not  look 
at  him.  Ames  alone  met  his  embarrassed  glance,  and  sent 
back  a  command  to  continue  the  attack. 

Cass  again  rose  and  voiced  his  protest.  What  possible  rela 
tion  to  the  issue  involved  could  such  testimony  have?  But 
the  judge  bade  him  sit  down,  as  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution 
doubtless  was  bringing  out  facts  of  greatest  importance. 

Ellis  again  cleared  his  throat  and  bent  to  his  loathsome 
task.  "Now,  Miss  Ariza,  in  reference  to  your  labors  to  incite 
the  mill  hands  at  Avon  to  deeds  of  violence,  the  public  con- 

233 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


siders  that  as  part  of  a  consistent  line  of  attack  upon  Mr. 
Ames,  in  which  you  were  aiding  others  from  whom  you  took 
your  orders.  May  I  ask  you  to  cite  the  motives  upon  which  you 
acted?" 

Cass  sank  back  in  abject  despair.  Ketchim  was  being  for 
gotten! 

"We  have  not  attacked  Mr.  Ames,"  she  slowly  replied,  "but 
only  the  things  he  stands  for.  But  you  wouldn't  understand." 

Ellis  smiled  superciliously.  "A  militant  brand  of  social 
uplift,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  Mr.  Ellis,  but  just  Christianity." 

"H'm.  And  that  is  the  sort  of  remedy  that  anarchists  apply 
to  industrial  troubles,  is  it  not?" 

"There  is  no  remedy  for  industrial  troubles  but  Christian 
ity,"  she  said  gently.  "Not  the  burlesque  Christianity  of  our 
countless  sects  and  churches;  not  Roman  Catholicism;  not 
Protestantism;  nor  any  of  the  fads  and  fancies  of  the  human 
mind;  but  just  the  Christianity  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  who  knew 
that  the  human  man  was  not  God's  image,  but  only  stood  for 
it  in  the  mortal  consciousness.  And  he  always  saw  behind  this 
counterfeit  the  real  man,  the  true  likeness  of  God.  And— 

"You  are  diverging  from  the  subject  proper  and  consuming 
time,  Miss  Ariza!"  interrupted  the  judge  sternly. 

Carmen  did  not  heed  him,  but  continued  quietly: 

"And  it  was  just  such  a  man  that  Jesus  portrayed  in  his 
daily  walk  and  words." 

"Miss  Ariza!"  again  commanded  the  judge. 

"No,"  the  girl  went  calmly  on,  "Jesus  did  not  stand  for  the 
intolerance,  the  ignorance,  the  bigotry,  the  hatred,  and  the 
human  hypothesis,  the  fraud,  and  chicanery,  and  the  'Who 
shall  be  greatest?'  of  human  institutions.  Nor  did  he  make  evil 
a  reality,  as  mortals  do.  He  knew  it  seemed  awfully  real  to  the 
deceived  human  consciousness;  but  he  told  that  consciousness 
to  be  not  afraid.  And  then  he  went  to  work  and  drove  out  the 
belief  of  evil  on  the  basis  of  its  nothingness  and  its  total  lack 
of  principle.  The  orthodox  churches  and  sects  of  to-day  do 
not  do  that.  Oh.no!  They  strive  for  world  dominion!  Their 
kingdom  is  wholly  temporal,  and  is  upheld  by  heartless  mil 
lionaires,  and  by  warlike  kings  and  emperors.  Their  tenets 
shame  the  intelligence  of  thinking  men!  Yet  they  have  slain 
tens  of  millions  to  establish  them!" 

What  could  the  Court  do?  To  remove  the  girl  meant  de 
priving  Ames  of  his  prey.  But  if  she  remained  upon  the  stand, 
she  would  put  them  all  to  confusion,  for  they  had  no  means  of 
silencing  her.  The  judge  looked  blankly  at  Ames;  his  hands 
were  tied. 

234 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


Ellis  hurried  to  change  the  current  of  her  talk  by  interpos 
ing  another  question. 

"Will  you  tell  us,  Miss  Carmen,  why  you  have  been  work 
ing— 

"I  have  been  working  for  God,"  she  interrupted.  Her  voice 
was  low  and  steady,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  a  light  that  men 
are  not  wont  to  see  in  those  of  their  neighbors.  "I  have  not 
been  working  for  men.  He  alone  is  my  employer.  And  for 
Him  I  am  here  to-day." 

Consternation  was  plainly  discernible  in  the  camp  of  the 
prosecution.  Cass  knew  now  that  he  need  make  no  more  ob 
jections.  The  defense  had  passed  from  his  hands. 

At  this  juncture  James  Ketchim,  brother  of  the  defendant, 
thinking  to  relieve  the  strain  and  embarrassment,  gave  audible 
voice  to  one  of  his  wonted  witticisms.  All  turned  to  look  at 
him.  But  the  effect  was  not  what  he  had  anticipated.  No  one 
laughed. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Mr.  Ketchim!"  roared  the  exasperated 
judge,  bending  far  over  his  desk.  "You  are  just  a  smart  little 
fool!"  And  the  elder  Ketchim  retired  in  chagrin  and  confusion. 

"Miss  Carmen,"  pursued  Ellis,  eager  to  recover  his  advan 
tage,  for  he  saw  significant  movements  among  the  jury,  "do 
you  not  think  the  unfortunate  results  at  Avon  quite  prove  that 
you  have  allied  yourself  with  those  who  oppose  the  nation's 
industrial  progress?" 

Carmen  sat  silent.  Order  had  now  been  restored  in  the 
court  room,  and  Ellis  was  feeling  sure  of  himself  again. 

"You  have  opposed  the  constructive  development  of  our 
country's  resources  by  your  assaults  upon  men  of  wealth,  like 
Mr.  Ames,  for  example,  have  you  not?" 

Then  the  girl  opened  her  mouth,  and  from  it  came  words 
that  fell  upon  the  room  like  masses  of  lead.  "I  stand  opposed 
to  any  man,  Mr.  Ellis,  who,  to  enrich  himself,  and  for  the  pur 
pose  of  revenge,  spreads  the  boll  weevil  in  the  cotton  fields  of 
the  South." 

Dull  silence  descended  upon  the  place.  And  yet  it  was  a 
silence  that  fell  crashing  upon  Ames's  straining  ears.  He  sat 
for  a  moment  stunned;  then  sprang  to  his  feet.  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  him.  He  held  out  a  hand,  and  made  as  if  to 
speak;  then  sank  again  into  his  chair. 

Ellis  stood  as  if  petrified.  Then  Hood  rose  and  whispered  to 
him.  Ellis  collected  himself,  and  turned  to  the  judge. 

"Your  Honor,  we  regret  to  state  that,  from  the  replies  which 
Miss  Ariza  has  given,  we  do  not  consider  her  mentally  compe 
tent  as  a  witness.  We  therefore  dismiss  her." 

But  Cass  had  leaped  to  the  floor.  "Your  Honor!"  he  cried. 
"I  should  like  to  examine  the  witness  further!" 

235 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"She  is  dismissed!"  returned  the  judge,  glowering  over  his 
spectacles  at  the  young  lawyer. 

"I  stand  on— 

"Sit  down!"  the  judge  bellowed. 

"Miss  Carmen!"  called  Cass  through  the  rising  tumult,  "the 
lawyer  for  the  prosecution  has  heaped  insults  upon  you  in  his 
low  references  to  your  parentage.  Will  you — 

The  judge  pounded  upon  his  desk  with  the  remnant  of  his 
broken  gavel.  Then  he  summoned  the  bailiffs. 

"I  shall  order  the  room  cleared!"  he  called  in  a  loud, 
threatening  voice. 

The  murmur  subsided.  The  judge  sat  down  and  mopped  his 
steaming  face.  Hood  and  Ellis  bent  in  whispered  consultation. 
Ames  was  a  study  of  wild,  infuriated  passion.  Cass  stood  de 
fiantly  before  the  bar.  Carmen  sat  quietly  facing  the  crowded 
room.  She  had  reached  up  and  was  fondling  the  little  locket 
which  hung  at  her  throat.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
worn  it.  It  was  not  a  pretty  piece  of  jewelry;  and  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  to  wear  it  until  that  day.  Nor  would  she  have 
thought  of  it  then,  had  not  the  Beaubien  brought  it  to  the 
Tombs  the  night  before  in  a  little  box  with  some  papers  which 
the  girl  had  called  for.  Why  she  had  put  it  on,  she  could  not 
say. 

Slowly,  while  the  silence  continued  unbroken,  the  girl  drew 
the  slender  chain  around  in  front  of  her  and  unclasped  it. 

"I — I  never — knew  my  parents,"  she  murmured  musingly, 
looking  down  lovingly  at  the  little  locket.  Then  she  opened  it 
and  sat  gazing,  rapt  and  absorbed,  at  the  two  little  portraits 
within.  "But  there  are  their  pictures,"  she  suddenly  an 
nounced,  holding  the  locket  out  to  Cass. 

It  was  said  afterward  that  never  in  the  history  of  legal 
procedure  in  New  York  had  that  court  room  held  such  dead 
silence  as  when  Cass  stood  bending  over  the  faces  of  the  girl's 
earthly  parents,  portrayed  in  the  strange  little  locket  which 
Rosendo  had  taken  from  Badillo  years  before.  Never  had  it 
known  such  a  tense  moment;  never  had  the  very  air  itself 
seemed  so  filled  with  a  mighty,  unseen  presence,  as  on  that 
day  and  in  that  crisal  hour. 

Without  speaking,  Hood  rose  and  looked  over  Cass's  shoul 
der  at  the  locket.  A  muffled  cry  escaped  him,  and  he  turned 
and^stared  at  Ames.  The  judge  bent  shaking  over  his  desk. 

"Mr.  Hood!"  he  exclaimed.  "Have  you  ever  seen  those  pic 
tures  before?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Hood  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  heard. 

"Where,  sir?" 

Hood  seemed  to  have  frozen  to  the  spot.  His  hands  shook, 
and  his  words  gibbered  from  his  trembling  lips. 

236 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"The — the  woman's  portrait,  sir — is — is — the  one  in — in 
Mr.  Ames's  yacht!" 

"My  God!" 

The  piercing  cry  rang  through  the  still  room  like  a  lost 
soul's  despairing  wail.  Ames  had  rushed  from  his  seat,  over 
turning  his  chair,  thrusting  the  lawyers  aside,  and  seized  the 
locket.  For  a  moment  he  peered  wildly  into  it.  It  seemed  as 
if  his  eyes  would  devour  it,  absorb  it,  push  themselves  clean 
through  it,  in  their  eagerness  to  grasp  its  meaning. 

Then  he  looked  up.  His  eyes  were  red;  his  face  ashen;  his 
lips  white.  His  unsteady  glance  met  the  girl's.  His  mouth 
opened,  and  flapped  like  a  broken  shutter  in  the  wind.  His 
arms  swung  wildly  upward;  then  dropped  heavily.  Suddenly 
he  bent  to  one  side;  caught  himself;  straightened  up;  and 
then,  with  a  horrifying,  gurgling  moan,  crashed  to  the  floor. 
The  noise  of  the  tremendous  fall  reverberated  through  the 
great  room  like  an  echo  of  Satan's  plunge  into  the  pit  of  hell. 

Pandemonium  broke  upon  the  scene.  Wild  confusion  seized 
the  excited  spectators.  They  rushed  forward  in  a  mass,  over 
railings,  over  chairs  and  tables,  heedless  of  all  but  the  great 
mystery  that  was  slowly  clearing  away  in  the  dim  light  that 
winter's  morning.  Through  them  the  white-haired  man,  clad 
in  clerical  vestments,  elbowed  his  way  to  the  bar. 

"Let  me  see  the  locket!"  he  cried.    "Let  me  see  it!" 

He  tore  it  from  Hood's  hand  and  scanned  it  eagerly.  Then 
he  nodded  his  head.  "The  same!  The  very  same!"  he  mur 
mured,  trembling  with  excitement.  Then,  shouting  to  the 
judge  above  the  hubbub: 

"Your  Honor!     I  can  throw  some  light  upon  this  case!" 

The  crowd  fell  back. 

"Who  are  you?"  called  the  judge  in  a  loud,  quavering  voice. 

"I  am  Monsignor  Lafelle.  I  have  just  returned  from  Europe. 
The  woman's  portrait  in  this  little  locket  is  that  of  Doiia 
Dolores,  Infanta,  daughter  of  Queen  Isabella  the  Second,  of 
Spain!  And  this  girl,"  pointing  to  the  bewildered  Carmen, 
who  sat  clinging  to  the  arms  of  her  chair,  "is  her  child,  and  is 
a  princess  of  the  royal  blood!  Her  father  is  the  man  who  lies 
there — J.  Wilton  Ames!" 


237 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


CHAPTER  18 

BORNE  on  pulsing  electric  waves,  the  news  of  the  great 
denoument  flashed  over  the  city,  and  across  a  startled 
continent.  Beneath  the  seas  it  sped,  and  into  court  and 
hovel.  Madrid  gasped;  Seville  panted;  and  old  Padre  Rafael  de 
Rincon  raised  his  hoary  head  and  cackled  shrilly. 

To  the  seething  court  room  came  flying  reporters  and  news 
gatherers,  who  threw  themselves  despairingly  against  the  closed 
portals.  Within,  the  bailiffs  fought  with  the  excited  crowd, 
and  held  the  doors  against  the  panic  without. 

Over  the  prostrate  form  of  Ames  the  physicians  worked  with 
feverish  energy,  but  shook  their  heads. 

In  the  adjoining  ante-room,  whither  she  had  been  half  car 
ried,  half  dragged  by  Hitt  when  Ames  fell,  sat  Carmen,  clasped 
in  the  Beaubien's  arms,  stunned,  bewildered,  and  speechless. 
Hitt  stood  guard  at  the  door;  and  Miss  Wall  and  Jude  tiptoed 
about  with  bated  breath,  unable  to  take  their  eyes  from  the  girl. 

In  the  court  room  without,  Haynerd  held  the  little  locket, 
and  plied  Monsignor  Lafelle  with  his  incoherent  questions. 
The  excited  editor's  brain  was  afire;  but  of  one  thing  he  was 
well  assured,  the  Express  would  bring  out  an  extra  that  night 
that  would  scoop  its  rivals  clean  to  the  bone ! 

In  a  few  minutes  the  bailiffs  fought  the  mob  back  from  the 
doors  and  admitted  a  man,  a  photographer,  who  had  been  sent 
out  to  procure  chemicals  in  the  hope  that  the  portrait  of  the 
man  in  the  locket  might  be  cleaned.  Ten  minutes  later  the 
features  of  J.  Wilton  Ames  stood  forth  clearly  beside  those  of 
the  wife  of  his  youth.  The  picture  showed  him  younger  in  ap 
pearance,  to  be  sure,  but  the  likeness  was  unmistakable. 

"Lord!  Lord!  Monsignor,  but  you  are  slow!  Come  to  the 
point  quickly!  We  must  go  to  press  within  an  hour!"  wailed 
Haynerd,  shaking  the  churchman's  arm  in  his  excitement. 

"But,  what  more?"  cried  Lafelle.  "I  saw  the  portrait  in  the 
Royal  Gallery,  years  ago,  in  Madrid.  It  impressed  me.  I 
could  not  forget  the  sad,  sweet  face.  I  saw  it  again  in  the 
stained-glass  window  in  the  Ames  yacht.  I  became  suspicious. 
I  inquired  when  I  returned  to  Spain.  There  was  much  whisper 
ing,  much  shaking  of  heads,  but  little  information.  But  this  I 
know:  the  queen,  the  great  Isabella,  had  a  lover,  a  wonderful 
tenor,  Marfori,  Marquis  de  Loja.  And  one  day  a  babe  was 
taken  quietly  to  a  little  cottage  in  the  Granada  'hills.  Rumor 
said  that  it  was  an  Infanta,  and  that  the  tenor  was  its  father. 
Who  knew?  One  man,  perhaps:  old  Rafael  de  Rincon.  But 

238 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Rome  suddenly  recalled  him  from  Isabella's  court,  and  after 
that  he  was  very  quiet." 

"But,  Ames?"  persisted  Haynerd. 

Lafelle  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Mr.  Ames,"  he  said,  "trav 
eled  much  in  Europe.  He  went  often  to  Spain.  He  bought  a 
vineyard  in  Granada — the  one  from  which  he  still  procures  his 
wine.  And  there — who  knows? — he  met  the  Infanta.  But 
probably  neither  he  nor  she  guessed  her  royal  birth." 

"Well!     Good  Lord!     Then—?" 

"Well,  they  eloped — who  knows?  Whether  married  or  not, 
I  can  not  say.  But  it  is  evident  she  went  with  him  to  Colombia, 
where,  perhaps,  he  was  seeking  a  concession  from  Congress  in 
Bogota.  So  far,  so  good.  Then  came  the  news  of  his  father's 
sudden  death.  He  hastened  out  of  the  country.  Possibly  he 
bade  her  wait  for  his  return.  But  a  prospective  mother  is  often 
excitable.  She  waited  a  day,  a  week — who  knows  how  long? 
And  then  she  set  out  to  follow  him.  Alas!  she  was  wild  to  do 
such  a  thing.  And  it  cost  her  life.  She  died  at  the  little  riverine 
town  of  Badillo,  after  her  babe,  Carmen,  was  born.  Is  it  not 
plausible?" 

"God  above!"  cried  Haynerd.  "And  the  girl's  wonderful 
voice?" 

"A  heritage  from  her  grandfather,  the  tenor,  Marfori,"  La 
felle  suggested. 

"But — the  portraits— what  is  the  name  under  that  of  Ames? 
Guillermo?  That  is  not  his!" 

"Yes,  for  Guillermo  in  Spanish  is  William.  Doubtless  Ames 
told  her  his  name  was  Will,  contracted  from  Wilton,  the  name 
he  went  by  in  his  youth.  And  the  nearest  the  Spanish  could 
come  to  it  was  Guillermo.  Diego's  name  was  Guillermo  Diego 
Polo.  And  after  he  had  seen  that  name  in  the  locket  he  used 
it  as  a  further  means  of  strengthening  his  claim  upon  the  girl." 

"Then — she  is — a — princess!" 

"Yes,  doubtless,  if  my  reasoning  is  correct.  Not  an  Inca 
princess,  but  a  princess  of  the  reigning  house  of  Spain." 

Haynerd  could  hold  himself  no  longer,  but  rushed  madly 
from  the  room  and  tore  across  town  to  the  office  of  the  Express. 

Then  came  the  white-enameled  ambulance,  dashing  and 
careening  to  the  doors  of  the  building  where  Ames  lay  so  quiet. 
Gently,  silently,  the  great  body  was  lifted  and  borne  below. 
And  then  the  chattering,  gesticulating  mob  poured  from  the 
court  room,  from  the  halls  and  corridors,  and  out  into  the  chill 
sunlight  of  the  streets,  where  they  formed  anew  into  little 
groups,  and  went  over  again  the  dramatic  events  but  a  few 
minutes  past. 

Then,  too,  emerged  Carmen,  heavily  veiled  from  the  curious, 

239 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


vulgar  gaze  of  the  rabble,  and  entered  the  waiting  limousine, 
with  the  Beaubien  and  Hitt.  Miss  Wall  and  the  gasping  Jude 
followed  in  another.  The  judge  had  bidden  the  girl  go  on  her 
own  recognizance.  The  arrest  at  Avon;  the  matter  of  bail; 
all  had  merged  into  the  excitement  of  the  hour  and  been  for 
gotten.  Ketchim  went  out  on  Cass's  arm.  The  judge  had  or 
dered  the  clerk  to  enter  an  adjournment. 

»  *  »  »  *  * 

All  that  afternoon  and  far  into  the  night  a  gaping,  wonder 
ing  concourse  braved  the  cold  and  stood  about  the  walk  that 
led  up  to  the  little  Beaubien  cottage.  Within,  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  Sidney,  Jude,  and  Miss  Wall  answered  the  calls 
that  came  incessantly  over  the  telephone  and  to  the  doors.  Sid 
ney  had  not  been  in  the  court  room,  for  Haynerd  had  left  him 
at  the  editor's  desk  in  his  own  absence.  But  with  the  return  of 
Haynerd  the  lad  had  hurried  into  a  taxicab  and  commanded 
the  chauffeur  to  drive  madly  to  the  Beaubien  home.  And  once 
through  the  door,  he  clasped  the  beautiful  girl  in  his  arms  and 
strained  her  to  his  breast. 

"My  sister!"  he  cried.  "My  own,  my  very  own  little  sister! 
We  only  pretended  before,  didn't  we?  But  now — now,  oh,  God 
above!  you  really  are  my  sister!" 

The  scarce  comprehending  girl  drew  his  head  down  and 
kissed  him.  "Sidney,"  she  murmured,  "the  ways  of  God  are 
past  finding  out!" 

Aye,  for  again,  as  of  old,  He  had  chosen  the  foolish  things 
of  the  world  to  confound  the  wise;  He  had  chosen  the  weak  to 
confound  the  mighty;  and  the  base  things,  and  the  things  de 
spised,  had  He  used  to  bring  to  naught  the  things  that  are. 
And  why?  That  no  flesh  might  glory  in  His  terrible  presence! 

"Carmen!"  cried  the  excited  boy.  "Think  what  this  means 
to  our  book!" 

The  girl  smiled  up  at  him;  then  turned  away.  "My  father!" 
she  murmured.  "He— my  father!"  she  kept  repeating,  groping 
her  way  about  the  room  as  if  in  a  haze.  "He!  It  can't  be! 
It  can't!" 

The  still  dazed  Beaubien  drew  the  girl  into  her  arms.  "My 
little  princess!"  she  whispered.  "Oh!  But  who  would  have 
dreamed  it!  Yet  I  called  you  that  from  the  very  first.  But— 
oh,  Carmen!  And  he — that  man — your  father!" 

"Don't!     Mother,  don't!     It— it  isn't  proved.     It—" 

Then  the  Beaubien's  heart  almost  stopped.  What  if  it  were 
true?  What,  then,  would  this  sudden  turn  in  the  girl's  life 
mean  to  the  lone  woman  who  clung  to  her  so? 

"No,  mother  dearest,"  whispered  Carmen,  looking  up 
through  her  tears.  "For  even  if  it  should  be  true,  I  will  not 
leave  you.  He — he — " 

240 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


She  stopped;  and  would  speak  of  him  no  more. 

But  neither  of  them  knew  as  yet  that  in  that  marvelous 
Fifth  Avenue  palace,  behind  those  drawn  curtains  and  guarded 
bronze  doors,  at  which  an  eager  crowd  stood  staring,  Ames, 
the  superman,  lay  dying,  his  left  side,  from  the  shoulder  down, 
paralyzed. 

****** 

In  the  holy  quiet  of  the  first  hours  of  morning,  the  mist 
rose,  and  the  fallen  man  roused  slowly  out  of  his  deep  stupor. 
And  then  through  the  dim-lit  halls  of  the  great  mansion  rang 
a  piercing  cry.  For  when  he  awoke,  the  curtain  stood  raised 
upon  his  life;  and  the  sight  of  its  ghastly  content  struck  wild 
terror  to  his  naked  soul. 

He  had  dreamed  as  he  lay  there,  dreamed  while  the  mist 
was  rising.  He  thought  he  had  been  toiling  with  feverish  energy 
through  those  black  hours,  building  a  wall  about  the  things 
that  were  his.  And  into  the  design  of  the  huge  structure  he 
had  fitted  the  trophies  of  his  conquest.  Gannette  toiled  with 
him,  straining,  sweating,  groaning.  Together  they  reared  that 
monstrous  wall;  and  as  they  labored,  the  man  plotted  the  death 
of  his  companion  when  the  work  should  be  done,  lest  he  ask 
for  pay.  And  into  the  corners  of  the  wall  they  fitted  little 
skulls.  These  were  the  children  of  Avon  who  had  never  played. 
And  over  the  great  stones  which  they  heaved  into  place  they 
sketched  red  dollar-marks;  and  their  paint  was  human  blood. 
A  soft  wind  swept  over  the  rising  structure,  and  it  bore  a  gentle 
voice:  "I  am  Love."  But  the  toilers  looked  up  and  cursed. 
"Let  us  alone!"  they  cried.  "Love  is  weakness!"  And  over 
the  rim  of  the  wall  looked  fair  faces.  "We  are  Truth,  we  are 
Life!"  But  the  men  frothed  with  fury,  and  hurled  skulls  at 
the  faces,  and  bade  them  begone!  A  youth  and  a  tender  girl 
looked  down  at  the  sweating  toilers.  "We  ask  help;  we  are 
young,  and  times  are  so  hard!"  But  the  great  man  pointed  to 
himself.  "Look  at  me!"  he  cried.  "I  need  no  help!  Begone!" 
And  then  the  darkness  settled  down,  for  the  wall  was  now  so 
high  that  it  shut  out  the  sun.  And  the  great  man  howled  with 
laughter;  the  wall  was  done.  So  he  turned  and  smote  his  com 
panion  unto  death,  and  dipped  his  hands  in  the  warm  blood  of 
the  quivering  corse. 

But  the  darkness  was  heavy.  The  man  grew  lonely.  And 
then  he  sought  to  mount  the  wall.  But  his  hands  slipped  on 
the  human  blood  of  the  red,  slimy  dollar-marks,  and  he  fell 
crashing  back  among  his  tinkling  treasures.  He  rose,  and  tried 
again.  The  naked,  splitting  skulls  leered  at  him.  The  tooth 
less  jaws  clattered,  and  the  eyeless  sockets  glowed  eerily.  The 
man  raised  his  voice.  He  begged  that  a  rope  be  lowered.  He 

6i  241 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


would  go  out  once  more  into  the  sun-lit  world.  But  the  chill 
wind  brought  him  only  despairing  moans. 

Then  he  rushed  madly  to  the  wall,  and  smote  it  with  his 
bare  hands.  It  mocked  him  with  the  strength  which  he  had 
given  it.  He  turned  and  tore  his  hair  and  flesh.  He  gnashed  his 
teeth  until  they  broke  into  bits.  He  cursed;  he  raved;  he 
pleaded;  he  offered  all  his  great  treasure  for  freedom.  But  the 
skulls  grinned  their  horrid  mockery  at  him;  and  the  blood  on 
the  stones  dripped  upon  his  burning  head.  And  above  it  all  he 
heard  the  low  plotting  of  those  without  who  were  awaiting  his 
death,  that  they  might  throw  down  the  wall  and  take  away  his 
treasure. 

And  then  his  fear  became  frenzy;  his  love  of  gold  turned  to 
horror;  his  reason  fled;  and  he  dashed  himself  wildly  against 
the  prison  which  he  had  reared,  until  he  fell,  bleeding  and 
broken.  And  as  he  fell,  he  heard  the  shrill  cackle  of  demons 
that  danced  their  hellish  steps  on  the  top  of  the  wall.  Then 
the  Furies  flew  down  and  bound  him  tight. 

"Ah,  my  God, 

What  might  I  not  have  made  of  Thy  fair  world 
Had  I  but  loved  Thy  highest  creature  here? 
It  was  my  duty  to  have  loved  the  highest; 
It  surely  was  my  profit  had  I  known." 

He  awoke  from  his  terror,  dripping.  He  feebly  lifted  his 
head.  Then  he  sought  to  raise  his  arms,  to  move.  He  was 
alive!  And  then  the  scream  tore  from  his  dry  throat.  His 
great  body  was  half  dead! 

The  attendants  flew  to  his  couch.  The  physicians  bent  over 
him  and  sought  to  soothe  his  mental  agony.  The  man's  tor 
ture  was  fearful  to  behold;  his  weakness,  pitiable.  He  sank 
again  into  somnolence.  But  the  sleep  was  one  of  unbroken 
horror;  and  those  in  the  room  stopped  in  the  course  of  their 
duties;  and  their  faces  blanched;  and  they  held  their  hands  to 
their  ears,  when  his  awful  moans  echoed  through  the  curtained 
room. 

Through  his  dreams  raced  the  endless  panorama  of  his 
crowded  life.  Now  he  was  wading  through  muddy  slums  where 
stood  the  wretched  houses  which  he  rented  for  immoral  pur 
poses.  He  was  madly  searching  for  something.  What  could 
be?  Ah,  yes,  his  girl!  Some  one  had  said  she  was  there. 
Who  was  it?  Aye,  who  but  himself?  But  he  found  her  not. 
And  he  wept  bitterly. 

And  then  he  hurried  to  Avon;  and  there  he  dug  into  those 
fresh  graves— dug,  dug,  dug,  throwing  the  dirt  up  in  great 
heaps  behind  him.  And  into  the  face  of  each  corpse  as  he 

242 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


dragged  it  out  of  its  damp  bed  he  peered  eagerly.  But  with 
awful  moans  he  threw  them  from  him  in  turn,  for  she  was  not 
there. 

Then  he  fled  down,  down,  far  into  the  burning  South;  and 
there  he  roamed  the  trackless  wastes,  calling  her  name.  And 
the  wild  beasts  and  the  hissing  serpents  looked  out  at  him  from 
the  thick  bush,  looked  with  great,  red  eyes,  and  then  fled  from 
him  with  loathing.  And,  suddenly,  he  came  upon  another 
mound  near  the  banks  of  a  great  river.  And  over  it  stood  a 
rude  cross;  and  on  the  cross  he  read  the  dim,  penciled  word, 
Dolores.  Ah,  God!  how  he  cried  out  for  the  oblivion  that  was 
not  his.  But  the  ghastly  mound  froze  his  blood,  and  he  rushed 
from  it  in  terror,  and  fell,  whirling  over  and  over,  down,  down 
into  eternal  blackness  filled  with  dying  men's  groans! 

The  awful  day  drew  to  a  close.  The  exhausted  attendants 
stood  about  the  bed  with  bated  breath.  The  physicians  had 
called  Doctor  Morton  in  consultation,  for  the  latter  was  a  brain 
specialist.  And  while  they  sat  gazing  at  the  crazed,  stricken 
giant,  hopelessly  struggling  to  lift  the  inert  mass  of  his  dead 
body,  Reverend  Darius  Borwell  entered.  He  bowed  silently  to 
them  all;  then  went  to  the  bedside  and  took  the  patient's  hand. 
A  moment  later  he  turned  to  the  physicians  and  nurses. 

"Let  us  ask  God's  help  for  Mr.  Ames,"  he  said  gravely. 

They  bowed,  and  he  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  prayed  long 
and  earnestly;  prayed  that  the  loving  Father  who  had  made 
man  in  His  image  would  take  pity  on  the  suffering  one  who 
lay  there,  and,  if  it  be  His  will,  spare  him  for  Jesus'  sake. 

He  arose  from  his  knees,  and  they  all  sat  quiet  for  some 
moments.  Then  Doctor  Morton's  heavy  voice  broke  the  silence 
of  death.  "Mr.  Borwell,"  he  said  in  awful  earnestness,  ex 
tending  his  hand  toward  the  bed,  "cure  that  man,  if  your  re 
ligion  is  anything  more  than  a  name!" 

A  hot  flush  of  indignation  spread  over  the  minister's  face; 
but  he  did  not  reply.  Doctor  Morton  turned  to  the  physicians. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  solemnly,  "Mr.  Ames,  I  think,  is  past 
our  aid.  There  is  nothing  on  earth  that  can  save  him.  If  he 
lives,  he  will  be  hopelessly  insane."  He  hesitated,  and  turned 
to  a  maid.  "Where  is  his  daughter  Kathleen?"  he  asked. 

"Upstairs,  sir,  in  her  apartments,"  answered  the  maid, 
wiping  her  red  eyes. 

"See  that  she  remains  there,"  said  the  doctor  gruffly.  "Gen 
tlemen,"  turning  again  to  the  physicians,  "I  have  but  one  sug 
gestion.  Send  for — for — that  little  girl,  Carmen." 

"It  is  ill-advised,  Doctor,"  interrupted  one  of  the  men.  "It 
would  only  further  excite  him.  It  might  hasten  the  end." 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  returned  Doctor  Morton.  "As  it 
is,  he  is  doomed.  With  her  here — there  may  be  a  chance." 

243 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


The  others  shook  their  heads;  but  Doctor  Morton  persisted 
stubbornly.  Finally  Doctor  Haley  gave  his  ultimatum.  "If 
she  is  sent  for,  I  shall  retire  from  the  case." 

"Very  well,"  announced  Doctor  Morton  evenly,  "then  I  will 
take  it  myself."  He  rose  and  went  out  into  the  vestibule  where 
there  was  a  telephone.  Calling  for  the  Beaubien  cottage,  he 
gave  a  peremptory  order  that  Carmen  come  at  once  in  the 
automobile  which  he  was  sending  for  her. 

The  Beaubien  turned  from  the  telephone  to  the  girl.  Her 
face  was  deathly  pale. 

"What  is  it,  mother  dearest?" 

"They — they  want — you!" 

-Why— is  it— is  he—" 

"They  say  he  is — dying,"  the  woman  whispered. 

Carmen  stood  for  a  minute  as  if  stunned.  "Why — I — • 
didn't  know — that  there  was — anything  wrong.  Mother,  you 
didn't  tell  me!  Why?" 

The  Beaubien  threw  her  arms  around  the  girl.  Father  Waite 
rose  from  the  table  where  he  had  been  writing,  and  came  to 
them. 

"Go,"  he  said  to  Carmen.  "The  Lord  is  with  thee!  Go  in 
this  thy  might!" 

A  few  minutes  later  the  great  bronze  doors  of  the  Ames 
mansion  swung  wide  to  admit  the  daughter  of  the  house. 

Doctor  Morton  met  the  wondering  girl,  and  led  her  directly 
into  the  sick-room.  The  other  physicians  had  departed. 

"Miss  Carmen,"  he  said  gravely,  "Mr.  Ames  is  past  earthly 
help.  He  can  not  live." 

The  girl  turned  upon  him  like  a  flash  from  a  clear  sky. 
"You  mean,  he  shall  not  live!"  she  cried.  "For  you  doctors 
have  sentenced  him!" 

The  startled  man  bowed  before  the  rebuke.  Then  a  sense 
of  her  magnificent  environment,  of  her  strange  position,  and 
of  the  vivid  events  of  the  past  few  hours  swept  over  her,  and 
she  became  embarrassed.  The  nurses  and  attendants,  too,  who 
stood  about  and  stared  so  hard  at  her,  added  to  her  confusion. 

But  the  doctor  took  her  hand.  "Listen,"  he  said,  "I  am 
leaving  now,  but  you  will  remain.  If  I  am  needed,  one  of  the 
maids  will  summon  me." 

Carmen  stood  for  a  moment  without  speaking.  Then  she 
walked  slowly  to  the  bed  and  looked  down  at  the  man.  Doctor 
Morton  motioned  to  the  attendants  to  withdraw.  Then  he  him 
self  stepped  softly  out  and  closed  the  door.  When  the  girl 
turned  around,  she  was  alone — with  death. 


244 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


CHAPTER  19 

A  CURIOUS,  gossiping  world,  dwelling  only  in  the  froth  of 
the  human  mind,  will  not  comprehend  for  many  a  year  to 
come  what  took  place  in  that  dim,  tapestried  chamber  of 
the  rich  man  in  those  next  hours.  When  twilight  began  to  steal 
through  the  marble  halls  of  the  great,  shrouded  mansion,  the 
nurse  in  charge,  becoming  apprehensive,  softly  opened  the  door 
of  the  sick-room  and  peeped  in.  Through  the  darkness  she  saw 
the  girl,  sitting  beside  the  bed,  with  the  man's  right  hand 
clasped  in  both  of  hers,  and  her  head  resting  upon  his  shoul 
der.  And  the  nurse  quickly  closed  the  door  again  in  awe,  and 
stole  away. 

The  girl  sat  there  all  that  day  and  all  that  night,  nor  would 
leave  but  for  brief  moments  to  eat,  or  to  reassure  the  Beau- 
bien  over  the  telephone  that  all  was  well.  Doctor  Morton  came, 
and  went,  and  came  again.  Carmen  smiled,  and  held  his  hand 
for  a  moment  each  time,  but  said  little.  Ames  had  slept.  And, 
more,  his  cheeks  were  stained  where  the  scalding  tears  had 
coursed  down  them.  But  the  doctor  would  ask  no  questions. 
He  was  satisfied.  The  nurses  entered  only  when  summoned. 
And  three  days  and  nights  passed  thus,  while  Carmen  dwelt 
with  the  man  who,  as  the  incarnation  of  error,  seeking  the  de 
struction  of  others,  had  destroyed  himself. 

Then  Doctor  Morton  announced  to  a  waiting  world  that 
his  patient  would  live — but  he  would  say  no  more.  And  the 
world  heard,  too,  that  Kathleen  Ames  had  left  her  father's  roof 
—left  in  humiliation  and  chagrin  when  she  learned  that  Carmen 
had  come  there  to  live — and  had  gone  to  England  for  a  pro 
longed  visit  with  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Altern  and  her  now 
thoroughly  dismayed  son.  But  Sidney  came;  and  with  him 
the  black-veiled  Beaubien.  And  they  both  knelt  beside  the  bed 
of  suffering;  and  the  hand  of  the  now  quiet  man  slowly  went 
out  and  lay  for  a  moment  upon  their  bowed  heads,  while  Car 
men  stood  near.  Then  Willett  was  sent  for;  and  he  came  often 
after  that,  and  took  his  master's  scarce  audible  instructions, 
and  went  away  again  to  touch  the  wires  and  keys  that  ended 
the  war  of  hatred  at  Avon;  that  brought  Father  Danny  in  the 
master's  private  car  to  the  great  metropolitan  hospital;  that 
sent  to  the  startled  Hitt  the  canceled  mortgage  papers  on  the 
Express;  and  that  inaugurated  that  great  work  of  restitution 
which  held  the  dwellers  in  the  Ames  mansion  toiling  over 
musty  books  and  forgotten  records  for  months  to  come. 

What  had  passed  between  the  man  and  the  sweet-faced  girl 

245 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


who  hovered  over  him  like  a  ray  of  light,  no  one  may  know. 
That  he  had  trod  the  glowing  embers  of  hell,  his  cavernous, 
deep-lined  face  and  whitening  hair  well  testified.  It  was  said 
afterward  that  on  that  third  day  he  had  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  straight  into  those  of  the  girl.  It  was  said  that  she 
then  whispered  but  one  word,  "Father."  And  that,  when  the 
sound  of  her  low  voice  fell  upon  his  straining  ears,  he  had 
reached  out  the  arm  that  still  held  life,  and  had  drawn  her 
head  down  upon  his  breast,  and  wept  like  a  motherless  babe. 
But  what  he  had  said,  if  aught,  about  the  abandoned  mother 
who,  on  the  banks  of  the  distant  river,  years  gone,  had  yielded 
her  life  to  him  and  his  child,  no  one  knew7.  Of  but  one  thing 
was  there  any  certainty:  the  name  of  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon 
had  not  crossed  their  lips  during  those  dark  days. 

And  so  two  weeks  passed.  Then  strong  men  lifted  the 
giant  from  his  bed  and  placed  him  in  a  wheel  chair;  and 
Carmen  drew  the  chair  out  into  the  conservatory,  among  the 
ferns  and  flowers,  and  sat  beside  him,  his  hand  still  clasped 
in  both  of  hers.  That  he  had  found  life,  no  one  who  marked 
his  tense,  eager  look,  wrhich  in  every  waking  moment  lay  upon 
the  girl,  could  deny.  His  body  was  dead;  his  soul  was  fluttering 
feebly  into  a  new  sense  of  being. 

But  with  the  awakening  of  conscience,  in  the  birth-throes 
of  a  new  life,  came  the  horrors,  the  tortures,  the  wild  frenzy 
of  self-loathing;  and,  but  for  the  girl  who  clung  so  desperately 
to  him,  he  \vould  have  quickly  ended  his  useless  existence. 
What  had  he  done !  God !  What  mad  work  had  he  done !  He 
was  a  murderer  of  helpless  babes!  He  was  the  blackest  of 
criminals!  The  stage  upon  which  the  curtain  had  risen, 
whereon  he  saw  the  hourly  portrayal  of  his  own  fiendish  deeds, 
stood  always  before  him  like  a  haunting  spectre;  and  as  he 
gazed  with  horrified  eyes,  his  hair  grew  hourly  white. 

And  the  torture  was  rendered  more  poignant  by  the 
demands  of  his  erstwhile  associates  and  henchmen.  They  had 
taken  fright  at  the  first  orders  which  had  issued  from  the 
sick-bed,  but  now  they  swooped  down  upon  the  harassed  man 
to  learn  what  might  be  expected  from  him  in  the  future.  What 
were  to  be  his  policies  now  in  regard  to  those  manifold 
interests  which  he  was  pursuing  with  such  vigor  a  few  weeks 
ago?  Was  he  still  bent  upon  depriving  Senator  Gossitch  of  the 
seat  which  the  Ames  money  had  purchased?  Was  the  Ketchim 
prosecution  to  continue?  The  Amalgamated  Spinners'  Associ 
ation  must  know  at  once  his  further  plans.  The  Budget  needed 
money  and  advice.  His  great  railroad  projects,  his  mining 
ventures,  his  cotton  deals,  his  speculations  and  gambling 
schemes— whither  should  they  tend  now?  Ward  bosses,  dive 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


keepers,  bank  presidents,  lawyers,  magnates,  and  preachers 
clamored  for  admission  at  his  doors  when  they  learned  that 
he  would  live,  but  that  a  marvelous,  incomprehensible  change 
had  swept  over  him. 

The  tired,  hectored  man  turned  to  Carmen.  And  she  called 
Hitt  and  Waite  and  the  keen-minded  Beaubien.  The  latter's 
wide  business  experience  and  worldly  knowledge  now  stood 
them  all  in  good  stead,  and  she  threw  herself  like  a  bulwark 
between  the  stricken  man  and  the  hounds  that  roared  at  his 
gates.  There  were  those  among  them  who,  like  Ames,  had 
bitterly  fought  all  efforts  at  industrial  and  social  reform,  and 
yet  who  saw  the  dawning  of  a  new  era  in  the  realms  of  finance, 
of  politics,  of  religion.  There  were  those  who  sensed  the  slow 
a\vakening  of  the  world-conscience,  and  who  resisted  it  des 
perately,  and  who  now  sat  frightened  and  angered  at  the 
thought  of  losing  their  great  leader.  Their  attitude  toward 
life,  like  his,  had  been  wrong  from  the  beginning;  they,  like 
him,  were  striking  examples  of  the  dire  effects  of  a  false  view 
point  in  the  impoverishing  of  human  life.  But,  with  him,  they 
had  built  up  a  tremendous  material  fabric.  And  now  they 
shook  with  fear  as  they  saw  its  chief  support  removed.  For 
they  must  know  that  his  was  a  type  that  was  fast  passing, 
and  after  it  must  come  the  complete  breakdown  of  the  old 
financial  order.  His  world-embracing  gambling — which 
touched  all  men  in  some  way,  for  it  had  to  do  with  the  very 
necessities  of  life,  with  crops,  with  railroads,  with  industries, 
and  out  of  which  he  had  coined  untold  millions — had  ceased 
forever.  What  did  it  portend  to  them? 

And  to  him  also  came  Reverend  Darius  Borwell,  in  whose 
congregation  sat  sanctimonious  malefactors  of  vast  wealth, 
whose  pockets  bulged  with  disease-laden  profits  from  the  sales 
of  women's  bodies  and  souls.  Reverend  Bor\vell  came  to  offer 
the  sufferer  the  dubious  consolations  of  religion — and  inquire 
if  his  beautiful  change  of  heart  would  affect  the  benefaction 
which  he  had  designed  for  the  new  church. 

Ah,  this  was  the  hour  when  the  fallen  giant  faced  the 
Apostle's  awful  question:  What  fruit  had  ye  then  in  those 
things  whereof  ye  are  now  ashamed?  For  the  end  of  those 
things  is  death! 

And  then  came  Monsignor  Lafelle,  asking  not  to  see  the 
sick  man,  but  the  girl.  And,  alone  with  her  in  the  great  library 
that  day,  he  bent  low  over  her  hand  and  begged  that  she 
would  forgive  and  forget.  It  was  he  who  told  Mrs.  Ames  that 
flagrantly  false  tale  of  the  girl's  parentage.  He  had  received 
it  from  Wenceslas,  in  Cartagena.  It  was  he  who,  surmising 
the  dark  secret  of  Ames,  had  concluded  that  the  supposed 

247 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Infanta  had  been  his  wife.  And  he  had  returned  to  New  York 
to  confront  him  with  the  charge,  and  to  make  great  capital 
out  of  it.  But  he  had  never  suspected  for  a  moment  Carmen's 
connection  with  the  mystery.  And  now — 

But  the  girl  saw  only  the  image  of  God  in  the  humiliated 
man.  And  when  he  kissed  her  hand  and  departed,  she  bade 
him  know,  always,  that  she  loved  him  as  a  brother.  And  he 
knew  it,  knew  that  her  love  was  of  the  spirit — it  left  all  for 
the  Christ. 

A  few  days  later  there  was  delivered  at  the  Ames  mansion 
a  cable  message  from  Cartagena,  in  reply  to  one  which  the 
master  had  sent  to  the  lawyer,  Estrella.  Ames  shook  with 
suppressed  excitement  when  he  read  it.  Then  he  bade  Carmen 
send  at  once  for  Hitt,  Willett,  and  Captain  McCall,  and  leave 
them  with  him  for  a  private  conference. 

"She  must  not  know!  She  must  not  know!"  Ames  re 
peated,  as  the  three  men  sat  leaning  eagerly  forward  an  hour 
later,  drinking  in  every  word  he  spoke.  "If  the  mission  is 
successful,  well  and  good.  If  it  fails,  then  our  silence  now 
will  be  justified,  for  as  yet  I  have  said  nothing  to  her  regarding 
him.  Peace  is  being  concluded  there.  Wenceslas  has  won— 
but  with — but  of  that  later.  When  can  you  get  under  way, 
McCall?" 

"To-night,  sir.    The  bunkers  are  full." 

"Very  good.  I  will  go  aboard  at  ten.  You  will  weigh 
anchor  immediately." 

"What?"  cried  Hitt.    "You  will  go?" 

"I  will!"  The  sudden  flash  of  his  old-time  energy  nearly 
startled  them  from  their  chairs.  "And,"  he  added,  "you,  Mr. 
Hitt,  will  accompany  us.  Now,  Willett,  have  the  door  of  my 
limousine  widened  to  accommodate  this  wheel  chair.  I  want 
a  dozen  men  to  insure  our  privacy,  and  to  keep  the  way  clear. 
No  one  not  in  our  confidence  must  see  us  depart." 

Hitt  gasped.     "But— Carmen— " 

"Goes  with  us,"  returned  Ames.  "I  can  not  spare  her  for 
a  moment.  Madam  Beaubien  will  have  charge  of  the  house 
during  our  absence.  We  will  be  back  here,  weather  favorable, 
in  three  weeks — or  not  at  all!" 

"Yet,  she  will  know—" 

"Nothing.  I  take  the  trip,  ostensibly,  for  the  change;  to  get 
away  from  those  who  are  hounding  me  here;  for  recuperation — 
anything!  Go,  now,  and  make  ready!"  The  man's  eyes 
glistened  like  live  coals,  and  his  sunken  cheeks  took  on  a 
feverish  glow. 

That  night  the  Cossack,  enveloped  in  gloom,  steamed  noise 
lessly  out  of  New  York  harbor,  and  turned  her  prow  to  the 

248 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


South.  And  when  she  had  entered  the  high  sea,  Captain  McCall 
from  his  bridge  aloft  sent  a  message  down  to  the  waiting 
engineer : 

"Full  speed  ahead!" 


CHAPTER  20 

CARTAGENA'S  slumber  of  centuries  had  been  broken  by 
nearly  four  years  of  civil  warfare.  But  on  the  day  that  the 
lookout  in  the  abandoned  convent  of  Santa  Candelaria,  on 
the  summit  of  La  Popa,  flashed  the  message  down  into  the  old 
city  that  a  steam  yacht  had  appeared  on  the  northern  horizon, 
she  was  preparing  to  sink  back  again  into  quiet  dreams.  For 
peace  was  being  concluded  among  the  warring  political  factions. 
The  country  lay  devastated  and  blood-soaked;  but  the  cause  of 
Christ  had  triumphed,  and  the  Church  still  sat  supreme  in  the 
councils  of  Bogota.  Cartagena  was  en  fete;  the  last  of  the 
political  agitators  would  be  executed  on  the  morrow.  And  so 
the  lookout's  message  was  received  with  indifference,  even 
though  he  embellished  it  with  the  comment  that  the  boat  must 
be  privately  owned,  as  no  ships  of  the  regular  lines  were  due 
to  arrive  that  day. 

Quietly  the  graceful  craft  swept  down  past  Tierra  Bomba 
and  into  the  Boca  Chica,  between  the  ancient  forts  of  San 
Fernando  and  San  Jose,  and  came  to  anchor  out  in  the  beauti 
ful  harbor,  a  half  mile  from  the  ancient  gate  of  the  clock. 
A  few  curious  idlers  along  the  shore  watched  it  and  com 
mented  on  its  perfect  lines.  And  the  numerous  officials  of  the 
port  lazily  craned  their  necks  at  it,  and  yawningly  awaited  the 
arrival  of  the  skiff  that  was  immediately  lowered  and  headed 
for  the  pier. 

The  tall  American  who  stepped  from  the  little  boat  and 
came  at  once  to  them  to  show  his  papers,  easily  satisfied  their 
curiosity,  for  many  tourists  of  the  millionaire  class  dropped 
anchor  in  Cartagena's  wonderful  harbor,  and  came  ashore  to 
wander  among  the  decaying  mementos  of  her  glorious  past. 
And  this  boat  was  not  a  stranger  to  these  waters.  On  the 
yacht  itself,  as  they  glanced  again  toward  it,  there  was  no 
sign  of  life.  Even  the  diminishing  volume  of  smoke  that  rose 
from  its  funnels  evidenced  the  owner's  intention  of  spending 
some  time  in  that  romantic  spot. 

From  the  dock,  Hitt  passed  through  the  old  gateway  in  the 
massive  wall,  quickly  crossed  the  Plaza  de  Codies,  and  lost 
himself  in  the  gay  throngs  that  were  entering  upon  the  day's 

249 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


festivities.  Occasionally  he  dropped  into  wine  shops  and  little 
stores,  and  lingered  about  to  catch  stray  bits  of  gossip.  Then 
he  slowly  made  his  way  up  past  the  Cathedral  and  into  the 
Plaza  de  Simon  Bolivar. 

For  a  while,  sitting  on  a  bench  in  front  of  the  equestrian 
statue  of  the  famous  Libertador,  he  watched  the  passing 
crowds.  From  time  to  time  his  glance  strayed  over  toward 
the  Cathedral.  Once  he  rose,  and  started  in  that  direction; 
then  came  back  and  resumed  his  seat.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  driven  hard,  and  yet  knew  not  just  what  course  to  pursue. 

Finally  he  jumped  to  his  feet  and  went  over  to  a  little 
cigar  store  which  had  caught  his  eye.  He  bent  over  the  soiled 
glass  case  and  selected  several  cigars  from  the  shabby  stock. 
Putting  one  of  them  into  his  mouth,  he  lighted  it,  and  then 
casually  nodded  to  a  powerfully  built  man  standing  near. 

The  latter  turned  to  the  proprietor  and  made  some  comment 
in  Spanish.  Hitt  immediately  replied  to  it  in  the  same  tongue. 
The  man  flushed  with  embarrassment;  then  doffed  his  hat  and 
offered  an  apology.  "I  forget,  senor,"  he  said,  "that  so  many 
Americans  speak  our  language." 

Hitt  held  out  his  hand  and  laughed  heartily  at  the  incident. 
Then  his  eye  was  attracted  by  a  chain  which  the  man  wore. 

"May  I  examine  it?"  he  asked,  bending  toward  it. 

"Cierto,  senor,"  returned  the  man  cordially.  "It  came  from 
an  Indian  grave  up  in  Guamoco.  I  am  a  guaquero — grave  dig 
ger — by  profession;  Jorge  Costal,  by  name." 

Hitt  glanced  up  at  the  man.  Somehow  he  seemed  to  be 
familiar  with  that  name.  Somewhere  he  seemed  to  have  heard 
it.  But  on  whose  lips?  Carmen's?  "Suppose,"  he  said,  in 
his  excellent  Spanish,  "that  we  cross  the  Plaza  to  yonder  wine 
shop.  You  may  be  able  to  tell  me  some  of  the  history  of  this 
interesting  old  town.  And — it  would  be  a  great  favor,  senor." 

The  man  bowed  courteously  and  accepted  the  invitation.  A 
few  moments  later  they  sat  at  a  little  table,  with  a  bottle 
between  them,  commenting  on  the  animated  scene  in  the  street 
without. 

"Peace  will  be  concluded  to-day,  they  say,"  reflected  Hitt, 
by  way  of  introduction. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  man  grimly,  "there  is  but  little  more 
blood  to  let.  That  flows  to-morrow." 

"Political  agitators?"  Hitt  suggested. 

The  man's  face  darkened.  "Only  one,"  he  muttered.  "The 
other  is — 

He  stopped  and  eyed  Hitt  furtively.  But  the  American 
manifested  only  a  casual  interest. 

"Their  names?"  he  asked  nonchalantly. 

250 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


"They  were  posted  this  morning,"  said  the  man.  "Amado 
Jesus  Fanor  and  Jose  de  Rincon." 

Hitt  started,  but  held  himself.  "Who — who  are  they?" 
he  asked  in  a  controlled  voice. 

"A  liberal  general  and  an  ex-priest." 

"Ex-priest?"  exclaimed  Hitt. 

The  man  looked  at  him  wonderingly.    "Yes,  senor.    Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing.  It  is  the  custom  to — to  shoot  ex- 
priests  down  here,  eh?" 

"Caramba!    No!     But  this  man — senor,  why  do  you  ask?" 

"Well — it  struck  me  as  curious — that's  all,"  returned  Hitt, 
at  a  loss  for  a  suitable  answer.  "You  didn't  happen  to  know 
these  men,  I  presume?" 

"Na,  senor,  you  seek  to  involve  me.  Who  are  you,  that  you 
ask  such  questions  of  a  stranger?"  The  man  reflected  the 
suspicious  caution  of  these  troublous  times. 

"Why,  amigo,  it  is  of  no  concern  to  me,"  replied  Hitt  easily, 
flicking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "I  once  knew  a  fellow  by 
that  name.  Met  him  here  years  ago.  Learned  that  he  after 
ward  went  to  Simiti.  But  I — " 

"Senor!"  cried  the  man,  starting  up.  "Are  you  the  Ameri 
cano,  the  man  who  explored?" 

"I  am,"  said  Hitt,  bending  closer  to  him.  "And  we  are  well 
met,  for  you  are  Don  Jorge,  who  knew  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon 
in  Simiti,  no?" 

The  man  cast  a  timid  glance  around  the  room.  "Senor," 
he  whispered,  "we  must  not  say  these  things  here!  I  leave 
you  now — " 

"Not  yet!"  Hitt  laid  a  hand  upon  his.  "Where  is  he?"  he 
demanded  in  a  low  voice. 

"In  San  Fernando,  senor." 

"And  how  long?" 

"A  year,  I  think.  He  was  first  three  years  in  the  prison  in 
Cartagena.  But  the  Bish— " 

"Eh?    Don  Wenceslas  had  him  removed  to  San  Fernando?" 

The  man  nodded. 

"And—" 

"He  will  be  shot  to-morrow,  senor." 

Hitt  thought  with  desperate  rapidity.  Then  he  looked  up. 
"Why  do  you  say  he  is  an  ex-priest?"  he  asked. 

"He  has  just  been  excommunicated,"  replied  the  man. 
"Cursed,  they  say,  by  bell,  book,  and  candle." 

"Good  heavens!  That  he  might  be  shot?  Ah,  I  see  it  all! 
Ames's  message!  Of  course  Don  Wenceslas  would  not  dare  to 
execute  a  priest  in  good  standing.  And  so  he  had  him  excom 
municated,  eh?" 

251 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


Don  Jorge  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Quien  sabe?"  he  mut 
tered. 

Hitt  sat  for  a  while  in  a  deep  study.  Time  was  precious. 
And  yet  it  was  flying  like  the  winds.  Then  he  roused  up. 

"You  knew  a  little  girl — in  Simiti — in  whom  this  Rincon 
was  interested?" 

"Ah,  yes,  senor.  But — why  do  you  ask?  She  went  to  the 
great  States  from  which  you  come.  And  I  think  little  was 
heard  from  her  after  that." 

"Eh?    Yes,  true.     She  lived  with— 

"Don  Rosendo  Ariza." 

"Yes.    And  he?" 

"Dead — he  and  his  good  wife,  Dona  Maria." 

Hitt's  head  sank.  How  could  he  break  this  to  Carmen? 
Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Come,"  he  said,  "we  will  stroll 
down  by  the  walls.  I  would  like  a  look  at  San  Fernando." 

"Ha!     Senor,  you — you — " 

Hitt  threw  him  a  look  of  caution,  and  shook  his  head.  Then, 
motioning  him  to  follow,  he  led  him  out  and  down  through  the 
winding,  tortuous  thoroughfares.  On  the  summit  of  the  walls 
were  sentinels,  posted  at  frequent  intervals;  and  no  civilian 
might  walk  upon  the  great  enclosure  until  peace  had  been 
formally  declared. 

Hailing  a  passing  carriage,  Hitt  urged  the  wondering  Don 
Jorge  into  it,  and  bade  the  driver  convey  them  to  the  old  ruin 
of  San  Felipe,  and  leave  them.  There  they  climbed  the  broken 
incline  into  the  battered  fortress,  and  seated  themselves  in  the 
shadow  of  a  crumbling  parapet.  They  \vere  alone  on  the 
enormous,  grass-grown  pile.  From  their  position  they  com 
manded  a  wonderful  view  across  the  town  and  harbor,  and 
far  out  over  the  green  waters  of  the  Caribbean.  The  Cossack 
lay  asleep  in  the  quiet  harbor.  Don  Jorge  saw  it,  and  wondered 
whence  it  came. 

"Listen,  amigo,"  began  Hitt,  pointing  to  the  yacht.  "In  that 
boat  is  a  girl,  whose  dearest  earthly  treasure  is  the  condemned 
prisoner  out  there  in  San  Fernando.  That  girl  is  the  little 
Carmen,  foster-daughter  of  old  Rosendo." 

"Hombre!"  cried  Don  Jorge,  staring  at  Hitt  as  if  he  sus 
pected  his  sanity. 

"It  is  true,  friend,  for  I  myself  came  with  her  in  that  boat." 

"Caramba!" 

"And,"  continued  Hitt,  glancing  again  about  the  ruined 
fortress  and  lowering  his  voice,  "we  have  come  for  Jose  de 
Rincon." 

"Santa  Virgen!    Are  you  loco?" 

Hitt  smiled.  "And  now,"  he  went  on  eagerly,  "how  are  we 
to  get  him?" 

252 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


"But,  amigo!  San  Fernando  is  closely  guarded!  And  he — 
por  supuesto,  he  will  be  in  the  dungeons!" 

"No  doubt,"  returned  Hitt  dryly,  "if  your  excellent  friend 
Wenceslas  has  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  But  dungeons  have 
windows,  eh?" 

"Caramba,  yes;  and  San  Fernando's  are  just  above  the 
water's  edge.  And  when  the  waves  are  high  the  sea  pours 
into  them!" 

"And — could  we  learn  which  window  is  his,  do  you  think?" 

"Senor,  I  know,"  replied  the  man. 

"Ha!     And— 

"I  learned  from  one  of  the  soldiers,  Fernando,  who  once 
lived  in  Simiti.  I  had  thought,  senor,  that — that  perhaps  I— 

"That  perhaps  you  might  make  the  attempt  yourself,  eh?" 
put  in  Hitt  eagerly. 

Don  Jorge  nodded.  Hitt  sprang  to  his  feet  and  looked  out 
toward  the  silent  fortress. 

"Don  Jorge,  it  is  dark  out  over  the  harbor  at  night,  eh? 
No  searchlights?" 

"None,  senor." 

Hitt  began  to  pace  back  and  forth,  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
and  stood  looking  down  through  a  hole  in  the  broken  pavement. 
Then  he  knelt  and  peered  long  and  eagerly  into  it. 

"Look  here,  friend,"  he  called.  "How  does  one  get  into  that 
place?" 

Don  Jorge  came  and  looked  into  the  aperture.  "It  is  one 
of  the  rooms  of  the  fortress,"  he  said.  "But — caramba!  I 
know  not  how  it  may  be  reached." 

"The  passageways?" 

"Caved— all  of  them." 

"But — you  are  a  mighty  husky  fellow;  and  I  am  not  weak. 
Suppose  we  try  lifting  one  of  these  flags." 

"Na,  senor,  as  well  try  the  tunnels!     But,  why?" 

Hitt  did  not  answer.  But,  bidding  Don  Jorge  follow,  he 
sought  the  fallen  entrance  to  the  old  fortress,  and  plunged 
into  the  dark  passage  that  led  off  from  it  into  the  thick  gloom. 
Groping  his  way  down  a  long,  damp  corridor,  he  came  to  a 
point  \vhere  three  narrower,  brick-lined  tunnels  branched  off, 
one  of  them  dipping  into  the  earth  at  a  sharp  angle.  He  struck 
a  match,  and  then  started  down  this,  followed  by  the  wondering 
Don  Jorge. 

A  thousand  bats,  hideous  denizens  of  these  black  tunnels, 
flouted  their  faces  and  disputed  their  progress.  Don  Jorge 
slapped  wildly  at  them,  and  cursed  low.  Hitt  took  up  a  long 
club  and  struck  savagely  about  him.  On  they  stumbled,  until 
the  match  flickered  out,  and  they  were  left  in  Stygian  black- 

253 


CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


ness,  with  the  imps  of  darkness  whirring  madly  about  them. 
Hitt  struck  another  match,  and  plunged  ahead. 

At  length  they  found  the  way  blocked  by  a  mass  of  rubbish 
which  had  fallen  from  the  roof.  Hitt  studied  it  for  a  moment, 
then  climbed  upon  it  and,  by  the  aid  of  the  feeble  light  from 
his  matches,  peered  into  the  foul  blackness  beyond. 

"Come,"  he  said,  preparing  to  proceed. 

"Na,  amigo!  Not  I!"  exclaimed  Don  Jorge.  His  Latin 
soul  had  revolted. 

"Then  wait  for  me  here,"  said  Hitt,  pushing  himself  through 
the  narrow  aperture  at  the  top  of  the  rubbish,  and  fighting 
the  horde  of  terrified  bats. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  returned,  covered  with  slime,  and 
scratched  and  bleeding.  "All  right,"  he  muttered.  "Now  let's 
get  out  of  this  miserable  hole!" 

Out  in  the  sunlight  once  more,  Hitt  sought  to  remove  the 
stains  from  his  clothes,  meanwhile  bidding  Don  Jorge  attend 
well  to  his  words. 

"You  swim,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  do  you  come  to  the  beach  to-night  to  bathe,  down 
across  from  the  yacht.  And,  listen  well:  you  would  do  much 
for  the  little  Carmen,  no?  And  for  your  friend  Jose?  Very 
good.  You  will  swim  out  to  the  yacht  at  seven  to-night,  with 
your  clothes  in  a  bundle  on  your  head,  eh?  And,  Don  Jorge — 
but  we  will  discuss  that  later.  Now  you  go  back  to  the  city 
alone.  I  have  much  to  do.  And,  note  this,  you  have  not  seen 
me." 

Meantime,  to  the  group  of  politicians,  soldiers,  and  clergy 
assembled  in  the  long  audience  room  of  the  departmental  offices 
to  debate  the  terms  of  the  peace  protocol,  news  of  the  arrival 
of  the  Cossack  was  brought  by  a  slow-moving  messenger  from 
the  dock.  At  the  abrupt  announcement  the  acting-Bishop  was 
seen  to  start  from  his  chair.  Was  the  master  himself  on 
board?  Quien  sabe?  And,  if  so — but,  impossible!  He  would 
have  advised  his  faithful  co-laborer  of  his  coming.  And  yet, 
what  were  those  strange  rumors  which  had  trickled  over  the 
wires,  and  which,  in  his  absorption  in  the  local  issues,  and  in 
the  excitement  attendant  upon  the  restoration  of  peace  and 
the  settlement  of  the  multifold  claims  of  innumerable  greedy 
politicians,  he  had  all  but  forgotten?  A  thousand  suggestions 
flashed  through  his  mind,  any  one  of  which  might  account  for 
the  presence  of  the  Cossack  in  Cartagena's  harbor  that  day. 
But  extreme  caution  must  be  observed  until  he  might  ascertain 
its  errand.  He  therefore  despatched  a  message  to  the  yacht, 
expressing  his  great  surprise  and  pleasure,  and  bidding  its 

254 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


master  meet  him  at  a  convenient  hour  in  his  study  in  the  Cathe 
dral.  This  done,  he  bent  anew  to  the  work  before  him,  yet 
with  his  thought  harried  by  doubt,  suspicion,  and  torturing 
curiosity. 

Wenceslas  soon  received  a  reply  to  his  message.  The 
master  was  aboard,  but  unable  to  go  ashore.  The  acting-Bishop 
would  therefore  come  to  him  at  once. 

Wenceslas  hesitated,  and  his  brow  furrowed.  He  knew  he 
was  called  upon  to  render  his  reckoning  to  the  great  financier 
who  had  furnished  the  sinews  of  war.  But  he  must  have  time 
to  consider  thoroughly  his  own  advantage,  for  well  he  under 
stood  that  he  was  summoned  to  match  his  own  keen  wits  with 
those  of  a  master  mind. 

And  then  there  flashed  through  his  thought  the  reports 
which  had  circled  the  world  but  three  short  weeks  before.  The 
man  of  wealth  had  found  his  daughter;  and  she  was  the  girl 
for  whom  the  two  Americans  had  outwitted  him  four  years 
ago!  And  the  girl — Simiti — and — ah,  Rincon!  Good!  He 
laughed  outright.  He  would  meet  the  financier — but  not  until 
the  morrow,  at  noon,  for,  he  would  allege,  the  unanticipated 
arrival  of  Ames  had  found  this  day  completely  occupied.  So 
he  again  despatched  his  wondering  messenger  to  the  Cossack. 
And  that  messenger  was  rowed  out  to  the  quiet  yacht  in  the 
same  boat  with  the  tall  American,  whose  clothes  were  torn  and 
caked  with  mud,  and  in  whose  eyes  there  glowed  a  fierce 
determination. 

That  night  the  sky  was  overcast.  The  harbingers  of  the 
wet  season  had  already  arrived.  At  two  in  the  morning  the 
rain  came,  descending  in  a  torrent.  In  the  midst  of  it  a  light 
skiff,  rocking  dangerously  on  the  swelling  sea,  rounded  a  corner 
of  San  Fernando  and  crept  like  a  shadow  along  the  dull  gray 
wall.  The  sentry  above  had  taken  shelter  from  the  driving  rain. 
The  ancient  fort  lay  heavily  shrouded  in  gloom. 

At  one  of  the  narrow,  grated  windows  which  were  set  just 
above  the  water's  surface  the  skiff  hung,  and  a  long  form  arose 
from  its  depths  and  grasped  the  iron  bars.  A  moment  later 
the  gleam  of  an  electric  lantern  flashed  into  the  blackness  with 
in.  It  fell  upon  a  rough  bench,  standing  in  foul,  slime-covered 
water.  Upon  the  bench  sat  the  huddled  form  of  a  man. 

Then  another  dark  shape  rose  in  the  skiff.  Another  pair 
of  hands  laid  hold  on  the  iron  bars.  And  behind  those  great, 
calloused  hands  stretched  thick  arms,  with  the  strength  of  an 
ox.  An  iron  lever  was  inserted  between  the  bars.  The  heavy 
breathing  and  the  low  sounds  of  the  straining  were  drowned 
by  the  tropic  storm.  The  prisoner  leaped  from  the  bench  and 
stood  ankle-deep  in  the  water,  straining  his  eyes  upward. 

255 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  light  flashed  again  into  his  face.  His  heart  pounded 
wildly.  His  throbbing  ears  caught  the  splash  of  a  knotted  rope 
falling  into  the  water  at  his  feet.  Above  the  noise  of  the  rain 
he  thought  he  heard  a  groaning,  creaking  sound.  Those  rusted, 
storm-eaten  bars  in  the  blackness  above  must  be  slowly 
yielding  to  an  awful  pressure.  He  turned  and  dragged  the 
slime-covered  bench  to  the  window,  and  stood  upon  it.  Then 
he  grasped  the  rope  with  a  strength  born  anew  of  hope  and 
excitement,  and  pulled  himself  upward.  The  hands  from  with 
out  seized  him;  and  slowly,  painfully,  his  emaciated  body  was 
crushed  through  the  narrow  space  between  the  bent  bars. 
»*»*** 

Cartagena  awoke  to  experience  another  thrill.  And  then 
the  ripple  of  excitement  gave  place  to  anger.  The  rabble  had 
lost  one  of  its  victims,  and  that  one  the  chief.  Moreover,  the 
presence  of  that  graceful  yacht,  sleeping  so  quietly  out  there  in 
the  sun-lit  harbor,  could  not  but  be  associated  with  that  most 
daring  deed  of  the  preceding  night,  which  had  given  liberty  to 
the  excommunicated  priest  and  political  malefactor,  Jose  de 
Rincon.  Crowds  of  chattering,  gesticulating  citizens  gathered 
along  the  harbor  shores,  and  loudly  voiced  their  disappointment 
and  threats.  But  the  boat  lay  like  a  thing  asleep.  Not  even  a 
wisp  of  smoke  rose  from  its  yellow  funnels. 

Then  came  the  Alcalde,  and  the  Departmental  Governor, 
grave  and  sedate,  with  their  aids  and  secretaries,  their  books 
and  documents,  their  mandates  and  red-sealed  processes,  and 
were  rowed  out  to  confront  the  master  whom  they  believed  to 
have  dared  to  thwart  the  hand  of  justice  and  remain  to  taunt 
them  with  his  egregious  presence.  This  should  be  made  an 
international  episode,  whose  ramifications  would  wind  down 
through  years  to  come,  and  embrace  long,  stupid  congressional 
debates,  apologies  demanded,  huge  sums  to  salve  a  wounded 
nation,  and  the  making  and  breaking  of  politicians  too  numer 
ous  to  mention! 

But  the  giant  who  received  them,  bound  to  his  chair,  in  the 
splendid  library  of  the  palatial  yacht,  and  with  no  attendant, 
save  a  single  valet,  flared  out  in  a  towering  rage  at  the  gross 
insult  offered  him  and  his  great  country  in  these  black  charges. 
He  had  come  on  a  peaceful  errand;  partly,  too,  for  reasons  of 
health.  And  he  was  at  that  moment  awaiting  a  visit  from  His 
Grace.  What  manner  of  reception  was  this,  that  Cartagena  ex 
tended  to  an  influential  representative  of  the  powerful  States 
of  the  North! 

"But,"  the  discomfited  Indignation  Committee  gasped, 
"what  of  the  tall  American  who  was  seen  to  land  the  day 
before?" 

256 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


The  master  laughed  in  their  faces.  He?  Why,  but  a  poor, 
obsessed  archaeologist,  now  prowling  around  the  ruins  of  San 
Felipe,  doubtless  mumbling  childishly  as  he  prods  the  dust  and 
mold  of  centuries!  Go,  visit  him,  if  they  would  be  convinced! 

And  when  these  had  gone,  chagrined  and  mortified — though 
filled  with  wonder,  for  they  had  roamed  the  Cossack,  and 
peered  into  its  every  nook  and  cranny,  and  stopped  to  look  a 
second  time  at  the  fair-haired  young  boy  who  looked  like  a 
girl,  and  hovered  close  to  the  master — came  His  Grace,  Wen- 
ceslas.  He  came  alone,  and  with  a  sneer  curling  his  imperious 
lips.  And  his  calm,  arrogant  eyes  held  a  meaning  that  boded 
no  good  to  the  man  who  sat  in  his  wheel  chair,  alone,  and  could 
not  rise  to  welcome  him. 

"A  very  pretty  trick,  my  powerful  friend,"  said  the  angered 
churchman  in  his  perfect  English.  "And  one  that  will  cause 
your  Government  at  Washington  some — " 

"Enough!"  interrupted  Ames  in  a  steady  voice.  "I  sent  for 
you  yesterday,  intending  to  ask  you  to  release  the  man.  I  had 
terms  then  which  would  have  advantaged  you  greatly.  You 
were  afraid  to  see  me  until  you  had  evolved  your  plans  of 
opposition.  Only  a  fixed  and  devilish  hatred,  nourished  by  you 
against  a  harmless  priest  who  possessed  your  secrets,  doomed 
him  to  die  to-day.  But  we  will  pass  that  for  the  present.  I 
have  here  my  demands  for  the  aid  I  have  furnished  you.  You 
may  look  them  over."  He  held  out  some  typewritten  sheets  to 
Wenceslas. 

The  churchman  glanced  hastily  over  them;  then  handed 
them  back  with  a  smile. 

"With  certain  modifications,"  he  said  smoothly.  "The  terms 
on  which  peace  is  concluded  will  scarcely  admit  of— 

"Very  well,"  returned  Ames  quietly.  "And  now,  La  Liber- 
tad?" 

Wenceslas  laughed.  "En  manos  muertas,  my  friend,"  he 
replied.  "It  was  your  own  idea." 

"And  the  emerald  concession?" 

"Impossible !  A  government  monopoly,  you  know,"  said  His 
Grace  easily.  "You  see,  my  friend,  it  is  a  costly  matter  to  effect 
the  escape  of  state  prisoners.  As  things  stand  now,  your  little 
trick  of  last  night  quite  protects  me.  For,  first  you  instruct  me, 
long  ago,  to  place  the  weak  little  Jose  in  San  Fernando;  and  I 
obey.  Then  you  suffer  a  change  of  heart,  and  slip  down  here  to 
release  the  man,  who  has  become  a  state  prisoner.  That  quite 
removes  you  from  any  claims  upon  us  for  a  share  of  the  spoils 
of  war.  I  take  it,  you  do  not  wish  to  risk  exposure  of  your 
part  in  this  four  years'  carnage?" 

Ames  drew  a  sigh.    Then  he  pulled  himself  together.    "Wen- 

62  257 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


ceslas,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  the  man  with  whom  you  dealt  in 
these  matters.  He  is  dead.  I  have  but  one  thing  more  to  say, 
and  that  is  that  I  renounce  all  claims  upon  you  and  your  Gov 
ernment,  excepting  one.  La  Libertad  mine  was  owned  by  the 
Rincon  family.  It  was  rediscovered  by  old  Rosendo,  and  the 
title  transferred  to  his  foster-daughter.  Its  possession  must 
remain  with  her  and  her  associates.  There  is  no  record,  so 
you  have  informed  me,  to  the  effect  that  the  Church  possesses 
this  mine." 

"But,  my  friend,  there  shall  be  such  a  record  to-day," 
laughed  Wenceslas.  "And,  in  your  present  situation,  you  will 
hardly  care  to  contest  it." 

Ames  smiled.  He  now  had  the  information  which  he  had 
been  seeking.  The  title  to  the  famous  mine  lay  still  with  the 
Simiti  company.  He  pressed  the  call-button  attached  to  his 
chair.  The  door  opened,  and  Don  Jorge  entered,  leading  the 
erstwhile  little  newsboy,  Jose  de  Rinc6n,  by  the  hand. 

Wenceslas  gasped,  and  staggered  back.  He  knew  not  the 
man;  but  the  boy  was  a  familiar  figure. 

Don  Jorge  advanced  straight  to  him.  Their  faces  almost 
touched. 

"Your  Grace,  were  you  married  to  the  woman  by  whom  you 
had  this  son?"  Don  Jorge's  steady  words  fell  upon  the  church 
man's  ears  like  a  sentence  of  death. 

"I  ask,"  continued  the  dark-faced  man,  "because  I  learned 
last  night  that  the  lad's  mother  was  my  daughter,  the  little 
Maria." 

"Santa  Virgen!" 

"Yes,  Your  Grace,  a  sainted  virgin,  despoiled  by  a  devil! 
And  the  man  who  gave  me  this  information — would  you  like  to 
know?  Bien,  it  was  Padre  Jose  de  Rincon,  in  whose  arms  she 
died,  you  lecherous  dog!" 

Wenceslas  paled,  and  his  brow  grew  moist.  He  stared  at 
the  boy,  and  then  at  the  strong  man  whom  he  had  so  foully 
wronged. 

"If  you  have  concluded  your  talk  with  Sefior  Ames,"  con 
tinued  Don  Jorge,  "we  will  go  ashore — you  and  the  lad  and  I." 

Wenceslas's  face  brightened.     Ashore!     Yes,  by  all  means! 

The  trio  turned  and  quietly  left  the  room.  Gaining  the 
deck,  Wenceslas  found  a  skiff  awaiting  them,  and  two  strong 
sailors  at  the  oars.  Don  Jorge  urged  him  on,  and  together  they 
descended  the  ladder  and  entered  the  boat.  A  few  moments 
later  they  landed  at  the  pier,  and  the  skiff  turned  back  to  the 
yacht. 

As  to  just  what  followed,  accounts  vary.  There  were  some 
who  remembered  seeing  His  Grace  pass  through  the  narrow 

258 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


streets  with  a  dark-skinned,  powerful  man,  whose  hand 
grasped  that  of  the  young  newsboy.  There  were  others  who 
said  that  they  saw  the  boy  leave  them  at  the  Cathedral,  and 
the  two  men  turn  and  enter.  Still  others  said  they  saw  the 
heavy-set  man  come  out  alone.  But  there  was  only  one  who 
discovered  the  body  of  Wenceslas,  crumpled  up  in  a  hideous 
heap  upon  the  floor  of  his  study,  with  a  poignard  driven  clean 
through  his  heart.  That  man  was  the  old  sexton,  who  fled 
screaming  from  the  awful  sight  late  that  afternoon. 

Again  Cartagena  shook  with  excitement,  and  seethed  with 
mystery.  Had  the  escaped  prisoner,  Rincon,  returned  to  com 
mit  this  awful  deed?  There  were  those  who  said  he  had.  For 
the  dark-skinned  man  who  had  entered  the  Cathedral  with  His 
Grace  was  seen  again  on  the  streets  and  in  the  wine  shops  that 
afternoon,  and  had  been  marked  by  some  mounting  the  broken 
incline  of  San  Felipe. 

Again  the  Governor  and  Alcalde  and  their  numerous  suite 
paid  a  visit  to  the  master  on  board  the  Cossack.  But  they 
learned  only  that  His  Grace  had  gone  ashore  long  before  he 
met  his  fearful  death.  And  so  the  Governor  returned  to  the 
city,  and  was  driven  to  San  Felipe.  But  his  only  reward  was 
the  sight  of  the  obsessed  archaeologist,  mud-stained  and  ab 
sorbed,  prying  about  the  old  ruins,  and  uttering  little  cries  of 
delight  at  new  discoveries  of  crumbling  passageways  and  caving 
rooms.  And  so  there  was  nothing  for  the  disturbed  town  to  do 
but  settle  down  and  ponder  the  strange  case. 

A  week  later  smoke  was  seen  again  pouring  out  of  the  Cos 
sack's  funnels.  That  same  day  the  Governor  and  Alcalde  and 
their  suites  were  bidden  to  a  farewell  banquet  on  board  the 
luxurious  yacht.  Far  into  the  night  they  sat  over  their  rare 
wines  and  rich  food,  drinking  deep  healths  to  the  entente 
cordial  which  existed  between  the  little  republic  of  the  South 
and  the  great  one  of  the  North.  And  while  they  drank  and 
sang  and  listened  enraptured  to  the  wonderful  pipe-organ,  a 
little  boat  put  out  from  the  dark,  tangled  shrubbery  along  the 
shore.  And  when  it  rubbed  against  the  yacht,  a  muffled  figure 
mounted  the  ladder  which  hung  in  the  shadows,  and  hastened 
through  the  rear  hatchway  and  down  into  the  depths  of  the 
boat.  Then,  long  after  midnight,  the  last  farewell  being  said 
by  the  dizzy  officials,  and  the  echoes  of  Adios,  adios,  amigosf 
lingering  among  its  tall  spars,  the  Cossack  slipped  noiselessly 
out  of  the  Boca  Chica,  and  set  its  course  for  New  York. 

A  few  hours  later,  while  the  boat  sped  swiftly  through  the 
phosphorescent  waves,  the  escaped  prisoner,  Jose  de  Rinc6n, 
who  had  lain  for  a  week  hidden  in  the  bowels  of  old  fort  San 
Felipe,  stood  alone  in  the  wonderful  smoking  room  of  the  Cos- 

259 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


sack,  and  looked  up  at  the  sweet  face  pictured  in  the  stained- 
glass  window  above.  And  then  he  turned  quickly,  for  the  door 
opened  and  a  girl  entered.  A  rush,  a  cry  of  joy,  and  his  arms 
closed  about  the  fair  vision  that  had  sat  by  his  side  constantly 
during  the  four  long  years  of  his  imprisonment. 

"Carmen!" 

"My  Jose!" 

"I  have  solved  my  problem!  I  have  proved  God!  I  have 
found  the  Christ!" 

"I  knew  you  would,  for  he  was  with  you  always!" 

"But — oh,  you  beautiful,  beautiful  girl!" 

Then  in  a  little  while  she  gently  released  herself  and  went 
to  the  door  through  which  she  had  entered.  She  paused  for 
a  moment  to  smile  back  at  the  enraptured  man,  then  turned 
and  flung  the  door  wide. 

A  woman  entered,  leading  a  young  boy.  The  man  uttered 
a  loud  exclamation  and  started  toward  her. 

"Ana!" 

He  stopped  short  and  stared  down  at  the  boy.  Then  he 
looked  wonderingly  at  Carmen. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  stooping  and  lifting  the  boy  up  before  Jose, 
"it  is  Anita's  babe — and  he  sees!" 

The  man  clasped  the  child  in  his  arms  and  buried  his  face 
in  its  hair. 

Verily,  upon  them  that  sat  in  darkness  had  the  Light  shined. 


CHAPTER  21 

ANOTHER  summer  had  come  and  gone.  Through  the  trees 
in  Central  Park  the  afternoon  sunlight,  sifted  and  softened 
by  the  tinted  autumn  leaves,  spread  over  the  brown  turf 
like  a  gossamer  web.  And  it  fell  like  a  gentle  benediction  upon 
the  massive  figure  of  a  man,  walking  unsteadily  beneath  the 
trees,  holding  the  hand  of  a  young  girl  whose  beauty  made 
every  passer  turn  and  look  again. 

"Now,  father,"  laughed  the  girl,  "once  more !  There !  Why, 
you  step  off  like  a  major!" 

They  were  familiar  figures,  out  there  in  the  park,  for  almost 
daily  during  the  past  few  weeks  they  might  have  been  seen,  as 
the  girl  laughingly  said,  "practicing  their  steps."  And  daily  the 
man's  control  became  firmer;  daily  that  limp  left  arm  and  leg 
seemed  increasingly  to  manifest  life. 

On  a  bench  near  by  sat  a  dark-featured  woman.  About  her 
played  her  boy,  filling  the  air  with  his  merry  shouts  and  his 
imperfect  English. 

260 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


"There,  father,  comes  Jose"  after  us,"  announced  the  girl, 
looking  off  with  love-lit  eyes  at  an  approaching  automobile. 
"And  Lewis  is  with  him.  Now,  mind,  you  are  going  to  get  into 
the  car  without  any  help!" 

The  man  laughed,  and  declared  vehemently  that  if  he  could 
not  get  in  alone  he  would  walk  home.  A  few  minutes  later  they 
had  gone. 

The  profound  depth  of  those  changes  which  had  come  into 
the  rich  man's  life,  he  himself  might  not  fathom.  But  those 
who  toiled  daily  with  him  over  his  great  ledgers  and  files  knew 
that  the  transformation  went  far.  There  were  flashes  at  times 
of  his  former  vigor  and  spirit  of  domination,  but  there  were  also 
periods  of  grief  that  were  heart-rending  to  behold,  as  when, 
poring  over  his  records  for  the  name  of  one  whom  in  years 
past  he  had  ruthlessly  wrecked,  he  would  find  that  the  victim 
had  gone  in  poverty  beyond  his  power  to  reimburse  him.  And 
again,  when  his  thought  dwelt  on  Avon,  and  the  carnal  mad 
ness  which  had  filled  those  new  graves  there,  he  would  sink 
moaning  into  his  chair  and  bury  his  drawn  face  in  his  hands 
and  sob. 

And  yet  he  strove  madly,  feverishly,  to  restore  again  to 
those  from  whom  he  had  taken.  The  Simiti  company  was  re 
vived,  through  his  labors,  and  the  great  La  Libertad  restored 
to  its  reanimated  stockholders.  Work  of  development  had 
begun  on  the  property,  and  Harris  was  again  in  Colombia  in 
charge  of  operations.  The  Express  was  booming,  and  the  rich 
man  had  consecrated  himself  to  the  carrying  out  of  its  clean 
policies.  The  mills  at  Avon  were  running  day  and  night;  and 
in  a  new  location,  far  from  the  old-time  "lungers'  alley,"  long 
rows  of  little  cottages  were  going  up  for  their  employes.  The 
lawyer  Collins  had  been  removed,  and  Lewis  Waite  was  to  take 
his  place  within  a  week.  Father  Danny,  now  recovered,  re 
joiced  in  resources  such  as  he  had  never  dared  hope  to  com 
mand. 

And  so  the  rich  man  toiled — ah,  God!  if  he  had  only  known 
before  that  in  the  happiness  of  others  lay  his  own.  If  only  he 
could  have  known  that  but  a  moiety  of  his  vast,  unused  income 
would  have  let  floods  of  sunshine  into  the  lives  of  those 
dwarfed,  stunted  children  who  toiled  for  him,  and  never  played! 
Oh,  if  when  he  closed  his  mills  in  the  dull  months  he  had  but 
sent  them  and  their  tired  mothers  to  the  country  fields,  how 
they  would  have  risen  up  and  called  him  blessed!  If  he  could 
have  but  known  that  he  was  his  brother's  keeper,  and  in  a 
sense  that  the  world  as  yet  knows  not!  For  he  is  indeed  wise 
who  loves  his  fellow-men;  and  he  is  a  fool  who  hates  them! 

The  great  Fifth  Avenue  mansion  was  dark,  except  where 

261 


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hung  a  cluster  of  glowing  bulbs  over  the  rich  mahogany  table 
in  the  library.  There  about  that  table  sat  the  little  group  of 
searchers  after  God,  with  their  number  augmented  now  in 
ways  of  which  they  could  not  have  dreamed.  And  Hitt,  great- 
soiiled  friend  of  the  world,  was  speaking  again  as  had  been  his 
wont  in  the  days  now  gone. 

"The  solution  of  the  problems  of  mankind?  Ah,  yes,  there 
is  a  cure-all;  there  is  a  final  answer  to  every  ethical  question, 
every  social,  industrial,  economic  problem,  the  problems  of 
liquor,  poverty,  disease,  war.  And  the  remedy  is  so  universal 
that  it  dissolves  even  the  tangles  of  tariff  and  theology.  What 
is  it?  Ah,  my  friends,  the  girl  who  came  among  us  to  'show 
the  world  what  love  will  do'  has  taught  us  by  her  own  rich 
life — it  is  love.  But  not  the  sex-mesmerism,  the  covetousness, 
the  self-love,  which  mask  behind  that  heavenly  name.  For  God 
is  Love.  And  to  know  Him  is  to  receive  that  marvelous  Christ- 
principle  which  unlocks  for  mankind  the  door  of  harmony. 

"No,  the  world's  troubles  are  not  the  fault  of  one  man,  nor 
of  many,  but  of  all  who  seek  happiness  in  things  material,  and 
forget  that  the  real  man  is  the  likeness  of  spirit,  and  that  joy 
is  spiritual.  The  trusts,  and  the  men  of  wealth,  are  not  all 
malefactors;  the  churches  are  not  wholly  filled  with  evil  men. 
But  all,  yes  all,  have  'missed  the  mark'  through  the  belief  that 
matter  and  evil  are  real,  and  must  grope  amid  sickness,  poverty, 
crime,  and  death,  until  they  are  willing  to  turn  from  such  false 
beliefs,  and  from  self,  and  seek  their  own  in  the  reflection  of 
Him,  who  is  Love,  to  their  fellow-men.  It  is  only  as  men  join 
to  search  for  and  apply  the  Christ-principle  that  they  truly 
unite  to  solve  the  world's  sore  problems  and  reveal  the  waiting 
kingdom  of  harmony,  which  is  always  just  at  hand.  And  it 
can  be  done.  It  must  be,  sometime. 

"In  that  day  all  shall  know  that  cause  and  effect  are  mental. 
The  man  who  hears  the  tempter,  the  carnal  mind's  suggestion 
to  enrich  himself  materially  at  the  cost  of  his  brother,  will 
know  that  it  is  but  the  voice  of  mesmerism,  that  'man-killer 
from  the  beginning',  which  bids  him  sever  himself  from  his 
God,  who  alone  is  infinite  abundance.  The  society  woman  who 
flits  like  a  gorgeous  butterfly  about  the  courts  of  fashion,  her 
precious  days  wasted  in  motoring,  her  nights  at  cards,  and 
whose  vitality  goes  into  dress,  and  into  the  watery  schemes  for 
'who  shall  be  greatest'  in  the  dismal  realm  of  the  human  mind, 
must  learn,  willingly  or  through  suffering,  that  her  activities 
are  but  mesmeric  shams  that  counterfeit  the  divine  activity 
which  manifests  in  joy  and  fullness  for  all. 

"Christianity?  What  is  it  but  the  Christ-knowledge,  the 
knowledge  of  good,  and  its  correlated  knowledge,  that  evil  is 

262 


CARMEN    ARIZ  A 


only  the  mesmeric  lie  which  has  engulfed  the  world?  But,  oh, 
the  depths  of  that  divine  knowledge!  The  knowledge  which 
heals  the  sick,  gives  sight  to  the  blind,  and  opens  the  prisons 
to  them  that  are  captive!  We  who  are  gathered  here  to-night, 
feeling  in  our  midst  that  great,  unseen  Presence  which  makes 
for  righteousness,  know  now  that  'in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God,' 
for  we  have  indeed  already  seen  and  known  Him." 

With  them  sat  the  man  who,  swept  by  the  storms  of  error 
and  the  carnal  winds  of  destruction,  had  solved  his  problem, 
even  as  the  girl  by  his  side  told  him  he  should,  and  had  been 
found,  when  his  foul  prison  opened,  sitting  "clothed  and  in  his 
right  mind"  at  the  feet  of  the  Christ.  Jesus  "saw  the  heavens 
opened,  and  the  Spirit — God — like  a  dove  descending  upon  him 
—immediately  the  Spirit — carnal  belief,  error,  the  lie — driveth 
him  into  the  wilderness."  And  there  he  was  made  to  prove  God. 
So  Jose  de  Rincon,  when  the  light  had  come,  years  gone,  in 
desolate  Simiti,  had  been  bidden  to  know  the  one  God,  and  none 
else.  But  he  wavered  when  the  floods  of  evil  rolled  over  him; 
he  had  looked  longingly  back;  he  had  clung  too  tightly  to  the 
human  concept  that  walked  with  him  like  a  shining  light  in 
those  dark  days.  And  so  she  had  been  taken  from  him,  and  he 
had  been  hurled  into  the  wilderness — alone  with  Him  whom  he 
must  learn  to  know  if  he  would  see  Life. 

Then  self-consciousness  went  out,  in  those  four  years  of  his 
captivity,  and  he  passed  from  thence  into  consciousness  of  God. 

Then  his  great  world-knowledge  he  saw  to  have  been  wholly 
untrue.  His  store  of  truth  he  saw  to  have  been  but  relative  at 
best.  His  knowledge  had  rested,  he  then  knew,  upon  view 
points  which  had  been  utterly  false.  And  so,  like  Paul,  he  died 
that  he  might  live.  He  crucified  Self,  that  he  might  resurrect 
the  image  of  God. 

"The  world,"  resumed  Hitt,  "still  worships  false  gods, 
though  it  reaches  out  for  Truth.  And  yet,  what  are  we  all 
seeking?  Only  a  state  of  consciousness,  a  consciousness  of 
good,  of  joy  and  harmony.  And  we  are  seeking  to  rid  ourselves 
of  the  consciousness  of  evil,  with  its  sin,  its  disease  and  death. 
But,  knowing  now  that  consciousness  is  mental  activity,  the 
activity  of  thought,  can  we  not  see  that  harmony  and  immor 
tality  are  within  our  grasp?  for  they  are  functions  of  right 
thought.  Salvation  is  not  from  evil  realities,  but  from  the  false 
sense  of  evil,  even  as  Jesus  taught  and  proved.  The  only  salva 
tion  possible  to  mankind  is  in  learning  to  think  as  Jesus  did — 
not  yielding  our  mentalities  daily  to  a  hodge-podge  of  mixed 
thoughts  of  good  and  evil,  and  then  running  to  doctors  and 
preachers  when  such  yielding  brings  its  inevitable  result  in 
sickness  and  death.  Jesus  insisted  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven 

263 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


was  within  men,  a  tremendous  potentiality  within  each  one  of 
us.  How  may  it  be  reached?  By  removing  hampering  false 
belief,  by  removing  the  limitations  of  superstition  and  human 
opinion  which  hold  its  portals  closed.  True  progress  is  the 
release  of  mankind  from  materialism,  with  its  enslaving 
drudgery,  its  woes,  and  its  inevitable  death.  Mankind's  chief 
difficulty  is  ignorance  of  what  God  is.  Jesus  proved  Him  to  be 
mind,  spirit.  He  proved  Him  to  be  the  creator  of  the  spiritual 
universe,  but  not  the  originator  of  the  lie  of  materiality.  He 
showed  matter  to  be  but  the  manifestation  of  the  false  belief 
that  creation  is  material.  He  showed  it  to  be  but  a  sense- 
impression,  without  life,  without  stability,  without  existence, 
except  the  pseudo-existence  which  it  has  in  the  false  thought 
of  which  the  human  or  carnal  consciousness  is  formed.  But 
the  lack  of  understanding  of  the  real  nature  of  matter,  and  the 
persistent  belief  in  the  stability  of  its  so-called  laws,  has  re 
sulted  in  centuries  of  attempts  to  discredit  the  Bible  records 
of  his  spiritual  demonstrations  of  God's  omnipotence  and  im 
manence,  and  so  has  prevented  the  human  mind  from  accepting 
the  proofs  which  it  so  eagerly  sought.  And  now,  after  nineteen 
centuries  of  so-called  Christian  teaching,  the  human  mind 
remains  still  deeply  embedded  in  matter,  and  subject  to  the 
consentaneous  human  beliefs  which  it  calls  material  laws. 
Jesus  showed  that  it  was  the  communal  mortal  mind,  with  its 
false  beliefs  in  matter,  sin,  disease,  and  death,  that  constituted 
'the  flesh';  he  showed  that  mortals  are  begotten  of  such  false 
beliefs;  he  showed  that  the  material  universe  is  but  manifested 
human  belief.  And  we  know  from  our  own  reasoning  that  we 
see  not  things,  but  our  thoughts  of  things;  that  we  deal  not 
with  matter,  but  with  material  mental  concepts  only.  We 
know  that  the  preachers  have  woefully  missed  the  mark,  and 
that  the  medicines  of  the  doctors  have  destroyed  more  lives 
than  wars  and  famine,  and  yet  will  we  not  learn  of  the  Master? 
To  reach  God  through  material  thinking  is  utterly  impossible, 
for  He  is  spirit,  and  He  can  be  cognized  only  by  a  spiritual 
consciousness.  Yet  such  a  consciousness  is  ours,  if  we  will 
but  have  it. 

"Ah,  friends,  God  said:  Let  US  make  man  in  OUR  image  and 
likeness— let  Life,  Love,  Spirit  make  its  spiritual  reflection. 
But  where  is  that  man  to-day?  Buried  deep  beneath  the  dogma 
and  the  crystallized  human  beliefs  of  mortals— buried  beneath 
'the  lie'  which  mankind  accept  about  truth.  Nothing  but  scien 
tific  religion  will  meet  humanity's  dire  needs  and  reveal  that 
man.  And  scientific  religion  admits  of  actual,  practical  proof. 
Christianity  is  as  scientific  as  mathematics,  and  quite  as  ca 
pable  of  demonstration.  Its  proofs  lie  in  doing  the  works  of  the 

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CARMEN    ARIZA 


Master.  He  is  a  Christian  who  does  these  works;  he  who  does 
not  is  none.  Christianity  is  not  a  failure,  but  organized  ecclesi- 
asticism,  which  always  collapses  before  a  world  crisis,  has 
failed  utterly.  The  hideous  chicane  of  imperial  government 
and  imperial  religion  against  mankind  has  resulted  in  a 
Christian  veneer,  which  cracks  at  the  first  test  and  reveals  the 
unchanged  human  brute  beneath.  The  nations  which  writhe 
in  deadly  embrace  to-day  have  never  sought  to  prove  God. 
They  but  emphasize  the  awful  fact  that  the  human  mind  has 
no  grasp  upon  the  Principle  which  is  God,  and  at  a  time  of 
crisis  reverts  almost  instantly  to  the  primitive,  despite  so-called 
culture  and  civilization.  Yes,  religion  as  a  perpetuation  of 
ancient  human  conceptions,  of  materialistic  traditions  and 
opinions  of  'the  Fathers,'  is  a  flat  failure.  By  it  the  people  of 
great  nations  have  been  molded  into  servile  submission  to 
church  and  ruler — have  been  persuaded  that  wretchedness  and 
poverty  are  eternal — that  heaven  is  a  realm  beyond  the  grave, 
to  which  admission  is  a  function  of  outward  oblation — and  that 
surcease  from  ills  here,  or  in  the  life  to  come,  is  a  gift  of  the 
Church.  Can  we  wonder  that  commercialism  is  mistaken  by 
nations  for  progress?  That  king  and  emperor  still  call  upon 
God  to  bless  their  barbaric  attempts  at  conquest?  And  that 
human  existence  remains,  what  it  has  always  been,  a  ghastly 
mockery  of  Life? 

"Healing  the  sick  by  applied  Christianity  is  not  the  attempt 
to  alter  a  mental  concept;  it  is  the  bringing  out  of  harmony 
where  before  was  discord.  Evil  can  not  be  'thought  away.' 
He  who  indulges  evil  only  proves  his  belief  in  its  reality  and 
power.  Christian  healing  is  not  'mental  suggestion,'  wherein 
all  thought  is  material.  When  evil  thinking  is  overcome,  then 
the  discords  which  result  from  it  will  disappear  from  conscious 
ness.  That  is  the  Christ-method.  Behind  all  .that  the  physical 
senses  seem  to  see,  know,  and  feel,  is  the  spiritual  fact,  perfect 
and  eternal.  Jesus  healed  the  sick  by  establishing  this  fact  in 
the  human  consciousness.  And  we  must  learn  to  do  likewise. 
The  orthodox  churches  must  learn  it.  They  must  cease  from 
the  dust-man,  whose  breath  is  in  his  nostrils;  they  must  cease 
from  preaching  evil  as  an  awful  reality,  permitted  by  God,  or 
existing  despite  Him;  they  must  know  it  as  Jesus  bade  all  men 
know  it,  as  the  lie  about  Truth.  Then,  by  holding  the  divine 
ideal  before  the  human  mind,  they  will  cause  that  mentality 
gradually  to  relinquish  its  false  beliefs  and  copy  the  real.  And 
thus,  step  by  step,  changing  from  better  to  better  beliefs,  at 
length  the  human  mind  will  have  completely  substituted  reality 
for  unreality,  and  will  be  no  more,  even  in  thought.  The  'old 
man'  will  have  given  place  to  the  'new.'  This  is  the  method  of 

265 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


Jesus.  There  is  no  other.  Yes,  for  the  present  we  reckon  with 
material  symbols;  we  have  not  yet  fully  learned  their  unreality. 
But  at  length,  if  we  are  faithful,  we  shall  lay  them  aside,  and 
know  only  Truth  and  its  pure  manifestations. 

"Ah,  my  friends,  how  simple  is  Christianity!  It  is  summed 
up  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Our  salvation  is  in  righteous 
ness.  He  who  thinks  right  shall  know  things  as  they  are.  He 
who  thinks  wrong  shall  seem  to  know  them  as  they  are  not, 
and  shall  pass  his  days  in  sore  travail,  even  in  wars,  famine, 
and  utter  misery.  Then  why  not  take  up  the  demonstration  of 
Christianity  in  the  spirit  of  joy  and  freedom  from  prejudice 
with  which  we  pursue  our  earthly  studies,  and  as  gladly,  thank 
fully  seek  to  prove  it?  For  it,  of  all  things,  is  worth  while.  It 
alone  is  the  true  business  of  men.  For  if  what  we  have 
developed  in  our  many  talks  regarding  God,  man,  and  the 
mental  nature  of  the  universe  and  all  things  is  true,  then  are 
the  things  with  which  men  now  occupy  themselves  worth 
while?  No,  decidedly  no!  But  are  the  things  which  we  have 
developed  true?  Yes,  for  they  can  be  and  have  been  demon 
strated.  Then,  indeed,  are  we  without  excuse.  Carmen  has 
shown  us  the  way.  No,  she  is  not  unnatural;  she  is  only 
divinely  natural.  She  has  shown  us  what  we  all  may  become, 
if  we  but  will.  She  has  shown  us  what  we  shall  be  able  to  do 
when  we  are  completely  lost  in  accord  writh  God,  and  recognize 
no  other  life,  substance,  nor  law  than  His.  But — 

"  'I  form  the  light,  and  create  darkness;  I  make  peace,  and 
create  evil,'  cried  the  prophet.  Truth  always  has  its  supposi 
tional  opposite!  Choose  ye  then  whom  ye  will  serve.  All  is 
subject  to  proof.  Only  that  which  is  demonstrably  true,  not 
after  the  change  which  we  call  death,  but  here  this  side  of  the 
grave,  can  stand.  The  only  test  of  a  Christian  is  in  the  'signs 
following.'  Without  them  his  faith  is  but  sterile  human  belief, 
and  his  god  but  the  distorted  human  concept  whom  kings 
beseech  to  bless  their  slaughter. 

'"Cease  ye  from  man,  whose  breath  is  in  his  nostrils;  for  wherein 
is  he  to  be  accounted  of? 

"'His  breath  goeth  forth,  he  returneth  to  his  earth;  in  that  very 
day  his  thoughts  perish. 

"  'That  which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh;  and  that  which  is  born  of 
the  Spirit  is  spirit. 

"  'Wherefore  henceforth  know  we  no  man  after  the  flesh;  yea,  though 
we  have  known  Christ  after  the  flesh,  yet  now  henceforth  know  we  him 
no  more.' " 

The  fire  crackled  briskly  on  the  great  hearth.  Carmen  rose 
and  turned  off  the  light  above  them.  All  drew  their  chairs 
about  the  cheery  blaze. 

Silence,  sacred,  holy,  lay  upon  them.     The  rich  man,  now 

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CARMEN     ARIZ  A 


possessing  treasures  beyond  his  wildest  dreams,  sat  holding  his 
daughter's  hand.  Her  other  hand  lay  in  Jose's.  Sidney  had 
just  entered;  and  Haynerd  had  sent  word  that  he  would  join 
them  soon. 

Then  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  rich  man.  His  voice 
was  unsteady  and  low. 

"My  friends,  sorrow  and  joy  fill  my  heart  to-night.  To  the 
first  I  am  resigned;  it  is  my  due;  and  yet,  were  it  greater,  I 
know  not  how  I  could  live.  But  the  joy — who  can  understand 
it  until  he  has  passed  through  death  into  life!  This  little  girl's 
mother  knew  not,  nor  did  I,  that  she  was  royal  born.  Some 
times  I  wonder  now  if  it  is  really  so.  And  yet  the  evidence  is 
such  that  I  can  scarcely  doubt.  We  met  in  the  sun-kissed  hills 
of  Granada;  and  we  loved.  Her  old  nurse  was  Argus-eyed;  and 
our  meetings  were  such  as  only  lovers  can  effect.  I  was  young, 
wild,  and  my  blood  coursed  like  a  torrent  through  my  veins! 
But  I  loved  her,  yes,  base  though  I  was,  I  loved  her.  And  in 
these  years  since  I  left  her  in  that  little  house  in  Bogjota,  I  have 
suffered  the  agonies  of  the  lost  when  her  memory  and  my  own 
iniquity  fell  upon  me  and  smote  me  sore — 

"We  were  married  in  Spain,  and  the  marriage  was  per 
formed  by  Padre  Rafael  de  Rincon." 

"My  uncle!"  cried  the  startled  Jose. 

"And  then  we  fled,"  continued  Ames.  "I  was  rich;  I  was 
roaming  the  world,  extending  my  vast  business  interests;  and 
I  took  her  to  Colombia,  where  I  labored  with  the  politicians  in 
Bogota  to  grant  me  timber  and  cattle  concessions.  We  had  a 
cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where  we  were  happy. 
With  us  lived  her  faithful  old  nurse,  whom  she  would  not 
leave  in  Spain — 

"Then,  one  day,  came  a  cable  message  that  my  father  had 
died.  The  news  transformed  me.  I  knew  I  must  return  at 
once  to  New  York.  But — I  would  not  take  a  wife  back  with 
me!  Why,  I  know  not.  I  was  mad!  And  I  kissed  her  tear- 
stained  face,  and  bade  her  wait,  for  I  would  return  and  make 
her  happy.  And  then — 

"Months  later  I  wrote  to  her,  and,  receiving  no  reply,  I 
caused  inquiry  to  be  made.  But  she  had  gone — whither,  no  one 
knew.  The  old  nurse,  too,  had  disappeared.  I  never  learned 
that  a  woman  had  been  left  at  Badillo  to  die.  And  she  was  not 
known  in  Bogota.  She  was  timid,  and  went  out  seldom.  And 
then — then  I  thought  that  a  marriage  here  would  strengthen  my 
position,  for  I  was  powerful  and  proud. 

"Oh,  the  years  that  her  sad  face  haunted  me!  I  was  mad, 
mad!  I  know  not  why,  but  when  the  Cossack  was  built  I  had 
her  portrait  in  glass  set  in  the  smoking  room.  And  night  after 

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CARMEN     ARIZA 


night  I  have  sat  before  it  and  cursed  myself,  and  implored  her 
to  forgive!" 

"But — the  locket?"  said  Father  Waite. 

"It  came  from  Spain.  I  was  Guillermo  to  her,  and  she 
Dolores  to  me.  But  I  had  never  forgotten  it.  Had  Carmen  ever 
worn  it  in  my  presence  I  must  have  recognized  it  at  once.  Oh, 
God,  that  she  had!  What  would  it  not  have  saved!" 

"Father!"     The  girl's  arms  were  about  his  neck. 

"But,"  said  Ames,  choking  down  his  sorrow,  "that  man  is 
dead.  He,  like  Goliath,  fought  Truth,  and  the  Truth  fell  upon 
him,  crushing  him  to  powder.  The  man  who  remains  with  you 
now  lives  only  in  this  little  girl.  And  she  has  brought  me  my 
own  son,  Sidney,  and  another,  Jose.  All  that  I  have  is  theirs, 
and  they  will  give  it  to  the  world.  I  would  that  she  could  have 
brought  me  that  noble  black  man,  Rosendo,  who  laid  down  his 
beautiful  life  when  he  saw  that  his  work  was  done.  I  learn 
from  my  inquiries  that  he  and  Dona  Maria  lived  with  Don 
Nicolas  faj  up  the  Boque  river  during  the  troublous  times 
when  Simiti  was  burned  and  devastated.  And  that,  when  the 
troops  had  gone,  they  returned  to  their  desolated  home,  and 
died  within  a  month  of  each  other.  What  do  I  not  owe  to 
them!  And  can  my  care  of  their  daughter  Ana  and  her  little 
son  ever  cancel  the  debt?  Alas,  no!" 

Sidney  turned  to  the  man.  "Father,  does  Jose  know  that 
it  was  Kathleen  whom  he  rescued  from  the  Tiber  in  Rome,  years 
ago,  and  who  caused  him  to  lose  his  notebook?" 

Another  exclamation  burst  from  Jose.  Ames  shook  his 
head.  "No,  Sidney,  we  had  not  told  him.  Ah,  how  small  is 
the  world!  And  how  inextricably  bound  together  we  all  are! 
And,  Jose,  I  have  not  told  you  that  the  woman  who  lived  and 
died  alone  in  the  limestone  caves  near  Honda,  and  whose  story 
you  had  from  Don  Jorge  in  Simiti,  wras  doubtless  the  faithful 
old  nurse  of  Dolores.  My  investigations  all  but  confirm  it. 
Padre  Rafael  de  Rincon  maintained  her  there." 

Haynerd  entered  the  room  at  that  moment,  and  with  him 
came  Miss  Wall. 

"Now,"  said  Hitt  softly,  "the  circle  is  complete.  Carmen, 
may  I— 

The  girl  rose  at  once  and  went  into  the  music  room.  Those 
who  remained  sat  in  awed,  expectant  silence.  Another  presence 
stole  softly  in,  but  they  saw  him  not.  Soon  through  the  great 
rooms  and  marble  halls  drifted  the  low,  weird  melody  which 
the  girl  had  sung,  long  before,  in  the  dreary  Elwin  school. 

In  the  flickering  light  of  the  fire  strange  shapes  took  form; 
and  the  shadows  that  danced  on  the  walls  silhouetted  scenes 
from  the  dimming  past.  From  out  their  weird  imagery  rose  a 

268 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


single  form.  Into  it  passed  the  unseen  presence.  Slowly  it  rose 
before  them  from  out  the  shadows.  It  was  black  of  face,  but  its 
wondrous  heart  which  had  cradled  the  nameless  babe  of 
Badillo  glistened  like  drifting  snow. 

The  last  sweet  notes  of  the  plaintive  Indian  lament  fluttered 
from  the  girl's  lips,  echoed  among  the  marble  pillars,  and  died 
away  down  the  distant  corridors.  She  returned  and  bent  over 
her  father  with  a  tender  caress. 

Then  the  great  black  man  in  the  shadows  extended  his  arms 
for  a  moment  above  them,  and  faded  from  their  sight.  There 
was  the  sound  of  low  weeping  in  the  room.  For 

"these  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and  have  washed 
their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb." 


269 


GLOSSARY 


d  buen  precio,  for  a  good  price. 

adios,  good-bye. 

adioscito,  good-bye  (used  among  intimates). 

alcalde,  mayor,  chief  of  village. 

algarroba,  the  carob-tree  bean. 

alpargates,  hempen  sandals. 

americano,  American. 

amigo,  amiga,  friend. 

anisado,  liquor  made  from  anise-seed. 

d  proposito,  by-the-bye,  apropo. 

arena,  bull  ring,  circle  where  bull-fights  are  held. 

arepa,  corn  cake  baked  in  ashes. 

arma  blanca,  steel  arms,  generally  the  machete. 

arrastra,  or  arrastre,  a  mining  mill. 

arreglo,  arrangement. 

arriba,  above. 

arroyo,  ditch,  small  stream,  creek. 

asequia,  gutter,  conduit  for  water. 

auto  da  fe,  public  punishment  by  the  Holy  Inquisition. 

avispas,  wasps. 

ay  de  mi,  ah  me!  woe  is  me!  alas! 

bagre,  fish  from  Lake  Simiti,  dried  and  salted. 

baile,  dance. 

barra,  bar  of  \vood  or  iron. 

batea,  a  wooden  basin  corresponding  to  the  gold-pan. 

bejuco,  thin  filament,  growing  on  tropical  trees.  Also,  vine. 

bendita  virgen,  Blessed  Virgin. 

bien,  well. 

bien  piies,  well,  then. 

billetes,  bank  notes,  government  notes,  paper  money. 

bodega,  warehouse.     Also,  depot,  supply  house,  cellar. 

boga,  boatman,  rower. 

boveda,  vault,  or  arched  enclosure.    Burial  vault,  tomb. 

bueno,  good. 

buen  padre,  good  father. 

cabildo,  corporation  of  a  town,  town  council. 

calentura,  fever. 

camino  real,  royal  road,  highway. 

canasto,  large  basket,  waste-basket. 

cantina,  saloon,  public  drinking  place. 

cano,  canal. 

caoba,  mahogany  tree  or  wood. 

capilla  mayor,  high  altar,  principal  chapel. 

capitan,  captain. 

caramba,  an  interjection  of  no  particular  meaning. 

cdrcel,  jail. 

cargadores,  human  pack-carriers,  porters. 

carisima,  dearest  little  girl. 

carita,  dear  little  girl. 


CARMEN    ARIZA 


caro  amigo,  dear  friend. 

catalina,  Katharine. 

cayman,  crocodile. 

champan,  a  native  thatch-roofed  river  boat. 

chiquita  mia,  my  dearest  little  girl. 

chiqaito-a,  dearest  little  one. 

cielo,  heaven. 

cienaga,  a  marsh  or  moor.     Sometimes  lake. 

cierlo,  certain,  sure,  surely,  certainly. 

cochero,  coachman,  driver. 

cola,  a  tropical  non-alcoholic  drink. 
/""*    colera,  cholera. 
^    colibri,  humming  bird. 

comadre,  friend,  when  used  casually  addressing  a  woman. 

comjejen,  white  wood-eating  ant. 

compadre,  friend,  when  used  casually  addressing  a  man. 

conque,  adios,  "well,  good-bye." 

conque,  hasta  luego,  "well,  good-bye  until  we  meet  again." 

conqueros,  conquerors. 

conquistadores,  conquerors. 

cordilleras,  chain  or  ridge  of  mountains. 

corriente,  right,  correct. 

costumbre  del  pais,  national  custom. 

cura,  priest. 

de  nada,  don't  mention  it. 

desayuno,  breakfast. 

dia,  day. 

diablo,  devil. 
Jj    dios  arriba,  God  above! 

dios  mio,  my  God! 

dios  nos  guarde,  God  preserve  us! 

dios  y  diablo,  God  and  devil! 

dique,  canal,  channel. 

doncella,  young  woman. 

el,  the  (masculine). 

enamorada,  infatuated  one   (female). 
H>    en  manos  muertas,  "in  dead  hands." 

escapulario,  scapulary. 

escritorio,  writing  desk. 

feria,  fair,  festival. 

F    fiasco,  failure. 
fmca,  farm. 
flor,  flower  (pi.  flores). 
garrafon,  jug. 
garrapata,  wood-tick. 

Ggarza,  heron. 
gracias,  thanks,  thank  you. 
guaquero,  hunter  of  Indian  graves. 
guerrillas,  band  of  guerrillas. 
hacienda,  farm. 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


J 


hada,  witch. 
hermano,  brother. 
hermoso,  beautiful. 

Hhermosisimo-a,  most  beautiful. 
hidalgo,   nobleman. 
hold!  halloo! 
hombre,  man. 
hostia,  sacred  wafer  used  in  the  mass. 

I      iguana,  large  edible  lizard. 
infanta,  Spanish  princess. 
jejen,  gnat. 

jipijapa,  very  fine  woven  straw,  used  in  Panama  hats. 
jipitera,  child's  disease,  due  to  eating  dirt. 
la,  the  (feminine). 
lianas,  vines. 
llanos,  flat  plains. 

loado  sea  el  buen  dios,  praised  be  the  good  God! 
loco,  crazy,  mad. 

tnacana,  a  very  hard,  tough  palm,  used  in  hut  construction. 
machete,  cane-knife,  large  knife  used  for  trail-cutting. 
machetero,  trail-cutter. 
madre  de  dios,  mother  of  God. 
maestro,  master. 
maldito,  cursed,  cursed  one. 
mantilla,  head-scarf  of  lace. 
mariposa,  butterfly. 

matador,  bull-fighter  who  slays  the  bull  with  the  sword. 
medico,  doctor. 
mestizo,  half-breed. 
milagro,   miracle.     Also,  small  gold  image,  blessed  by  a 

priest,  and  supposed  to  work  a  cure. 
mora,  bramble-bush. 

mozo,  waiter,  servant,  also  young  boy  or  man. 
muchacho,  boy. 
muy  Men,  very  well. 
muy  buenos  dias,  "good  morning." 

na,  an  expression  of  disagreement,  disavowal,  or  demurral. 
nada,  nothing. 
nada  mas,  nothing  more. 
nombre  de  dios,  name  of  God. 
ojald,  "would  to  God!"    "God  grant!" 
olla,  pot,  or  kettle.    Also,  a  stew  of  meat  and  vegetables. 
oporto,  port  wine. 
padre,  father,  Father,  priest. 
panela,  the  crude  sugar  of  tropical  America. 
pantano,  swamp. 
pater-noster,  the  Lord's  prayer. 

patio,  the  interior  court  of  a  dwelling,  yard,  garden. 
patron  (naut.),  cockswain  of  a  boat. 
peon,  day-laborer. 


M 


N 
O 


CARMEN     ARIZA 


peso,  dollar. 

peso  oro,  a  dollar  in  gold. 

peso  y  media,  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

petate,  straw  mat  on  which  the  poor  people  sleep. 

plaga,  plague,  pestilence. 

pldtano,  plantain  tree,  or  its  fruit. 

playa,  shore,  beach,  strand. 

Ppolicia,  police. 
por,  for,  by. 
por  dios,  by  God ! 

por  el  amor  del  cielo,  for  the  love  of  heaven! 
por  supuesto,  of  course. 
posada,  inn,  hotel,  restaurant. 
pozo,  well,  pond,  puddle. 
pronto,  soon,  quickly. 
pueblo,  town,  settlement,  people. 
quebrada,  creek,  small  stream. 
que  chiste,  what  a  joke! 

Qque  importa,  what  does  it  matter? 
quemador,  public  square  where  heretics  were  burned. 
queridito-a,  dear  little  one. 
quien  sabe,  \vho  knows? 
real  (reales),  a  silver  coin,  valued  at  5,  10,  or  12l/2  cents. 

R     religion  de  dinero,  a  religion  of  money. 
ruana,  a  cape  \vorn  by  the  poor  males  of  tropical  America. 
rurales,  country  people,  peasants,  farmers. 
sacristia,  sacristy. 

san  benito,  the  garb  worn  by  condemned  heretics. 
santa  maria,  Saint  Mary. 
santa  virgen,  the  sainted  Virgin. 
santo  dios,  the  blessed  God! 
_     selva,  forest. 

0  seminario,  seminary. 

seiiora,  Madam,  Mrs.,  a  mature  woman,  a  married  woman. 

senorita,  Miss,  a  young  unmarried  woman. 

sepulcros,  tombs,  graves. 

sierras,  mountain  chain. 

siesta,  the  midday  hour  of  rest,  the  hottest  part  of  the  day. 

sobrinito,  little  nephew. 

temprano,  early. 

terciana,  intermittent  fever. 

tia,  aunt. 

tierra  caliente,  hot  lands. 
T    M°  mio,  my  uncle. 

tiple,  a  small  guitar. 

toldo,  awning,  the  mosquito  netting  hung  over  beds. 

trago,  tragito,  a  drink,  a  draught. 

tumba,  tomb,  grave. 
•y    ya  estd,  vdmonos,  all  ready,  let's  go! 

1  yucca,  or  yuca,  the  yucca  plant  or  its  roots. 


DONE  INTO  A  BOOK  FOR  THE 
MAESTRO  COMPANY  BY  W.  B. 
CONKEY  COMPANY,  CHICAGO 


A     000820549     4 


